Naked.

Syr and I took a walk this evening, and as we were strolling, Syr told me about a news blurb She'd caught on a national news network today.

The story is easily summarized in one sentence:
A woman was seen going into a convenience store and purchasing a pack of cigarettes wearing nothing but high heeled shoes and a necklace before climbing into the passenger seat of a ferrari just before the car sped away.

She let me think about this for a moment, turning it over in my mind a little as Her eyes glinted slyly. She smiled as the potential implications washed over me.

Nothing but a "necklace" and a pair of high heeled shoes, hmm?

Obviously it could be any wealthy man and his girlfriend's kinky fantasy, as the image of a nude woman wearing a necklace is probably erotic for a great many people.

But the implications that instantly occurred to the both of us were much more exciting to entertain:

~That the "necklace" was more than just a piece of jewelry, but a symbol of ownership.
~That the woman who went to purchase cigaerrettes was purchasing them for her Master... or Mistress.
~That the trip to the store was a test of obedience and service, rather than random thrill-seeking.

Syr asked me to put myself in her shoes (so to speak). How I would feel if it were me, if all the social, legal, and ethical considerations of the situation were not there, leaving me unfettered.

Being nude is something that makes me feel particularly vulnerable, even in private. Being exposed to Syr while She examines me, or grooms me, or looks closely at my most secret places is one thing that drops me into one of the most intense little space that I can experience. The idea of being nude in public at Syr's command.... well the very thought makes me tremble inside, clench with blissful wishful thinking, blush with the heat of being forced to do something so unnatural to my shy self, and quake with fear.

The idea of being able to be obvious about my slavery is incredibly appealing and intoxicating. It's not possible nor ethical nor appropriate for society as it exists today and given our personal situation, but the idea of a society where it is acceptable is nothing but thrilling to think about.

I would adore living in a society where I could walk several steps behind Syr, my thick leather collar around my neck, a chain leash dangling from my throat to the leather handle around Her wrist for a casual walk down the street.

For now, I will content myself with the subtle and intense energy of our exchange and with the anticipation of a weekend alone for our first wedding anniversary in 12 days.... a weekend when we can explore and enjoy some more 'obvious' D/s time together.

Feeling Her

"Describe how it feels to feel my marks at "inappropriate" times?"

I should clarify that when Syr assigned this particular topic, She clarified that "inappropriate" is referring to times like when I am at work, or doing more mundane, non D/s related activities.

Marking me has become something that Syr does regularly now. Not often, by any means, but definitely regularly. We both enjoy the effects both during the scene and for days afterwards and the spaces I reach as a result of Her knife on my back.

Recently, we both got tattoos which symbolize our relationship to each other. Mine features symbology which identifies me as queer, a femme, and as Her property. Hers identifies Her as queer, a butch, and as my Owner.

My tattoo is on my back, near the top of it, creeping up onto the back of my neck, a place that holds significance as Syr often grips the back of my neck right in that very spot, and used to mark me in that spot on my upper back. Now, She marks me slightly lower, underneath the tattoo.

She got a new knife, razor sharp a couple weeks ago. She marked me with it and we both loved the sensation, though because it was so sharp, it left very clean smooth lines which stung only right after, but healed VERY quickly (within 24 hrs, all sting was gone).

Formerly, I would feel the 'sting' for days. So we're shopping for a knife that while sharp, is not TOO sharp. What we do isn't cutting, it's more like scratching.

As to the topic, what I am used to is feeling the sting for days afterwards on my back. I'd feel Her marks when my shirt brushed my back, or when I pressed or leaned back against a chair. When I wanted to remind myself, I'd reach back and run my fingers lightly over the raised lines that lingered.

A few weeks ago, I was having a very stressful time at work, and whenever I felt overwhelmed, I would lean back in my chair to feel that light sting on my back, reminding myself that I belong to Her, that I'm cared for and safe. It was reassuring and thrilling, simultaneously.

It can also be exciting, to sit in a meeting with coworkers and feel the physical sensation that reminds me that while I am confident and powerful within my work, I also am a full time slave.

So there is a thrill aspect, as well as a comforting aspect. It is like walking around all day with a delicious secret that is all my own. I suppose one could compare it to wearing no underwear and going out to a fancy dinner. It's a naughty secret, a 'taboo' secret. And it feels wicked.

And that definitely appeals to the bad-girl parts of me!

Written Rules

Describe how you feel about having written rules?

Today's assignment (well, technically yesterday's, I'm a day late) is to discuss my feelings on written rules.

This came about because within the last couple of weeks, Syr has created a list of rules. These rules are still being tweaked but is the most extensive list we've ever had between us.

Among them are :
~Call my mother once/week
~Greet Syr with "Good morning, Syr" every morning
~Make the bed every day
~Cook home-made meals twice/week (minimum)
~Complete writing assignments twice/week (once by Wed, another by Sat at 10pm)
~Elliptical machine at least four times/week plus one other cardio activity at least once/week
~Meditatione for 5 minutes every day

And there are others...

But how do I feel about them? I love them, want them, need them, crave them.

I crave and need the structure that comes with rules, but only when they are enforced. A rule given and not followed up on can be really degrading to the dynamic and to the relationship.

Ultimately -- I'm thrilled with the list of rules.

I need to find more ritual in my day again, rituals that are geared to help me be healthier and happier and also rituals that are geared towards reminding me of my place in Syr's world, of Her posession of me.

I think these will help with that. And that, above all else, is what I am most pleased about.

Frustration

"Tell me about something that frustrates you."

Oh ... sure. Easier said than done!

It's easy to write with glowing praise about my Syr. I am well cared for, well groomed, and incredibly blessed to have someone in my life who is so attuned to my needs, my desires, my triggers, and all the other parts of me.

But it is far more challenging to write about the less than perfect aspects of my experience serving Her.

But - that is my task, so here goes.

---

I think it's normal for there to be frustration within any relationship, but perhaps even more so within the realms of a relationship that is molded by a power exchange of any kind. The art and energy of a Dominant/submissive lifestyle can bea tricky thing to navigate. It is amazing and energizing, but can also be draining and a lot of work.

If I'm being completely honest, I would have to say that integrating D/s into my life was a lot like opening a floodgate. Once it's done, it is done.

Could I be happy living a vanilla life? Sure. But a part of me would feel the loss acutely. My submission fills me with an inner light that I would find hard to replace. It grants me peace and serenity when the world spins out of control around me. It gives me safety and security when life throws challenge after challenge at me. It has helped me get to know myself in a way that I may never have without it.

And yet, it also awakened needs in me that really must be met. The ways those needs are met can be as varied and unique as individual snowflakes falling from the sky, but they must be met. When they are not, I am thrown off-balance, and can easily spiral into a place where in it's mildest form I find myself unsettled or cranky and in it's most severe form can throw me into mild forms of temporary depression.

So when asked what is something that frustrates me, the answer is simple (though its explanation is not):

What frustrates me is when I have a need and circumstances, lack of privacy, or other life 'stuff' gets in the way of me reaching, or maintaining little space - espcially when I really... REALLY need that little space.

Sometimes, those circumstances or life "stuff" are avoidable, and then sometimes it's hard to be patient or understanding, when my little voice is screaming "I NEED!!! Fix it!!!! Please!!" and other times, the circumstances are out of both of our control and I nearly rage at them in a petulant way that while probably adorable to watch is just a small outlet for my internal frustration.

For me to be at my best, I need little space.. I need it regularly... and somewhat often. It can be achieved in subtle ways or blatant, but I do need it.

So I admit sometimes that I get frustrated with Syr, when She can't deliver. It's a selfish urge, and I realize that there are slaves and submissives out there who are probably aghast with shock that I would spend an entire post talking about my needs. What kind of submissive am I? ;)

Well - I'm me. I'm my type. And being submissive, is a part of me. And that part does include needs. *nodsnods*

Syr recognizes this, appreciates it, and understands it. I am sure my needs can also be a source of frustration for Her. What's most important is that we work together, we ebb and flow together, and that we both do our best to strike the balance between wants and needs, both of ourselves and each other.

Overall, I think we both do a damn fine job.

Grounded

Syr and I went away this weekend. One of the things I had been so desperately looking forward to was a good, solid beating. Not the quiet, more subtle kinds of pain play that can take me where I need to go, but the raw, earthy good old-fashioned beating.

There’s been so much going on in my life, more than I ever thought possible. So much of this stuff has had me feeling lost and unbalanced, scared and worried. It’s all resolving over time, but the more lost and floundering I got to feeling, the more I wanted to feel the steadying thud of a flogger on my shoulder blades.

I didn’t want to push for it, because the energy has to be right between us for it to happen the right way, but I opened the suitcase and invited Syr to fill it with whatever She wanted for the weekend.

I can’t tell you all how my heart skipped when I saw her pack the leather collar, the cuffs, the nipple clamps, the leash, and the flogger (along with Her two favorite cocks). I knew, then, that I would most likely be getting what I’d so desperately been needing.

Our first night at the hotel, we were both tired and still tense from life these last couple of months, so we spent it bathing and snuggling and doing other relaxing things.

But, Saturday evening..... Syr didn’t hold back at all. She built a fire in the fireplace in our room. She ordered me out of the robe I was dressed in and had me bring back to Her the cuffs and collar. I knelt, naked, at Her feet while She locked the collar around me and strapped my cuffs onto my wrists and ankles. When She pulled the cool chainlink leash out of her pocket and clipped it to my collar, I quivered with the subtle security and subspace that began to wash over me.

I sat at Syr’s feet while She held the leash in front of the fire for some time. When She decided it was time to get started, She turned me to face Her and clipped the nipple clamps on in such a way that the movements of the leash would catch the chain attached to the clamps which sent shivers through me.

I remember that She clipped my wrists together behind my back, and I remember Her tossing me forward onto the bed which put me straight into a gigglefit. It was quite comical – you’d have had to see it.

I remember Her hands on my ass, warming me up there some, and then the kiss of the flogger on my ass, but mostly on my shoulder blades. It begins to blur then. I remember I felt the stings more keenly and there were certain angles that really just didn’t work at all, but over time, the rythmic thud of the flogger swept me away.

I remember that She stopped more than once and laid across my back, biting my shoulder at my neck on each side, and I remember the way that made me yelp and sink even deeper, all at the same time.

And after the pain had brought me to the malleable, floaty place that we both so adore, She pulled me to Her and drove Her cock inside me and took me to a place wholly higher and sharper but still floaty and warm.

And when She had taken Her fill of me, to the point where I could not form words, but could merely point and mumble, She pulled me into Her arms, into that place on her shoulder that is my pillow, and I fell asleep.

It was a wonderful experience, and the following night, I got the nerve to beg a spanking before Syr made love to me, and was so glad I had. She pulled me over my lap and spanked my ass until it was hot and the warmth flooded through me before taking me once more...

Ahh yes...

I am a lucky, lucky slave.

A Perfect Day

This writing assignment's topic was to describe my 'perfect' D/s day.

When I first saw the topic in the notebook where Syr keeps my instructions for tasks, writing assignments, etc, I remember feeling excited.... thinking it was a really fun assignment.

Now that it's time to write it, I'm not quite so sure. ;) It actually seems kind of hard to imagine what it would be like to have a "perfect" D/s day, though I am sure I can give it a whirl. So here goes nothing....

My perfect D/s day would start with a perfect wake-up: Syr waking me by curling into and against my body, covering part of my body with Hers, pinning my wrists above my head and whispering in my ear: "Who owns you, little girl?" and awaiting my sleepy but conscious reply: "You do, Syr."

We would have the place to ourselves, of course, or be in a place where we had no fear of being disturbed by anyone. She retrieves my collar and locks it around my neck, due to our privacy, I will wear it for the day.

Pulling me against Her and wrapping those strong and loving arms around me in an embrace before whispering my morning instructions to make Her coffee and bring it back to Her. I would make Her coffee and my own and bring them back, and kneel at Her feet sipping mine while She sits on the bed sipping Hers and occasionally reaching down to play with my hair or touch my cheek.

After our coffee, She would lead me into the bathroom, help me out of whatver clothing (if anything) that I slept in and help me into the shower.

She would have me wash Her and would wash me in return. I find it interesting that when I wash Her, it feels like an act of service and submission, yet when She does it for me, it feels like an act of grooming, of caring for Her property and feels like an act of Dominance and tenderness.

After our shower, She would instruct me to lay out Her clothes for Her and then instruct me to wear my full length robe, an item of clothing that is comfortable, covers me, yet allows Her easy access to my body whenever She might wish.

Both dressed, we would head to the kitchen for breakfast. Syr likes to cook so She might fix something simple and tasty for our first meal. I would sit at Her feet and She would feed me bits of food from a single shared plate, for very little makes me feel so cared for and so slave-like as being fed by my Syr.

We would spend our mid-day talking or reading, going for walks or whatever suits our fancy. Perhaps our day includes a trip to the local aquarium, an activity Syr enjoys very much, and perhaps as part of that trip, She instructs me to stay in little-space and to be mindful of Her needs while we're out. A simple instruction but perhaps during our outing, Her words stick in my mind and I find myself making sure that She is offered a rest, or a drink, or that I point out things She might find interesting.... and as a result, I find myself staying in a soft level of sub-space all day long.

We return home or back to our private space and I cook dinner... and again sit at Her feet while She feeds me bites as She chooses off of a shared plate.

After dinner, we do something quiet and simple together, like watch a movie or play a game...

And when Syr is ready, She pulls from a pocket or side-table the chain leash and clips it to my collar, leading me back to the bedroom. Once there, She wraps Her fingers in my hair and pulls me to my knees in front of Her.

What She does next could be a myriad of things, but in my 'perfect' day, I would hope it would include her hand on my throat, her hands slapping my cheeks, pain for Her pleasure in the form of spanking, flogging, Her knife, Her nails, clothespins or a myriad of other forms, and Her cock buried deep inside me.

And after She has taken what is Hers alone to take and given what only She can give, She would pull me into Her arms, and whisper words of love and tenderness. And as I curled into Her with my head on Her shoulder, She would tell me a story or read to me from a book so that I could fall asleep listening to the sound of Her voice and the soft beating of Her heart, and I would know that I am safe and I am loved.

"Slave."

It sometimes seems like every day with Syr I discover some new, often incredibly simple yet powerful, route to reaching that deep subspace.

In my previous experiences, it always seemed to get harder and harder to find and maintain subspace of any depth worth mentioning. It became quite frustrating because the harder it got to get there, the more i craved or rather, needed to get there. This used to cause all manner of conflict and difficulties with my partner at that time.

I'm sure that it created issues for them, a sort of frustration when what used to work for them, seemed to stop working as well, and when my needs seemed to increase and their part of it, their job got harder and harder.

My relationship with Syr is quite the opposite. I am often caught quite off guard by sudden and unexpected drops into subspace that plummet me at a pace that is almost dizzying.

The other night, Syr took me there during what would have otherwise been an incredibly fun, yet quite simple, "quickie", by Her words alone.

It started familiarly, as She reminded me who I belong to, words that always take me into a level of subspace...

As She continued, Her words became moreraw, more intense, whispering to me, reminding me that I am Her slut, Her whore, and Her slave...

And then, She made me repeat each statement back to Her. My voice shook desperately as She wrapped Her hands in my hair and demanded I speack each aloud.

Afterwards, SHe honed in on the word slave which, though it describes my role quite honestly, is a word used more rarely by comparison to others in the past. It was the only word She used for teh rest of our time together that night and each time She said it, it took me deeper and deeper.

The words resonated and jolted through me. I still remember the way I reacted with pure raw physical and instinctual shivers each time She growled "cum, slave" in my ear.

Unlike other times, when I am called by that word, I instinctually reply... calling Her Syr without even thinking about it. When I am reminded that I am Her slave, it is only natural to me to call Her Syr.

This may seem simple, but it really isn't. The thing is, that other times, I often have to think about it.. and thinking can be bad. I second guess, doubt, or get shy about using a word that I so desperately want to use.

Yet when she calls me slave, so seriously like that, it's all I can do not to melt into a puddle of slavey goo right there in Her arms, or at Her feet.

I wonder what it is about that one little word, that seems to change the way I function and operate. Because that is surely what it does. I stop functioning as the everyday me. I let all of that go and really allow myself to become the soft, pleasing slave that I dream of being.

I'm sure that it bears further scrutiny, but then again, perhaps in cases like these it is better just to enjoy the lovely simple and pure result of the use of a word that surely speaks straight to my heart.

Symbols of Slavery

I was given an assignment some time ago to write about this photo, and others that have followed since that first one.

Life circumstances kept getting in the way and it kept getting put off for another day. I have an opportunity now to discuss it.

I have missed writing here, very much indeed. Writing about our D/s centers me in a way that very little else can. Physical D/s attention is, of course, the most important for that centering, that balancing, but writing is a very ritualized and therepeutic tool that puts me in touch with the submissive energy that is constantly swirling inside of me.

And so, when Syr assigned me a list of writing assignments, I was intrigued by the very first topic:

"What is your favorite symbol of your slavery, and why?"

It seemed like a trick question when I first thought of it, for I am very much attached to various symbols.

There is, of course, the sterling silver, simple figaro bracelet that I wear on my right wrist 24/7. It was the first 'collar' symbol offered to me by Syr and it is never off my wrist unless absolutely necessary. In fact, it is in desperate need of a good shining, but I haven't been able to part with it.

Then, of course, there is my last entry - written over two months ago, where I described the lovely lavendar collar that Syr purchased for me. However, it is not the least bit subtle and as such is only pulled out for special occasions or when we can be guaranteed a modicum of privacy. The sound the lock makes as She clicks it into place at the back of my neck sends feelings through me that are absolutely indescribeable.

More recently, still, is the purchase of an anklet, also a sterling silver figaro chain with a tiny enamel heart lock pendant. This piece was ordered recently and once it arrives, will be an ankle reminder of my place, owned slave to my Syr:

And, coming up very soon, hopefully within the next few weeks, will be a permanent mark upon my back and one upon her chest, tattoos that compliment each other.

And when musing upon this topic, it was not these adornments, as precious as they are to me, that I realized were my 'favorites' but instead, the more temporary marks that Syr places upon my back with Her knife.

Those marks you see in the photo at the top of this post were the second set that She ever set upon me, and the experience was absolutely indescribeable.

The very first time, She set me on my knees at Her feet while She sat in a chair. She pulled the upper half of my body over Her knee to hold me still and began using Her knife upon my back. The interaction was almost completely silent from beginning to end, and yet nothing has ever dropped me so deep into that intense tunnel-visioned slave space as that did.

The knowledge that I trusted Her completely, and that I was not only comfortable but desperately yearning for the feel of Her blade against my skin was all it took to remind me that I truly belong to Her, in every sense of the word.

The goal in this, is not to scar me, nor to humiliate me. It is a sensory experience and a pyschological experience. Since the first time, there have been occasions where there was some minute amounts of blood. And in more recent markings, I have felt the sting of those marks for days on end.

I would have to say that the mark of Her knife is my favorite symbol of my slavery to Her, and of Her ownership of me. While the mark itself fades, the feelings that it evokes in me are raw and pure, untouched by doubt or fear or anxiety or the normal over-thinking that can sometimes blur my feelings on other symbols.

All that matters, when I feel the touch of Her cold steel against my tender skin, is that I am Hers...

Forever.

A collar and a bracelet...

Syr purchased a collar for me this last weekend while we were travelling.

It's a beautiful light purple leather and the buckle in back has a hole in the pin that a lock goes through. The lock is silver and heartshaped and the key is kept on Her keyring.

Interestingly, last weekend was also when the special gift I had ordered for Her arrived: a silver cuff bracelet with a black leather inlay. It is a tool to be used by us both as a way to let the other know that we are wanting or needing a more formal or intense headspace. If it is me that is seeking it, I can bring the bracelet to Her and without a word being spoken, She knows I am needing the harder Syr. If it is Her that is wanting a more obedient and formally subserviant slave, She simply puts it on and once I see it, I know. We established certain protocols that are in place whenever She has the bracelet on and it's been an incredible tool in the few days we've used it so far.

As to the collar....

While She has owned me for some time, She had not yet found the perfect collar. The more common places to buy them charge quite a lot for ... well.. not a lot of value (if you ask me). But in this shop we went into just for fun, there it was. It was perfect. It was the only one on the shelves, and wouldn't you know it, it was incredibly inexpensive.



It's the perfect size, and words can not begin to describe the way it felt when She locked it onto my neck for the first time.



Security, Safety, Adoration, Love and many other emotions washed over me. This symbol of Her ownership, the feel of the leather at my throat, is an amazing gift.



It is not to be worn 24/7, (that is what the wedding ring, engagement ring, and bracelet are for) but it is ours.

And when, last night, She put on the bracelet and then put me in Her collar and cuffs and put me on my knees at Her feet, all I could think of was how amazing it felt to float in perfect peace and surrender with Her in control of it all. I found myself, once again, both lost ... and found.

Sometimes, it's the little things.

Sometimes, it's the little things.

The lessons that help or force you to grow. Sometimes I need to be reminded, to know that I can mess up... that I can dissapoint Her. Sometimes it's helpful to realize that there is a difference between pushing, and taking advantage.

I was right earlier. She would have been okay, had I confessed at the time instead of waiting until the next day. I shouldn't need to be micro-managed, especially by Her, and yet I seem to back us both into a corner where She has to.

My 'lesson' after She read my confession was that today I was to straighten all the rooms in the house and get a couple miscellaneous, smaller, tasks done. Detail work. Atonement.

I didn't sleep well last night, and neither did She. When we woke and I sent Her off to work, I sat down with my coffee at the computer.

Before I knew it, hours had flown by and She was calling me on Her first break, only to discover I had not yet started my chores.

When She admitted She was dissapointed, my heart fell.

There's a difference between pushing and taking advantage. She went 'easy' on me after my confession... and in return I still procrastinated.

For the record, I did get everything done, and did a good job. I just wish I hadn't taken advantage of Her trust by putting the computer first when I was trying to atone for earlier procrastination.

Later on, during Her afternoon break, She assured me as best as She could that what was done was done, but that in the future I can expect to be given time limits or deadlines for my chores.

I admit that I need boundaries, limits... and rules. I like the security of knowing where that invisible line is that I shouldn't cross.

I think I have been craving service these last several days. Perhaps it's because I've been so busy with some necessary work-things that have taken my focus off of what I do here, for Her every day. I need to find that focus again. It can co-exist with the other.

I doubt this post makes any sense. I guess I just wanted to think 'out loud', so to speak.

Syr gets off work in a few minutes, and Her commute is around 45, so I will sign off now so I can get dinner started and have it ready and on the table when She gets home.

On being deserving...

I didn't have any particular topic in mind when I sat down to write today. I went through my usual routine of finding an image that struck my mood or captured something for me, and I decided I would put the picture up and then free form write for a little while.
So here I am.
I have had some incredibly intense evenings with Syr over the last few weeks. I find myself going back and forth between luxuriating in the subtle exchanges between us, the exchanges that define our 24/7 dynamic and craving deeper, harsher, more intense exchanges.
We lack in the time and privacy to indulge in those more intense exchanges more often than not. Yet, somehow, we find a way and the time to lose ourselves in them.
Last night, I had spent the day running around doing a multitude of things, and in the process of being busy, had managed to forget to complete my daily tasks for the day which included: making the bed and straightening the bedroom and bathroom. Making the bed is a daily chore. The bedroom and bathroom are to be done every Monday.
So there I was, playing on the computer, when Syr called from the train on the way home. I had completely lost track of time. I wanted to be starting dinner when Syr got off work so that it would be ready when She got home. But instead, I was hit with the sudden realization that the bedroom and bathroom were a shambles and the bed was still unmade. Syr expects me to make the bed the moment I am up and out of it (unless there is a real reason for not doing it right away). Suddenly, I was up in a shot, running around like a madwoman, scrambling to get it all done.
I started the chicken thawing while I ran to the bedroom in a mad dash to get everything picked up and the bed made (including changing the sheets). I had just finished in the bathroom and scooped up all the dirty laundry and deposited it into the hamper and landed in the kitchen to begin prepping dinner when Syr walked in the door.
I didn't hear Her come in like I normally do. Instead, I was startled to see Her walking towards me, still in Her leather coat, damp from the evening rain with a look in Her eyes that said She was in a *mood*.
Suddenly, I forgot that I had just barely squeaked my chores in, in time for Her to get home. I forgot that I had been a little bit lazy that afternoon. I forgot that I could have had dinner ready to go when she came in, but instead was just starting it.
Instead, I was simply proud of myself that I had gotten it done; that I hadn't forgotten completely. I was pleased as punch with myself that as far as She was concerned, I had done what was expected of me. That look in Her eyes that said She was in a mood to ravish me felt like my earned reward.
When we were finally shrouded in the darkness and privacy of the night, Syr made it quite clear that She fully intended to have me. In return, I made it quite clear that I was very much hoping She would take me. I was craving something harsh and intense. I wanted to drop for Her, to surrender to Her, to get lost in Her touch and Her voice.
What followed was amazing and perfect in every way. Looking back, it's a rush of moments, snapshots that stand out the most:
~Her hands tangled in my hair as She pulled hard and growled in my ear, calling me Her whore and Her slave.
~Her teeth on my neck and shoulders and biting down on my lip until I cried out.
~Her fingers pulling and stretching and pinching my nipples so hard.
~Her strong hands, spanking me everywhere, and pinning my wrists above my head and out of Her way.
~Her cock driving into me with ruthless abandon as She covered and claimed me with Her body.
~The way She made me wait, and wait, until She was ready to let me cum for her.
~The way it felt as She slapped my cheek, or covered my mouth and nose to control my breath.
~The way She pushed me forward, harder and deeper and faster until the tears came.
All of these, memories to fill me with soft, warm heat; that heat that makes me feel inexorably linked to Her. I feel owned and loved and adored...
And guilty.
Damn it.
I should have confessed that I scrambled around at the very last possible minute to get my chores done yesterday. Getting it done was the *most* important thing. But I made a point of preening over my well done jobs when I knew that I had done the fastest possible rush job on all of it. I let Her praise me for doing well and loved how happy She was with the job I'd done when I knew that it wasn't my best work and I also knew that I had prioritized my own personal playtime over the chores She gave me.
I can't help but feel that I falsely accepted a reward that I didn't deserve.
Would She still have taken and ravished me, had I confessed? Most likely.
So why do I feel as if I took advantage?
Because I didn't confess.
And just how does that make sense? I suppose you'd have to know me very well to understand it, but it's how I operate. I don't misrepresent myself to Her. Ever. And I think that I feel that's what I did.
I'm not agonizing. This isn't an episode of self-flagellation. It's just something I found myself thinking about. And, in all honesty, it's something I felt I needed to confess.
The question is: Was I deserving of the ravishing I received?

Even my breath belongs to Her

Mild breath play has been something I have always found quite intoxicating. It sounds dramatic to explain it the way I feel it, but here goes anyway. It is this enormous feeling of trust and the giving over of power to another to submit to this sort of play. I say "mild" because I am not interested in more than a few moments at a time, ever. But, the feeling of having my Owner have this power over me is something that can not be duplicated in any other way.

The form of breath play I am most, personally, familiar with is Syr wrapping Her hand or hands around my throat, firmly. Sometimes She squeezes lightly which restricts my airflow for the breifest of moments, and sometimes She doesn't. With Her hand on my throat, though, the very knowledge that She could restrict my airflow and that I trust Her with this power is enough to bring me to my knees both metaphorically and physically. It drops me into little space so fast and hard and that feels really amazing. Her hand on my throat is one of the simplest gestures She can make that will instantly remind me who I am to Her, and who She is to me.

The other day, She stumbled on a new form of mild breathplay that in it's own right is very intense in a different way than Her hand on my throat. She wraps Her palm gently over my mouth and uses Her index finger and thumb to close my nose, restricting my ability to intake air. She only does it for a brief moment, and with the lightest touch, not rough in the least, and it is absolutely overpowering.

There is this base thought that She owns my very breath and can decide if She wants me to have any. That's the thought that I believe sounds dramatic. She and I both know that I could easily pull free and would if I felt threatened. I don't have any over-the-top belief that a 'real slave' would never pull away, and I certainly wouldn't endanger my life. But the incredible thrill is that I trust Her so much, with every fiber of my being, and trust Her to keep me safe. This isn't a belief, it's knowledge. It's fact. It is not somethng I can doubt, because it is true, therefore there is nothing to doubt. I don't doubt that the sun is yellow or the sky is blue. And I don't doubt that Syr will always act in my best interest. She loves me like no other ever could. So, keeping that in mind and returning to this base thought that runs through my mind that I am Hers to do with as She will, that even my body's breath belongs to Her, and that thought is both thrilling and humbling.

I really find myself at a loss for words for how exactly to describe it. All I know is at the moment it occurs, there is the briefest feeling of panic... incredibly brief... and then I am falling backwards into the safe and warm embrace of the unending trust I feel for Her, and all I feel is protected and taken care of, and incredibly owned.

Surrender

Sometimes, I find myself in a mood where I want to somehow capture an emotion, a feeling, an expression of myself. This is one of those times. I'm not entirely sure what to do with it or about it at the moment. I'm almost in a mood to write poetry of some kind, but nothing is coming to me. What to do? Just .... pour forth what I'm thinking. So that's what I'll do.

Surrender is a word that captured my attention a long time ago. I love the feelings it evokes in me. There is submission, there is slavery, there is being taken.... and then there is surrender. What images does it bring up for you? To surrender is more than to be taken, more than to submit, and more to being someone's slave.

sur·ren·der (sə-rěn'dər)
~To relinquish possession or control of to another because of demand or compulsion.
~To give up in favor of another.
~To give up or abandon
~To give over or resign (oneself) to something, as to an emotion
~To give oneself up, as to an enemy.
~The act or an instance of surrendering.

Interesting, isn't it?

The very word implies a struggle, a battle -if you will-, and the end result of which is to "give up" or "give in".

I think that this word more than any other describes my journey to find Syr. Before Her, it would seem that I expected to have my submission taken, worked for. I find myself not respecting a "lazy top", someone who wants me to be responsible for creating 100% of the dynamic. It should be a 50/50 prospect (in my opinion). Yes I will offer my submission, but I expect and deserve for my partner to offer me their Dominance.

I had found myself, previously, in very unbalanced dynamics. To be fair, both ways. I've been in D/s relationships where I was a very lazy submissive, and expected my Dominant to do all of the work. And then, I have also found myself in a relationship where if I wasn't actively creating and maintaining our D/s lifestyle, it would have fallen by the wayside, and eventually did when I just couldn't be the only one anymore.

The reality of human existence (as I see it) is that we need to give and take as equally as possible to have successful relationships. This give and take exists even within the most extreme M/s dynamic. An Owner must give of Him/Herself by putting the work forth to guide, teach, protect and push their pet. The owned must give of him/herself by putting forth the effort to give up control, to submit, to serve.

Both have expectations in return, of things they will take from the other. This is what balance is all about.

For myself, I have found it a struggle to truly relinquish control. I consider myself a very natural submissive, and yet I micro-manage everything in my life. There is a control-freak aspect of me that can very easily get completely out of control. I have to willingly and purposefully let this part of me 'go' when I submit. Submitting is a conscious act and is never so simple as just 'doing'.

To push yourself to push past what is 'easy' to do what is difficult, when the end result is submission? Well, if you ask me, that's the very definition of surrender.

It is what moves me, what makes me feel the most possessed. Anybody can "take" and anybody can "give". But to battle yourself and come out of that battle stronger, and yet able to lay this strength and power at your Owner's feet? That takes conviction and self-awareness and a great deal of trust.

I lay this strength and power at Syr's feet, regularly.

I surrender.

Love and Slavery

I wanted to write a little something on love and slavery. It can be hard to verbalize how powerful of a love exists between Syr and I, but I see mirror images of that same powerful love in other M/s-dynamic couples. There is something unique about an Owner/pet, Owner/slave, Master/slave etc kind of relationship that I find hard to explain or describe when it comes to the love aspect.

It is foreign to some people, how one could find such true beauty in being *owned* by another human being, or in *owning* another human being. And yet, it really is not that foreign of a concept. Think of the way a beloved pet (a dog or a cat) must feel? How must it feel to have another being willing to care for you in that way? I look down at the black cat curled around my feet, my beloved pet, and it helps put into context how I feel. Here is this creature, at my feet, who loves and adores me. He comforts me when I'm sad, amuses me when he is at play, and is a delightful companion. He deserves, in return, that I make sure he is well fed, taken care of, nurtured, housed. He deserves to be treated with love and respected as a member of my family. It is humbling to be responsible for another creature in this way. It must feel that way to Syr at times.

And as for me, I look to Syr as I imagine a pet looks to her owner. Syr is there to cherish and protect me. I can not imagine loving Her more than I do. I can not imagine trusting Her more than I do. I have never loved, nor trusted, at this depth before and I am not sure that I ever could again. I literally lay my life at Syr's feet to do with as She wishes. The really amazing thing? She would never do something with it that wasn't in my best interest. I find myself craving pain at Her hands, and more extreme S/M play than I ever have before. I long to feel Her knives against my skin. I crave the pain of Her bite. I want to writhe and whimper, beg and plead for her. All because I know she will never take me further than I am able to go, even if I want to go further. She will always protect me, and always do whatever She can to meet my needs, to fulfill me, and to help me grow.

Though I had a Master before, I never knew the true meaning of belonging to someone else, truly. I blame that partially on His and my, then, polyamorous lifestyle. Nothing against it, I have known many very successful, very happy people in loving polyamorous relationships. But -- it's not me. And I never realized that I could never truly belong to Someone unless I was the only one. Now, I know.

But I know also that this is more intense than that for many reasons, not the least of which is a destined connection between the two of us: something that we both believe in very much.

All I know is that when She looks at me and reminds me that I belong to Her, this incredible gratefulness that She owns me, and this incredible love that is absolutely indescribable.

Our Wedding Vows

I, take you, alena,

to be My own,

to shelter and protect,

respect and cherish,

to guide and to love

in this life and all future lives to come.

I take You, Syr,

to be my own,

to honor and obey,

respect and cherish,

to surrender and to love

in this life,and all future lives to come.

On feeling small...

Syr gave me a writing assignment today. She's observed since knowing me, that whenever I stand near Her, I slouch so that I am shorter than Her. I've never really been aware of it. It is very much an unconscious thing.

I've always described my submissive space as "little" space. It is the best way that I know of to describe it. I don't even know what else would be appropriate. "sub-space" doesn't describe how it *feels*. Saying that I feel "little" does.

And the interesting thing is, that Syr and I are basically the same height. In fact, I am about 1 inch taller than Her. I am not the type of person who cares about height on any kind of real level. I have told Her before that She is 10 feet tall to me when I am on my knees. It is true.

And yet, whenever I get close to Her, I slouch, I curl down, I lean into and up to Her. Perhaps it is that "safe" feeling I get by being 'lower' than Her. After all, I love that feeling whenever it happens. When She sits at the computer and I curl up next to her on the floor. I may not be "kneeling" or doing anything formally or obviously submissive, yet I adore the feeling of being beneath Her. When She puts me on my knees, I get that feeling. When She stands behind me and wraps Her arms around my waist and I can lean back against Her, I get that feeling. When She stands over me when I am sitting to give me a kiss, I get that feeling. And I *love* that feeling.

Perhaps, that is why I unconsciously change my posture to be 'smaller' than Her when I stand close to Her. I love feeling small by Her. It feels safe and intimate and special.

And, I love the way She responds to it. When I sit at Her feet, even in the most vanilla of settings, She reaches out and strokes her fingers along my head, petting me in a way. When I tip my head up to Her as She leans over to kiss me, She'll let her hands trail along my throat or the back of my neck. And when I curl into Her, slouching to be smaller than Her when we are standing, She wraps Her arms around me in this way that is protective and nurturing.

It is the littlest things sometimes that make me feel owned and protected, nurtured and cared for. This, I suppose, is one of those things.

It's only an inch or two, and I wonder if other people notice.

I doubt it. In my playful moments, I enjoy teasing Her that I am taller than Her. And yet, in my mind She is taller than me, bigger than me, stronger than me. She can put me on my knees with a single glance, and I melt into Her with a single look.

I suppose this is just another example of how our M/s dynamic, albeit subtle to the casual observer, is so completely 24/7, so completely consistent even when it appears to be at its most vanilla...

Am I a masochist?

As I sit here, writing, I find myself still completely astounded at this new side of me which seems to have developed almost overnight. Well, not almost -- literally overnight!

Perhaps it's the influence of the other blogs I've been reading lately, particularly kaya's. Or, perhaps it's writing my novel, and realizing that I missed out, in many ways, from the chance to safely explore certain aspects of my service because of established doubt and mistrust in the Dominants I served for the bulk of my life, that is, before I met Syr.

Yesterday, I woke up craving something intense and new. I don't even know where it came from. All I know is that as I sat down to work on my novel for the day, suddenly all I wanted was to feel the pressure of the nipple clamps Syr bought for me as I wrote. A physical sensation spurring me in my writing. But, when I couldn't find them, I felt nearly desperate with need for pain, for breast and nipple torture. I was filled with surging need and I went for the only thing I could think of at the time: rope.

I pulled out the simple nylon clothes-line bundle of rope that Syr had purchased for us to play with several months before and found myself quickly fashioning a very simple self-bondage setup which started at my waist, ran between my legs with a very well placed knot just above my clit, and ended at my chest, where I tied it off, and then used a second length of rope to bind each breast firmly.

I marvelled at the look of my breasts bulging and a dark angry red, jutting out from the rope that bound them. I'd actually, formerly, always found pictures of this sort of bondage vaguely disturbing, and not the least bit attractive, but the feeling of it was something else entirely. being able to feel that rope binding me, and the full smoothness of each breast as it jutted out, and the odd way my skin felt under my hands had me absolutely enthralled. I played with the rope for a while, and then decided I needed more, somehow. I opened our drawer o' fun and withdrew the smallest of our strap-on cocks, one that Syr never actually uses strapped on (too small), and after moving the rope aside, drove it deep inside and replaced the rope which did a marvelous job of keeping it in place. I unbound my breasts (knowing it wasn't safe to leave that kind of bondage in place for too long) and then put clothes on over the whole getup and then proceeded back to my noveling 'station' to continue writing.

But I was distracted by the erotic feel of the rope and a craving for more, for something that *hurt*, specifically on my nipples. After wandering the house looking for anything pinchy or clothes-pin like, I realized I was going to have to take a trip to the store to find what I was looking for. I got out of my rope getup, got into clothes again and headed out the dollar store...

At the first dollar store, I scored: a package of 24 full size plastic clothespins, a package of 72 plastic clothes pegs (pictured above), a bag of rubber bands, and a small package of tiny plastic binder-clips.

But I wasn't fully satisfied. The first store was sold out of tacks. I don't know why, but suddenly I also wanted to try out that whole 'tack bra insert' idea I'd gotten now from several blogs I read regularly. So, I headed to the second dollar store where I got two packs of thumbtacks, a set of shoulder pads (that I thought would make good 'bases' for the tack bra inserts), and some super miniature wooden clothespins.

When I got home, I tried a couple out for a moment or two, and then mixed them up into a 'bag of fun' as a present for Syr when she got home. She had a bit of a thing for clothespins, but until yesterday, the idea hadn't appealed to me in the slightest.

When she got home from work, I immediately confessed to what I'd done that day, including the fact that not once had I given in to the urge to cum (I had specific instructions not to).

It was hard, admitting this to her. I have never been in such a 'strange' mood before, and have never before defined myself as a masochist. She took it in stride and was, I dare say, even rather pleased. But, she hadn't been feeling good and we ended up making a fairly early night of it. She did leave me with one instruction for today: if I did play I was either allowed to cum not at all or 10 times before she got home from work. All or nothing. If I didn't finish all 10, I'd be punished if I did even 1. In addition, she instracted me to build the tack bra inserts, but only partially and explained the area she wanted covered with tacks, and that I was to wear them for as long as was comfortable but NOT to push it too hard. Noted.

After I sent her off to work, I could hardly wait to try out the new playthings.

I started small, one of the clothes pegs on each nipple, and then I went and took a long shower, purposely letting the water hit the pegs, which sent small shivers of pain through me. I liked it. A lot.

I finished my shower, climbed into bed, and put a couple of rows of clothes pegs on each breast, and even played with a couple on my labia. And then, the crowning moment: I took one full size plastic clothespin and clipped it pretty much directly onto my clit.

Woah! That was new. I was drenched and soon had to unclip that last one, and the labia clips and 'do' something about all this delicious pain.

With the asisstance of a vibrating egg, it wasn't long until I got close to my first orgasm, but to add a twist I started removing the pegs as I got close. They hurt more coming off than staying on and so I played with different ways of removing them, for maximum effect. I left the two that were clipped directly on my nipples for last though, removing them at the moment of my first climax.

9 orgasms later, with a pile of clothespegs next to me, I completely passed out into a rather sublime nap.

I got dinner started, got some more things done, and then at around 1:30pm I decided I was ready to play with the clothes pegs again, though I knew I wasn't allowed to orgasm any more. I got ambitious, and I managed, in very neat rows, to clip the entire package of 72 clothes pegs on my breasts with at least four on each clipped directly to my aereola and nipple. 72. Holy crap.

I was actually somewhat dissapointed that I ran out! But I took pictures of the colorful display for Syr to admire later. :)

My goal was simple, to keep them on as long as I thought I could. After about an hour, I removed all of them, the sweet surge of mild pain as they were removed drove me a little bit crazy, but I was still hungry for more. I loved the marks that they left and tried to take pictures of those for Syr as well, though I'm not sure how well the marks really show.

I got another idea, and pulled one nipple out, stretching it as I clipped a peg fully onto the 'base' of my nipple. I repeated the procedure with my other one. The effect was that the base of the nipple was essentially 'pinched' so that blood (and sensitivity) filled the tip of each. Then I took a second clothes peg and clipped it onto the tip. I arranged them carefully so that they were hanging downward and not jutting straight out, and I pulled a long bulky tee shirt on over them and went back to my novelling station to work on my writing.

The pain was incredible, and delicious, and when I felt the heat of it get a bit too intense, I gave in and removed them. It was incredible and I would have loved to feel Syr's cock driving in to me at the moment they came off. But, alas, she is still not home from work. ;)

So, with my now incredibly sensitive tortured nipples, I put my bra on and inserted the tack bra inserts, careful to make sure the tacks surrounded my sensitive nipples, and am now sitting here, about to continue writing. The only unfortunate thing is that all this playing with pain has actually gotten in the way of my wordcount yesterday and today. I'm just hoping to make some of that up with a couple thousand words done before Syr gets home in about 3 hours.

I never used to identify as a masochist. Now, I'm not so sure.

Maybe, trust was all I needed to open the door to this other side of me.

All I know for sure, is that the feel of the tacks pressing into my sensitive flesh as I write this entry is about the most erotic thing I've ever felt.

More, please, Syr?

Full time submission...

Living in Her home has been an adjustment. I'm not exactly sure, yet how well I've made the transition, though I know we are still feeling our way around an in person, true 24/7 dynamic. It is interesting to see the ways that my submission will naturally show itself, or the pleasure I can take in the simplest of things.
I have found myself positively luxuriating in daily tasks. When Syr gets up in the morning, so do I. I pack Her lunch or prepare Her coffee or breakfast. Once I've sent her off, I go about some daily household tasks. The one consistent task is that I make the bed each morning. Something so simple and yet so divinely submissive to take the pleasure in doing it well so that when she goes into the bedroom each evening to get ready for bed, she is reminded of this small task that I have completed for Her.
We were talking recently about a passage I read on another slave's journal. A comment about how a 'true' slave does not say no and expect it to mean something. We had a lengthy intellectual discussion about this and discovered much about each other. It was actually very productive, because while we both maintain the belief that I always have the right to tell her what I think, feel, want, and need, I still leave it to her to make the final decision. The thing is, that as Her slave, Her wife... Her partner in life... as all of those things, I trust Her that if I express my inability or discomfort to do something that She make the choice that is best for me. It may not match up with what I think I want/need, but it generally is a choice that is beneficial to us *both* not just to Her.
Perhaps our view on D/s, on an M/s style dynamic is different than others. After all, my first and only concern should be Her pleasure and satisfaction, should it not? Yet is that realistic? In our very successful (for us) dynamic, not so much... for others? Absolutely.
There is a divine respect that we hold for each other and it shows in every interaction, every scene, in every time we make love, in every act of service that I offer and in every command that She issues.
And that, is the undercurrent of all that we are to each other and all that we will be. Forever.
But, that is all for now... for I have a story I am writing, for NaNoWriMo. *smiles* In part, it tells my journey, interwoven with a great deal of fiction, but in keeping with the general truth of my growth as a person and within my lifestyle. It is becoming an intellectually collaborative effort between Syr and I, though the writing will be mine alone until the 50,000 word mark at least. She will be helping with editing and making it a better and better story after that. We both love the plot and theme of it so much that we are hoping to pursue publication if the story comes out as we both hope it will. No pressure. ;) In all seriousness I am having fun with it. But, I am not as far along as I should be so off I go to get some more written...

Face Slapping

I'd been hinting..

.. and just outright saying... lately.. that i wanted to explore face slapping with Syr.

Why? I'm not really sure. Something told me that it was safe to explore with Her. It wouldn't be about how hard She could hit me, and I knew it wouldn't be about the pain itself, but about the experience, the psychological effect.

Syr was hesitant, because it's something you have to approach with some delicacy. We had several conversations, discussing feelings and possible reactions on both our sides. She was concerned about context being incredibly important. She had playfully lightly slapped my cheeks before when we had been goofing off, which was what brought this fascination to the surface for me in the first place, but neither of us had approached it from a mor serious place at all.

And then, a little over a week ago, She took the next step.

I was on my knees at Her feet, looking up at Her, and with Her eyes locked on mine, she slapped my left cheek first with Her right hand. It wasn't hard, but my dear Goddess it plummeted me into little space faster than anything else ever has. She repeated, the slaps slightly harder and I don't know if I moaned or I whimpered but I felt that I must have.

I could feel the heat rushing through me. This was something that made me feel so incredibly owned. She used Her left hand on my right cheek, then, alternating firm slaps. I could feel the warmth in my cheeks and it sent jolts down my spine and straight to my clit. I could have writhed for Her, I could have begged for Her. The feel of Her hands on my face in that way was something I would have never dreamed could have been so pleasurable. But it was... incredibly so.

I could feel the inside of me churning with desire for more, and for harder slaps. Neither of us want Her to mark or bruise my face, but I wanted more, so much more.... it was amazing.

Even reliving it by writing about it has me squirming in my seat. I can imagine all the ways She might employ this technique. I understand, though, the need for caution when it comes to context. It has to be very clear to us both that we are in a D/s space, that we both feel safe and know that it's not just coming out of the blue. It has to be very deliberate.

But it's amazing.

I have this fantasy now. I can see me under Her as She drives Her cock deep and hard into me, holding Herself inside me, pressed so hard that my vision is blurred and then the slow deliberate tug on the back of my hair as She makes sure I am looking up at Her, the whispered command to open my eyes, to look at Her, and the gentle touch of Her fingers as she brushes the hair out of my eyes, clearing the way.... and then two or three carefully delivered slaps to my face, and as the heat spreads along my cheeks, She drives hard and fast into me, pushing me to that edge and holding me there like She loves to do... over and over again....

Speculum

Syr and I went shopping last weekend. We were in an adult toy store designed for women.

Syr purchased a fabulous new cock we have aptly named Big Red. I have never felt anything that magnificent before in my entire life... it was amazing. But, I digress...

While we were in the store, we walked by a counter with several of these plastic disposable vaginal speculums on display. I started when I saw them and immediately had a very intense image run through my mind. Syr, ever observant, noticed my reaction and stopped me right there in the store and demanded that I write about my thoughts on this item as soon as possible.

I'd never even considered this item before in any context. I don't exactly have the most pleasant memories of annual (lately, every six months) visits to the gynecologist. However, when I saw this in that toy store, the image that popped into my mind was me, lying spread eagle, my wrists and ankles bound so that I could not move, my bottom propped up on a pillow and Syr, laying on Her tummy between my spread legs with a birds eye view of the most delicate part of me. I could see Her using this tool to open me wide for Her, to see what I looked like, inside my most secret self.

The image alone made my face so hot with blushing that I could barely stand it. And I realized that, for me, having Her look at me there is incredibly intimate, incredibly "edgey".

When I know She is looking at me there, I drop very deeply into subspace. I get so little I can hardly move, or talk, or breathe. I noticed a similar reaction in myself when She groomed me for the first time, trimming me to Her liking. It's incredibly intense and requires huge amounts of trust for me to lie there and give in to that, to Her being so close and seeing me that way.

I react the same when She uses Her mouth on me.

I think I have a lot of built in programming regarding the taboos of attention on that part of me. Sometimes, Syr will mention that She can smell me, my arousal, and I never know quite how to handle that. Part of me feels ashamed and embarrassed and self cosncious. Part of me feels some sort of thrill at Her talking about it. And part of me is terrified and wonders if She likes it when She can smell me. Does it excite Her?

There is a lot of that fear in Her looking at me, there. And the idea of the speculum, of not just seeing what She can see naturally, but of spreading me open and looking inside. *shiver* It feels dangerous and edgey and scary.

And yet, I imagine that even the action of Her fingers, spreading me open as She looked at me would produce the same effect.

Scary....

Edgey...

Thrilling?

Punishment Vs. Reward

Syr asked me to write about punishment vs. reward in a specific context.

She wanted to hear my thoughts on how the same physical activity (say, a spanking) gets a VERY different reaction out of me if it's a punishment, than it does if it's a reward or for pleasure specifically.

I'm not really sure how to explain it, except to say that for me, most of our dynamic: my submission, and Her Dominance is a psychological thing. It's not about the physical actions nearly as much as it is about the words, the touch, the interactions between us, even something so simple as a look. But it makes sense when you really think about it. It is so easy for Her to drop me with something so simple as a look or a touch, without any words spoken at all, without any obvious aggressive touch.

When I am misbehaving, She will often hook a finger into the sterling silver bracelet I wear on my wrist as a symbol of Her ownership. That action will drop me like a stone every time. It reminds me instantly of who I am. I am Hers.

The same theory can be applied to something such as a "spanking". For most, a spanking makes a poor punishment. After all, many of us are masochists and enjoy such attention, regardless of why it's happening. And yet, psychologically, if She is spanking me because I have broken a rule, messed up, etc, generally I do not enjoy it. I react to it as a punishment. I can say that there are elements of the sensation that are pleasurable, sure but in my head what consumes my thoughts is that I am being punished, and that over-rides much of the pleasure I would feel.

It's no different than any other thing you enjoy. If someone gives it to you because they want to treat you, you enjoy it, you feel good about it. But if the sentiment is different behind the giving, the pleasure is affected as well.

For myself, in my head, it is the physical repercussion of a rule broken, and that is how it "feels" on many many levels.

If I am being honest, I will admit that whether the action itself is reward or punishment, sometimes the 'attention' of the punishment is a positive thing. It reminds me that I am safe, loved, protected. Punishment, just like reward, reminds me that I am owned and cherished, but most of all, it reminds me that I am Hers.