skip to main |
skip to sidebar
Take my dreams and take my mind
That were masterless as wind;
And "Master!" I shall say to you
Since you never asked me to.
From 'Because' by Sarah Teasdale
I've been feeling myself into a corner. I tried to turn it off, made myself weak-kneed with passion over the thought of hands and eyes. It wasn't enough, I couldn't disengage.
I can't continue to just feel, it's disarming. What am I without my walls?
They are back. In force. With their friends and extended family. It will take an army now.
You may. But I didn't.
Effortless denial. Willing. Eager.
I'm living in my skin today, not my head. It's liberating.
Arrogantly, I told him that I read of orgasm denial with disbelief. How would they find out? Why not lie? Hope hope hope that he heard the challenge, the unspoken request. Knowing that he did, but won't be led so easily.
Gritting my teeth and waiting my turn.
I don't go so willingly into this, he knows. I steer, or try. He waits me out like a cat.
If to become a slave is to renounce liberty, then does that not include renouncing the duties and morality of humanity? Not due to dissension but because conforming is no longer necessary.
The implication of slavery is that the individual who claims title is responsible for the well-being and care of that slave, as well as their actions and words. The slave merely follows instruction in return for being kept.
Am I too traditional? Too historical? I don't see much of that description in contemporary pseudo-sexual M/s behaviors.
“I squealed as he struck me for the second time, and then I heard myself shrieking as I had never done before, with my nails compulsively clawing and releasing the edge of the mattress, while he kept beating me unmercifully with the slow, steady, relentless rhythm which was the same as when he was taking possession of me; and my shrieks grew worse, he shifted his arm which lay across my shoulders and buried his hand in the nape of my neck and held my held down and held my face crushed against the bed, half choking my cries.”
My need is not for pain. My need is not for humiliation. My need is to have my emotions and mental state controlled to a point that I don’t struggle, or revel in the struggle. What I find most often is this costume of a lifestyle, or a latent infantilism in the games and desires professed by these men claiming to be Doms.
Yet I continue to bide my time here, surrounded by those who slip on a skin of submissiveness or domination with no thought of anything but sexual deviancy. And while I’m continually disappointed in the intelligence and sensibilities here, I have found a strange sense of family…a friendliness rarely encountered elsewhere. This, in and of itself, is enough to stay, enough to consider real-life acquaintanceships, enough to play for the sake of playing.
