Memoir of a Submissive

 I have been a coward.

Hiding amidst the shadows of fear, ducking behind the solid trunks of insecurity.

The dark of this forest will cover me, I thought.

But therein were the lion roars of doubt, the tiger stripes I could not change, and the oh my’s of judgement.

If only  courage had been mine.

I have been brainless.

Choosing by not arriving at a choice, making decisions while indecisive, going both ways at the same time,

Never acknowledging  I was hanging  myself in a field for all to peck away.

I have been heartless.

Shutting  the open door of my soul, trying to protect, I have stifled that which pumps the lifeblood of joy and ecstasy, until my joints squeaked with disuse.

Now, I want my heart to race, to run ahead of me, to reach a sparkling city of emerald possibilities.

Now, I will be an adventurer in a fairy tale land, armed with courage, brains, and heart, knowing that, as another Good Witch once said, the power was always mine…

I just had to learn it for myself.

Rope, you are an interesting and beguiling temptation…

I wanted to love you as others do,

those who love the bite of jute, the silky kiss of nylon, or the intricacy of time-consuming knots.

But you had other ideas.

This affair would not be under my control.

You romanced me from afar, showing me all the possibilities of your infinite creativity in the hands of sensual riggers.

You touched my skin, in endless circles, pressing into tender flesh, leaving your mark long after the unraveling reveal.

You took me to a place of defenseless dependency on the skill of the Master.

You freed me,

Just by taking me captive.

Taken 3/3/18

A thirst that dwells where no one is privy to see

It gnaws away at the core of the independent, accomplished her she presents to the world

But never will she let it go.

She cannot.

It is part of her, also.

The thirst comes upon her in moments of doubt, of heat, of desire.

A wondering if the best days are behind her

A fire that destroys and refines everything in its path

A need that seems insatiable

She believed the lie that she must create a way for herself

That she must carry all of her secrets alone, never leaning on One so strong

Like Living Water He came to her

Quenching her every cry for “More.”

Bet you didn't know that it was Haiku Tuesday, either. ;)

Cold stone, unyielding

Against my back, only You

Fill my sight alone

 ++++++++++++++

Wrapped in a tangle

Sheets form a billowy sea

Upon which we sail

+++++++++++++++

My skin, Your canvas

Painted with delicious pain

Marked for only You

Bet you didn't know it was Haiku Monday......

Gentle nips of teeth

Caress my begging skin

Devouring my soul

**************************

Leave nothing undone

Cover every inch of me

With delicious You

*************************

Hands spank and raise red

No need for thoughts beyond Now

Your knee, my sweet throne

In response to a friend's suggestions, I offer the following. I am always so grateful and honored when folks trust me with their thoughts.

May it bring a smile to you, and speed you Home.

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Life begins with a touch.

Just as the finger of God stretched out in the creation of Adam on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel,

we reach, we hope, we need to connect.

Just as that chasm existed between Heaven and Earth, so there is a sacred space between you and me.

It is a place of possibility, of hope, and yes, even sometimes, fear.

If I touch you, I run the risk.

 I dare to believe that you will reach back.

We know touch for the sensation that is ever-present in our viciously delicate world.

A touch remind us of our roles, whether it be by possessing the decision

 or by yielding, no matter what the cost.

It can be insistent, rough, perhaps, in order to instill a deep ownership.

Or it can be practically reverent.

A touch which breathes into my bruised soul, reminding me again that life is not yet completely written.

 As fingers trace delicate paths from nape to spine, I trust once more that this touch will bring me to that place apart from me, to you, to us.

As arms cuddle me close in the night, the fears of the unknown future fade into a soft haven for my weariness.

And I am Home, once more.

With much love to Sir- You are my forever Valentine. What fun there is to come!:)

And with thanks to Order of E for the inspiring list in his most recent blogpost- so many goodies, I couldn't pick just one. I knew you'd understand.

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Some empty, discarded objects scream to tell their story.

An uncorked bottle of a heady Cabernet.

The cellophane ripped from a package of lace-topped thigh highs.

An enormous, heart-shaped box of Valentine’s Day chocolates, now devoid of any confections.

Pleasures savored, gasps of delight, pleading-eyed looks, now only the things of memory, brought to mind by the concrete evidence left behind.

But what delicious memories they are!

You want me to bend over what?

The stepladder, Sweetheart.

The one i use to stand on to clean above the cabinents?

Yes, Dear.

And what’s that tool belt contain, Sir?

Some lovely fun for both of us.

Oh i see, now.

Some items from real life bringing me so far beyond it, that my mind is at war with itself.

Do i let my thoughts drift to the mundane, stay in my role of keeper of all things, and work myself into an endless loop of responsibility as i see these things pulled from our daily existence?

Or do i allow Him to lightly, then insistently brush the sensitive soles of my feet, my waist, with the barbecue brush until i am a quivering, giggling, well-tickled mess?

 Or shall i offer Him an indelicate, commanded position, ass up high, presented for the gentle, then demanding whacks of a wooden ruler?

 Or do i savor every nibble of red, rich licorice after He has wickedly lashed my nipples with the Twizzlers, taken from the emergency candy drawer, never once giving thought to calories?

Take a look at the passionate, crime-scene evidence strewn about the bedroom.

What do you think?

With great thanks to TR0608 for his kind suggestions. I hope I did your imaginings proud.

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Her secret was always with her.

It was a part of her, not something she simply carried as Sisyphus did. No, her burden never rolled back down the hill, allowing her to breathe, if only for a moment.  It simply stayed, forever a curse to be endured.

She knew she would always hide herself away, away from eyes who would judge, at best. Her urgent thoughts told her to continually cover up, deflect attention, and hope those who would seek to destroy her, would find something else to captivate them.

As she grew, she found a world- a place of magic and possibility, where what is and what was, sensuously danced. Amidst the costumes of a time long ago, was her safety. Here, her cursed, perfectly green skin could remain hidden from view.

And here her gift could be shared.

As removed and separate from others as her skin made her, that’s as intimate as was her gift of understanding.  At least that‘s what she came to call it. She simply understood what burned deeply within people- what made them weep, remember, dream and desire. She knew them, even when not a word was ever spoken.

She used her gift to become a part of that medieval world, offering keen insights to those seeking answers about their unhidden lives. As they sat before her, placing their hands in hers, many remarked about the excellence of her makeup. She never corrected a single one. It allowed her for a moment to imagine a life where her secret could be washed away at the end of the day.

On an early summer day, one ripe with possibility, she saw him stride across the field with determination, as was his custom. His was a gentle spirit yet there was something else- an air of authority which always surrounded him. It made her want to yield to him, something that both frightened and intrigued this soul who had survived for so long by simply being alone.

He was a man who guided others, who led by example, drawing everyone’s talents together to transform a field of the twenty-first century into a space where medieval dreams could flourish. She had found her own place there, hiding in plain sight.

He had come for a reading at the very end of the first day. She knew he was concerned about any number of details, for, of course, she knew most everything. But there was something else, brewing just below the surface.

It was energy, rolling off of him in waves that reached her long before his feet carried him nearer. It was an almost deafening mixture of need, passion, and an overreaching control, that she had seldom encountered in her journey. Usually those awash in that much desire were beyond reason, but not him. He dominated it, not the other way around.

And she was on fire.

She found some way to keep her emotions from surfacing and betraying her, as she softly spoke and asked him to be seated.

He did with a slow, courteous nod, as his hands slipped warmly into hers, and his words acknowledged her gift and his own searching.

His thoughts were anything but lost, though.

No, she could see into him, and what she knew made her heart race, and her soul bow.

She saw them together.

She knelt before him, her head lowered, gaze averted. Her hands, upturned, rested upon her naked, spread thighs. She could see matching cuffs on her tiny wrists.

He circled her, delicately trailing a single finger across collarbone, shoulder, back, shoulder, making infinite contact with that skin she had hidden from all.

He returned to face her, offering her his hand as an invitation to stand. He walked her over to an exposed brick wall, where dual chains dangled down. He affixed her cuffs and instructed her to place her hands above her head, upon the wall.

He whispered into her ear to arch her back as he traced each vertebra, his breath warm against her exposed skin. He ran his hand down her side, over the swell of her hip, and gently cupped her right buttock as he pressed himself to her. He whispered how beautiful her skin was, how he had longed to touch her, and how if he said she was lovely she must believe him. Over and over he repeated the words of “beautiful” and “believe” until she obeyed.

He told her that he was going to step back a bit, but that she must hold as she was right now- trusting, yielding, and believing.

She heard him pick up the triple single tail from where he had shown it to her earlier and she waited in delicious agony as moments seemed suddenly eternal. 

Then, there, it was slicing through the air around her, cutting away her fears, and quickly licking at her flesh before returning to him.

 Again.

And then once more.

He closed the distance between them, covering her back with gentle, whispering touches, wrapping  his arm around her front, holding her shoulders tightly, steadying her, and asking if she wanted more.

Yes, Sir, was her gasping reply.

He loved her well with his whip, then gathered her to himself.

She was safe, she was home.

Finally, in her own skin.

Hello Friends!

Well, I knew it would happen.

When I began writing across the 128 Slave Rules, I knew there would come a day when I would reach the end of the rules that pertained to our dynamic. While I respect the rest of the rules for others far and wide, I currently do not have experience with them. Attempting to write about them would be somehow false.

I still love working words together, however, to create something that connects with all of you. So here's what I'm proposing:

Let me be your storyteller. Either through email or Bond, please send me some random items/themes that could be challenging to work together, but have the exciting possibility of turning into a fascinating, kinky, sensual tale.

I will do my very best to create something new for us all to enjoy, and I thank you for the opportunity to do so.

With appreciation for your beautiful minds and hearts,

Felicia

PS-Please repect my limits as listed in my profile. I will never incorporate anything of an illegal or abusive nature in my writing, so do not even think of going there.

A refuge.

A retreat from the never-ending list.

You know the one.

The soul-sucking, mind-numbing, self-denying

Fucking list.

There, i do not have to think, reason, decide or be anything less

Than a bundle of sensation and desire,

Waiting for His touch or mine as He directs.

i can rest from the barking of my thoughts, the hounds of demand, always nipping at my weakness.

i can be weak, yet infinitely wild.

Caged,

Yet free.

Rule 55: i want the cage to be my safe haven from my fears, a place i can crawl into of my own free will, locked into it because Master granted my request to be locked in it.