Memoir of a Submissive

The planks were fitted together in a commanding “X”.

While it stood in a corner of the loft, it demanded the attention of all who passed by, who searched for the next vision of pleasure and pain.

They could look from below, eyes to the heavens that resided just above them or they could take the more courageous steps to draw nearer.

And when they did, they could sit comfortably, settling in to see one who was anything but comfortable.

He stretched my arms up, up to the fasteners at either side of the top pieces, and my skin made contact with the unyielding wood.

As my body pressed ever closer to the cross, He commanded me to spread my legs.

As each ankle was affixed, my bondage was complete.

A strange thought entered my mind…about a Savior, a martyr.

i had been taught that it wasn’t the nails or any other restraint that held the Sacred Soul there…it was Love.

And i was reminded that it was indeed true.

 For me, too.

Rule 44: i shall never think of myself as a weak person for it takes a strong female to commit to the drive inside me, to serve, to obey and to please a Master. i too have responsibilities and as natural as they may seem to me it is important that i use all of my faculties including my creative spirit to submit to a Master in a unique fashion personal to my relationship with Him.

Red hair aflame with shine and style.

Sparking green eyes made up just so.

Lips, stained a deep crimson, lined and glossed.

Breasts displayed atop a tightly bound corset.

Tiny, black lace panties, with matching garter belt.

Thigh-high black seamed stockings affixed, sheathing long, long legs.

Five- inch stilettos.

Nothing out of place, yet nothing quite right.

Until the  moment i kneel.

Rule 43: my “place” is on my knees before my Master, for it is a privilege and honor to be His slave.

They burned at the corners of my eyes.

Taunting me, taking me to a place of weakness, reminding me of hidden, shameful times-

 the tears threatened to undo me.

Lesser hands, jagged-edged words, and an aloneness beyond explanation had created a solitary confinement at the bottom of a briny sea.

Tears were my one allowance, an acknowledgement of how broken my soul had become.

Sometimes a single seepage, wiped away instantly in defiant haste.

Other times, a torrential storm, where no shelter was ever enough.

These salty droplets were my white-flagged surrender to frailty.

And they terrified me.

Yet.

He took me to wide open spaces, without a shoreline in sight, where we played according to new rules.

Pain was at the end of His will- He controlled it, directed it, and contained it.

My tears would come, but they were now His.

Saltwater redeemed as the waters of baptism,

blessing and making all things new.

Rule 42: Crying and the shedding of tears at any time is good and expected for it softens my will and bonds me closer to my Master.

There once was a Present.

A beautiful Treasure, wrapped in swirls of silver and gold.

Given with the greatest of ceremony to the One who already owned what the Gift contained.

He had possessed it long before He held it in His hands.

He had spent every moment of every day for the last three decades earning the title which rested easily upon His shoulders.

Master.

The Gift was a response, an acknowledgement of His integrity, His trustworthiness, His very nature working itself out in the minutiae of life.

i can give Him no greater fortune, than this simple, yet profound Respect.

It will direct all of my actions, all of my speech, all of my thoughts.

In His presence or away, He deserves nothing less.

Rule 41: i must never show disrespect towards my Master in any way – no matter where i am – in his presence or not.

The Father of Lies is one crafty Bastard.

He whispers….

Hold tightly to what you believe you cannot live without.

Be the one who decides every next step.

Control every reaction, every outcome, every moment.

Trust no one.

Guard your heart.

All of these seem designed to be in my best interest, all meant to protect and cocoon my fragile soul.

 But i am frail no longer.

The Liar wasn’t counting on Master turning it all upside down.

Hold every treasure in an open hand, for then it can never be crushed by fear of losing.

Put your steps under His control, His map is sure and will always lead you Home.

Surrender control and watch every reaction, every outcome, and every moment become precious.

Trust in at least One, He who is the Lover of your soul.

Give your heart.

And be free.

Rule 40: i will give all that i am to my Master in order to become free.

The mirror has never been my friend.

The reflection has surely changed over the years, but i am forever and still faced with me.

A little broken, a little lost, a lot of sparkle and shine to distract the casual passerby. Talking in circles like a Mad Hatter, all to deflect any who sought to get too close.

But i know the truth.

i have run after Queen-of-Heart voices of approval, cheap substitutes for shalom.

i thought the answers were found in independence, as a fearless tumbler down the rabbit hole of ME. Only i found myself scratched by sharpened roots of my own criticisms, diatribes against my own visage.

Until He took me through the looking glass.

Bound, lashed, taken again and again by His insistent passion, i found myself not taken below but lifted high as i knelt.

In the reflection of His gaze, i see myself perhaps for the first time.

A maiden in Wonderland, i serve, bow, and embrace the submissive i have been all along.

Rule 39: Only through submission can i find my true self.

There was a fire, so long ago, that i knew burned slow and steady below the surface of my virginal existence. i had awakened it myself with stolen touches alone in the dark.

 A languid circling of my clit, a cupping of a newly full breast, a caress with thoughts of what it would mean to keep taking it further.

An insistent stroking of the delicate folds , a finger probing at the sensitive opening, pushing into the warm, wet sacred spot.

 Mama said those touches were evil, and so i tried to stop.

The shame, the guilt, the fear of what this meant for my eternal soul, kept my hands still.

For a time.

His hands were better.

He took everything He wanted and i so desperately needed. He was only gentle when He decided and my body and mind and heart flourished under His ministrations.

He said His touch is to be my only one,though.

My fingers, hands, and toys are His to control and put to task as He sees fit. My will is His to direct.

Why would i want less than His attention? What could secret, self-touches bring me except a torrent of old tapes telling me what a bad girl i am, how unworthy i am of Divine Love because of my lack of self- control?

No, He spares me that and more. If He wants me to enjoy the lifetime of sensual, personal knowledge residing in my own touch, He allows it. It is only for my pleasure and His eyes.

To rest in His control is my peace.

Rule 38: i will never touch my breasts, nipples, pussy or clit with my hands or sex toys in any manner where i could experience sexual or sensual pleasure without permission from my Master including washing them, shaving my pussy, adjusting my breasts as i fit them into clothing, or in attaching my rings.

i used to fear the cuff.

Wrapped snugly around my wrists, ankles, it held me there, shackled to His bed, like a maiden lashed to the mast of a ship on a stormy night.

Unable to move my arms to embrace Him, unable to bring my legs up to wrap around His waist, i could do nothing i had learned in vanilla life to control the situation.

It was as if He knew.

Knew that i had controlled things for far too long, tweaking conversation here, adjusting reactions there. i was a master tinker, creating the relationship of my dreams.

Until it wasn’t.

i was adrift, bobbing along on a sea of self-sufficiency, tempest-tossed, and my controlling ways were unable to steer me to shore.

He set the course, set it sure. With cuffs, rope, and spreaders, He restrained and freed me, gathered me to Himself, and made me a fearless Voyager.

And the waters became as crystal, and i found my way amidst the waves to a New Land.

Rule 36: In bondage i am made free.

The shiny penny had a first drop placed upon it. And then a second. And then another, another, and an almost last one, until a transparent, quivering dome covered the surface of the coin.

It was an experiment in prediction- just how much was too much? What was the precise count before all Hell broke loose?

Or better yet, until Heaven did?

He brings me there again, and again. The lashes at first a reminder of my place, a soothing whoosh, followed by a strike and a gasp- the beautiful cycle of promise, pleasure, peace.

 And then another, another, until one last gift falls upon my tender flesh.

He pauses. Checks in with me, His transparent and quivering one.

More, please, Sir, is all i can say, all i want to say.

For today, it is not too much.

Rule 36:    i will work on building up my tolerances to the level my Master needs me to have, being careful not to push myself further or faster than i am ready to endure for Him, so that i may be able to expand my limitations and increase my value to Him.

The wall took long to build.

Each stone firmly set in place- next to, on top of, the one before. The mortar between each was a thick miasma of fear, loathing, and cowering.

Every rock was my defense, a shield between my almighty self and all that could be.

And oh! How it towered!

i could only see the side that walled me in, keeping me “safe”- its grayness never fading, solid in its stubbornness to simply be. My hands would touch all of the limits contained in the hard surface, and be reassured that this was “good”. This was all i needed. The cold rocks were my companion in the land of what i thought i could handle.

Until one day, a tiny bit of warmth seeped through.

My fingertips were strangely sensing another world on the other side. It was one of fire, sensation, and promise. My long-held weakness could not do the Herculean task of dismantling what stood between me and such scarlet heat.

But His flogger took down a brick here.

And His paddle removed a boulder there.

Until all that remained was my strong- frail self , held close and warm, amidst the ruins of what once was.

Rule 35: my limits do not have to be forever – i trust my Master to take me past them when He expects that i am ready – for each side of the wall of my limitations is both pleasurable and a challenge – one side more intense than the other. My only hope in such transferences is that Master will be able to take me there again and again as my relationship to Him progresses through time; that He too will need it as much as i will, and that He will not be afraid to increase the intensity while we are there.