Perception

Tension. I kneel on the bed,

My eyes kept firmly downcast,

As you lay out implements in a

line. Choose, you say. With

trembling finger, I point to the

flogger. Purple and black, soft

suede strands. A toy that can sting

or stroke. You give a small huff

of laughter, and remove the flogger

from the line up. I glance up,

surprised, and catch a glimpse at

your amused smirk before you raise

an unimpressed eyebrow. Eyes.

It’s a command, spat out with

displeasure. I don’t have permission

to look at you. I’m sorry, Sir. My

words are a mumble. A whisper.

You make me wait, leave the

Possibility of punishment

hovering for an endless moment,

then tell me, choose again. I

understand the game now, I think.

I point to the cane. My least

favorite of all of your tools. Two

more, you say. I pick the vampire

paddle – something new I haven’t

yet been brace enough to try – and

the dragon’s tongue, that I know

feels like fire. Good girl. I bask

in that for an instant before

the rest of the toys disappear.

Outmaneuvered. I should have

known: the rules can change.

I hear you chuckle as I keep my eyes

off your face and on my future.

My pulse thuds in my chest, and in

my cunt.

Have you done the work? I saw

these words on another profile

and thought, have I? The man

was uninteresting, but his words

rang in my head. Do I know myself?

I know that I'm strong, independent, 

and I know that I'm stronger and 

more independent when I'm afraid.

I know I yearn to hand the reins

to someone, but that I'm too scared

to fully do so. And I know why. 

I know the reasons that I crave

being in control and being 

controlled. I know what I'm looking 

for, and why I haven't found it.

I know all the pieces that make up

my kintsugi puzzle, but the razor

sharp fragments are just that. 

I understand what needs to be fixed,

but not what tools I need to fix it.

Have I done the work, or just

the research? 

Do you know what should

be at the top of every sub's list 

when it comes to qualities 

you're hoping for in a Dom?

Consistency. Consistent 

boundaries, so that the walls

of the cage you crawl into for

Their pleasure don't contract 

until you can't breathe, or fall

away until you feel there's 

nothing holding you together 

at all. Consistent control, so

you don't have to fear

mercurial moods that will send

you spiralling into self doubt

and self consciousness and 

self protection. Consistent

communication, so you aren't 

left wondering if they give

a shit at all. If they've gone 

off grid, or if they've gone

Casper. Forget spankings 

and sexy voices, muscles

and tattoos. The greatest

gift a Dom can offer you

is to know where you stand, 

and that the ground isn't about 

to disintegrate beneath your

feet.

Hands are an unappreciated beauty.

They can draw me to you, and they

can repel me, kill my interest dead.

I like rough hands. Strong. I love to

feel every moment of hard work

when you stroke your fingertips

over my skin, as you graze my nipples

and sent electricity through my

Body. I love the power I can

Surrender to when you fist my hair

and wrench my head back. When you

slide your hand around the delicate

column of my throat. Squeeze.

Hold. Let me quiver like prey caught

in a trap. I love the feel of your palm

gliding over my ass, a soft precursor

to the strikes that will leave my skin

a glorious shade of red. I love the thumb

you force into my mouth, to make

 absolutely sure you have my

complete attention. I love your hands.

All over my body. All over my soul.

Ennui. When passion,

eagerness and excitement lie

buried

beneath disappointment, dis-

satisfaction and despondency.

When you’re moving forward

on autopilot, reading messages,

posting pictures, and running

potentials through your little

checklist, but your eyes are

unseeing, your heart

unfeeling.

When you want to take a

break, come back fresh, but

that voice inside you whispers,

panicked, that you might miss

that illusive thing you’re seeking

if you take your eyes off the

prize, you finger off the pulse. But

truthfully, with your hope so

wounded and beaten, would you

even see it if it came

walking along?

Dominance verses domineering. Confidence

or arrogance. Master. Sir. Your Royal

McDomlipants. You hold the wheel, you

steer the boat. You set the course. Please,

though, remember. You prove yourself

to me as much as I prove myself to you.

Submission is a gift, you cannot take it.

You cannot demand it. It is mine to offer.

When you come to me with a vision

of who I will be - who I should be -

already in your head, you do not see me.

And I will be seen. Submissive does not

make me a shadow, a flower clinging to

the wall. When you think of only who

you will mold me into, you negate all that

is me. You are a wall, not a harbor, and

that give me no protectio.n from the storm