We all have slow days, off days, and days we feel tired or uninspired, but they are nothing to concern yourself with. Like the ocean, the stillness is just another of our natural states. Soon, the winds will pick up, the waves will rise, and your imagination will flow again.
~Beau Taplin
*Photo Taken By: Me
*At the beginning of another 100-degree day
I knelt by the bed with my knees together and closed my eyes. It’s been a while since I practiced kneeling. It felt good to be back on my knees after so long, but the strain in my leg muscles started to hurt relatively quickly.
When I need to focus or not-think, I count. So, I started to count, fidgeting on my knees to find a way to lessen the ache on my thighs. I was at 40 when it hit me: It’s not about enduring kneeling for 5 minutes. It’s about meditating about serving Him and being held by Him. It’s about Him, feeling Him... feeling us.
I took a deep breath and the fidgeting stopped.
I let my mind wander about thoughts of Him.
I thought of His hand on my head, petting my soft, silky hair.
I thought of Him, circling around me and telling me all the things He wants me to be; all the things He needs me to be.
I thought of being of service to Him in so many different ways.
I thought of being used by Him.
I thought of how I could make Him happy and how happy I’ll be in return just by doing so.
I thought of His arms embracing me and His voice calling me “Mine”.
Suddenly, then the alarm went off. Five minutes had passed, so quickly. The spell was broken by the sound of the timer, and the pain in my calves and thighs returned. I opened my eyes and sat to the left on the carpet. Blood circulating through my muscles again. It felt good, my body shuddered… Isn’t it amazing when You connect with Your submission to the point where Your mind takes over the feelings of your body?
I lay down on the carpet and opened my knees wide. With my legs spread open, my thoughts returned to Him. I closed my eyes once more and I touched His soaking pussy until I came.
As the orgasm took over me, I whispered softly “Thank You, Sir. I adore kneeling before You. I love cumming for You.”
tiara-dreams~
“She’ll put her throat in your open hands and close her eyes. This is what trust looks like. Dip your fingers into her swollen mouth. Lean closer, breathe the words, you’ll fill her like this: ‘you are so beautiful and I’m going to put my hands everywhere.’”
— Azra Tabassum
She has several kisses......
The greeting kiss is perfunctory. You don't kiss a random stranger you meet on the street on the lips. It is set aside in some ways as a marker, reserved for the person you do nasty things with. Brothers and cousins and in-laws don't get the greeting kiss.
Honestly, she sometimes forgets both the greeting kiss and the greeting hug. The tool bag she was with before wasn't very touchy-feely. His fucking loss, trust me. I am going to angle in for a greeting hug and a greeting kiss whenever I can because she is hot, and she smells good, and her body is a goddam celebration of womanhood. And her lips are exquisite.
The neck kiss is intentional. She does not kiss my neck just because she likes kissing my neck. She has a hidden agenda. Or maybe not hidden. She is trying to turn me on. She's no dummy. That shit works. Superman has kryptonite. I have neck kisses. If I don't want to be distracted by a bulge in my crotch or a sudden insatiable urge to crush her up against the wall and rip her clothes off, I know how to keep her lips well away from my neck.
There is the making-out kiss. This isn't a binary thing, where one minute is zero and the next minute is a one. The making-out kiss is reciprocal and evolves over the course of a few seconds or maybe a few minutes. This is our lips talking to each other and coming to an agreement. Several questions are asked and answered. Are you too busy? Are you too distracted? Is your breath fresh enough? Are you still excited by me? Are you ready to ignore the rest of the world for a minute? This kiss may be proceeded by all manner of fuckery. Or it may be proceeded by nothing more than dilated pupils and somewhat accelerated heart rates and an unspoken agreement to continue this at a time in the hopefully near future.
Before I wrap up, I should talk about the climax kiss.
I'm a little reluctant to mention it. Let's be honest, she'll probably read this. And I don't want to point this kiss out, shed light on it, or make her in any way self-aware, or self-conscious. I don't want it to disappear due to my acknowledgment of its existence.
The climax kiss is like the making-out kiss, but unchained. Teeth accidentally clink together. Saliva goes from being present to being prevalent. There is panting and biting and licking mixed in, at random, without calculation or caution. She might grab my head and squash my face to hers. Or she might be busy clenching the sheets.
I would hate to pick a favorite, but my God those climax kisses. It's hard not to interpret at a primal level the desperate need baked into her kiss as meaning
"I want YOU."
"I need YOU."
"I can think of nothing but YOU."
"Please give me more of - give me all of - YOU."
And that's the part in my story where my secret slips out. That's where I get exposed. I've unintentionally reduced myself from the invincible narrator beyond reproach to a mere man - vulnerable, needy, and selfish.
My physical relief is important, but satisfying it pales in significance to satisfying her. Becoming everything to her, at least for that one moment. Taking her where I want her to go, pushing her out into that abyss, and then collapsing her down into the tiny crucible of her exhausted pleasure.
That last category of "kiss." The climax kiss serves as the manifestation of my secret, selfish success. It doesn't always happen, and it doesn't need to. But it sticks out in my mind as its own separate category.
I don’t compare her to others, because she has actually transcended what I thought intimacy could be. Like the difference between riding a roller coaster versus watching one on TV. But... I don't remember anything like that kiss before. It feels like ours, exclusively. Hers, really, but given to me. A byproduct (a creation?) of our togetherness.
~myhandsinherhair
We invest, we love, we fuck, we lose
Then hopefully
We learn, we move on.
Over and over, an endless repetitive cycle
It’s like some sorta perverse Groundhog Day.
We are given a Ferrari and treat it like it’s a Chevette.
We are sitting at the table of a five-star restaurant
But we’ve eaten in front of the tv or out of the pot over the stove
For so long we don’t know which fucking fork to use?
We rarely appreciate how amazing a gift is
How lucky we are in that very moment.
We truly never really know what we have until it is taken away
Or worse, when they decide to leave you...
Maybe it’s a subconscious form of masochism
Self-loathing doused in self-pity
But inherently, we ‘discarded folk’
Reflect back to when it all started
When it was good.
Happy.
We mutter introspective things like
“How the fuck did we get here?” or
“Why does this continually fucking happen to me?”
We sit there feeling sorry for ourselves
Licking our wounds and attempting to convince ourselves
We are better off, another door will open. I
Seeking that so-called silver lining.
You know, the one you manufacture to make your fuck less awful.
It’s the ‘we learn, we move’ part I continually struggle with.
You’d think I’d have a Ph.D. in relationships by now?
I should be touring the country and lecturing on the subject.
Book signings, tweeting helpful hints and
Have a permanent guest spot on Super Soul Sunday.
And yet, I don’t.
I’m not.
Instead, I am hunched over a dusty keyboard
Chicken pecking while my mind does mental gymnastics.
I’m one of the dumbest smart people I know.
Seriously I am a forty-something fucking toddler.
I’m the one everyone comes to seeking advice and yet I’m a never-ending dumpster fire.
Life can be a conniving asshat sometimes.
Too often, it feels as if I am putting together a puzzle without the box top.
Cluelessly pressing pieces together in hopes of miraculously seeing
The complete picture.
Nope.
Instead, I fumble.
Fail.
And then there was you.
Spoiler alert: I fucked up and… surprise surprise… I lost.
This is a life not Disney after all.
But this time it was sincerely different
I’ll save you the melodramatic lamenting and therapy catchphrases.
This time
(And yes, I know that those two words have been uttered before
And only time will tell if I’m full of shit)
The ‘we learn, we move on’ part is a priority.
Not an afterthought
Not a broken promise I’ll rationalize not fulfilling.
I’m tired of licking my wounds.
The next time I’m fortunate enough to sit behind the wheel of a high-end sports car
I’ll cherish it.
Now, I’m still not sure of placement but I do know this
The dinner fork is the bigger one
And my wine glass goes on the top right.
Right?
Regardless… that look of indifference in your eyes haunts me still.
A painful clarion call.
I think we are given a handful of Zen-like pivotal moments in our life.
The kind that Karma justifiably curb stomps you for ignoring.
So, with big boy pants and humility boxer briefs
I learn and I move on.
PS. The dinner fork is also referred to as the place fork, you savage.
~daily-esprit-descalier
There are three keywords in lifestyle. Three words that most everyone knows, and if they don’t… they should.
Safe. Sane. Consensual. (Never understood why that isn’t spelled consentual, as the actual correct spelling makes it look like it refers to a different topic, but I digress)
Now, the SSC mantra is a vital part of the community, and how we look after ourselves and others. Or at least it’s supposed to be. More and more, however, I have seen a rather disturbing trend, both in observation and interaction. It seems that safe and sane (particularly the latter) are becoming the proverbial redheaded stepchildren… and consensual has become the alpha and omega.
To be absolutely clear, I am not saying NO ONE pays attention to safe and sane. I am discussing a thing I see as becoming common; the unwillingness to even question whether something someone is doing is, in fact, NOT safe or sane. I see or hear regularly one remark that stands as the perfect example of what I’m talking about. Say a picture or video or whatnot is the topic of conversation. The activity within the said photo is ‘extreme’. Likely the first reaction, and most prevalent afterward?
“Well, she/he consented.”
That’s it. The two "S" words of SSC? Not even mentioned. ONLY consent. Now, the equally disturbing icing on this already disturbing cake? Any person who does question, say, the sane factor…? Is likely to be met with the vitriolic barrage of “DON’T JUDGE!” that is the new normal. As if the mere act of trying to discuss a concern or issue is some kind of treason. THAT is not sane.
How can we, as a community, claim to stand behind SSC if we discourage or outright eliminate the opportunity to scrutinize things in our midst? The fact of the matter is… consent matters, but absolutely no more than its siblings, safe and sane.
I have seen things that horrify me. I’m sure many of us have. But if I commit the offense of actually voicing my concerns, I am met with this weird, seething anger, and the word ‘consented’ is thrown at me from every direction. At what point did it become so wrong to try and make sure our fellow community members are safe and sound?
I do not claim to have the perfect solution, nor the perfect yardstick upon which to judge what is sane and what isn’t. But that isn’t why I’m writing this. I’m expressing what I feel is a valid and rational concern… that discourse is being squashed, opposition shouted down versus engaged with, and two foundational elements of this lifestyle are often being shoved aside in favor of only one… and that one is not the one that protects us from harm.
Dissent is not the enemy. Questions are not hateful things. And safe and sane…?
Matter.
-The Girl in the Woman
I adore the internet. It’s a way to connect effortlessly with people who share a part of my life so few know about. I’ve been able to learn and explore things that would otherwise have been difficult to come across. But the internet has done its fair share of harm too. It’s easy to get lost in the glamorous images and sexy stories posted, and before long the grass looks a whole lot greener on the neighbor’s side of the fence.
It’s a constant effort to remind myself that these are snapshots of people’s lives, not complete images. And they’re photo-shopped, carefully chosen, edited ones at that. I have to be vigilant to be sure I’m not fooled into believing everything I see. I need to constantly remind myself that what I see isn’t necessarily a reflection of what exists.
Not every woman practicing BDSM is a size 0.
D/s couples disagree. Sometimes they fight.
The people in those pictures suffer from depression, PTSD, and anxiety.
Not every sub is female, and not every Dom is male.
Sometimes shit happens. (Quite literally, if you enjoy anal.) Sometimes a position hurts, heads bang together, legs give out, or you end up roaring with laughter and not release.
Bondage doesn’t just happen. There’s preparation, safety precautions, and chaffing. Those don’t show in pictures.
Not every sub can deepthroat a 9-inch cock.
For that matter, not every man has a 9-inch cock. (Shocking, I know.)
People have bad days. Dom's cry. Subs forget and act out.
Whether or not you enjoy anal, or, humiliation or bruising isn’t what defines you…on either side of the slash.
There’s nothing wrong with being a Top, or a bottom, and not wanting that dynamic to leave the bedroom.
And, on that note, Dominance and submission are not about kinky sex. You can fuck in the dark in the missionary position, or not at for that matter, and still be in a power exchange relationship.
So, I will try to step back. I look at the photo of the woman, with the perfect hair and flat stomach, kneeling before a man with a pristine suit and a thousand-dollar watch on his wrist, and try to remind myself that the reality is better. The messy tearful days, the laughter over a queef at the wrong moment, the note left behind on a busy morning, and the run in a stocking on a soft chubby thigh… those things are perfect too.
~pleasurewhore
“Sex without connection gets old quickly. Affection without lust won’t work in the long run. Love without vulnerability is just temporary infatuation. What you have to do, what you should demand of yourself, is to find that person who you can’t wait to talk to about your day, who you can’t wait to make smile on gloomy nights, who you can’t wait to hear moan your name during a completely uninhibited release of desire. A lust-filled love. That’s what it’s all about.”
Copyright © Dirty Romantic - Tales of Love, Lust & Loss
* Star-Spangled Banner ~ Jimi Hendrix~ Live At Woodstock
* Rockin' In The Free World ~ Neil Young ~ Freedom
* American Baby ~ Dave Matthews Band ~ Stand Up
* American Girl ~ Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers ~ Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers
* Pink Houses ~ Jon Mellencamp ~ Uh-HUH
* Born In The USA ~ Bruce Springsteen ~ Born In The USA
* America the Beautiful ~ Ray Charles ~ Ray Charles Live 1972
* America ~ Simon & Garfunkel ~The Concert In Central Park
* American Pie ~ Don McLean ~ American Pie
* U.S Blues ~ Grateful Dead ~ Mars Hotel
America ~ Simon & Garfunkel
Let us be lovers, we'll marry our fortunes together
I've got some real estate here in my bag
So, we bought a pack of cigarettes and Mrs. Wagner's pies
And we walked off to look for America
Cathy, I said as we boarded a Greyhound in Pittsburgh
Michigan seems like a dream to me now
It took me four days to hitchhike from Saginaw
I've gone to look for America
Laughing on the bus, playing games with the faces
She said the man in the gabardine suit was a spy
I said, be careful, his bowtie is really a camera
Toss me a cigarette, I think there's one in my raincoat
We smoked the last one an hour ago
So, I looked at the scenery
She read her magazine
And the moon rose over an open field
Cathy, I'm lost, I said though I knew she was sleeping
And I'm empty and aching and I don't know why
Counting the cars on the New Jersey Turnpike
They've all come to look for America
All come to look for America
All come to look for America
Sometimes it is not easy. Sometimes it is not as natural as breathing. Sometimes submission can be an obstacle course, a field of abandoned land mines of accumulated life experiences and hurts. Sometimes the body or the mind betrays the will and prevents that which is most desired; surrender, freedom, humility.
Even with the right Dom, there can be scars of our past, bruises of our upbringing, or physical limitations that impede our ability to just let go, surrender, and be as our Dominant would have us. Yet it is these very obstacles and hurdles that a competent and caring Dominant will work patiently and persistently with their submissive to overcome or circumnavigate.
In peeling back, the layers of a submissive, a process of seeking and unveiling the true woman inside, a Dominant often stumbles into blocks and impediments to full submission; painful reminders, deeply rooted fears, skeletons in the closet that have been locked carefully away from view. Often the submissive is not even aware they have these tender spots and emotional blocks until they emerge, sometimes quite suddenly and violently. The digging that a Dominant does to unlock the beauty and full potential of a submissive can also let the demons out of their carefully constructed cages. It can be a painful process, but then all meaningful growth is.
A competent and compassionate Dominant will welcome these challenges as part of the process of enabling their submissive to be their best and most complete self. A caring Dom will not only expose the inner demons and obstacles but will take their submissive by the hand, gently and lovingly guiding them to a state of more complete submission, confidence, and trust. Ultimately, it is this process of recovery and growth that solidifies the bond between Dominant and submissive and leads to the state of absolute trust and adoration so often experienced in a healthy D/s relationship.
Being a loving Dominant is so much more than simply being commanding and playing kinky sex games. The role of a Dominant entails a level of responsibility and care that can only find its closest parallel in that of being a parent. A Dominant has the power not only to lead and command but also to help grow and mold another human being. But a Dominant also has the ability to crush and destroy another human being as well. It is an awesome power and frightful responsibility.
As Dominants, in our rummaging around the emotional closet that is our submissive we have a solemn responsibility to help heal the scars of the past that serve as blocks to their submission but above all, we must strive never to create new ones. We are to be an agent of healing not a bearer of further pain.
The greatest reward for both a Dominant and a submissive is the process by which they come together to fill each other’s voids, heal each other’s wounds, and become the most complete people they can possibly be. In so doing, together they become far greater than the sum of their individual parts and accomplish something truly magnificent in their relationship with one another. Done properly, the glue of the bond between Dominant and submissive is far stronger than the beings it holds together.
That is something worth working for.
Caption © For The Love of a Submissive
