Hidden In Plain Sight

She was sure it was over. She’d pushed Him too far. Like everyone, He would leave. She wanted to run far, far away. Her usual response. “I don’t need Him,” she thinks.

But this time she knows that’s not true. This time it’s different… and deep down in the gentle whispers of her heart, she knows she can’t believe that anymore. The thought of not belonging to Him makes it impossible to breathe. What will she do? The panic makes it impossible to think of anything beyond Him. Somewhere though, the stirrings of what she has been given on this journey from the beautiful souls who have nurtured and cared for her, begin to surface. “Be still.” “Wait.” “Allow yourself to be vulnerable.”

She realises that she wants to be tormented for Him… if He so wishes it to be.

‘Do you want me to crawl? I will crawl.’

She remembers the promise.

Obedience. Surrender.

Despite the pain in her heart and soul, she finds solace in knowing that this time will be different. This time she will not try to control the outcome. She will simply wait. She will continue to do her tasks, and she will continue to care for herself. This time, she is different. She is stronger. More wise. Ready.

She will keep her heart open.

Every fear her mind can conjure, rises to the surface. She examines and sits with them all. And she realises it’s ok. She will be ok. Her heart has broken before. She has walked this path before. Always slightly different, but the healing is the same. This time though, He has given her a gift that she can carry that is unlike any before. He brought her back to life.

She had fallen  in love with Him deeper than she ever had in her life. And He hadn’t just broken her. He had crushed her.

But she doesn’t think these thoughts with any hatred. It actually makes her love Him even more. Why?

Because He showed her that under the right circumstances she can truly come to life.

He showed her that with the right person, she could love far beyond what she had ever dreamed.

And He showed her that she could care so deeply that she was willing to give everything of herself.

She had never trusted that she could do any of these things.

So ultimately, He gave her the most precious gift anyone had ever given her.

He’d shown her that she’s not broken like she thought. He not only showed her that freedom actually does exist, but He set her free from herself. From the chains of her past, and from the chains of her mind. She knew that she could live the rest of her days knowing that even once, she did these things and felt it. Home. And even as her heart shatters at the loss of Him, that makes her the happiest she’s ever been.

“Thank You for that gift,” she thinks. “I will cherish it forever.”

Each day she tries not to ask if she can come to Him. And each day He tells her not to, crushing her a little more. Finally, after three days, He calls her to Him. Her heart sinks. She knows it’s to end things. She is just too much. And not enough. She failed at everything. She was too fat, too frigid, too moody, too demanding, too shy, too vanilla, too inexperienced… on and on it went. There was nothing she could offer that would rectify her behaviour. She is simply not enough.

“Do you need anything from me, Sir?” she had asked. A desperate attempt at being open and available to Him while her heart was breaking with the truth.

‘Come and clean my house while I nap, slave, and then we will talk.’

And then we will talk…

And then we will talk…

And then we will talk…

There it is.

As she drives there, her heart is beating so fast she can’t tell if she’s having a panic attack or not. He’s going to have her clean His house, and then dump her. No. Yes. No. Yes. It doesn’t matter… she will clean His house, and she will do so with integrity. The outcome is not hers to control. She will accept whatever comes.

When she arrives, she’s so nervous she can’t even meet His eyes. ‘The dog and I are going for a walk,’ He says. ‘You clean, we’ll talk when I’m back.’

Cleaning brings so much joy to her. It is one area she knows she did well in her service to Him. Maintaining and keeping His home. Just doing the tasks lifts her heart, so she focuses only on each movement.

He returns and calls to her. She climbs into the bed and snuggles into His arms… and waits. He speaks and she listens. He explains how angry He was. How He needed that space to reflect on how best to move forward. How He needed to find a punishment that would help her understand. A punishment? Something vaguely registers. The night He sent her home. The mention of her being punished. How could she have forgotten that? Her panic overrode any logic or understanding.

She speaks. He listens. He is astounded at how far she had gone. That demon mind of hers taking her to the worst case scenarios and convincing her of truths He’d not spoken.

And then here He was. Telling her His truth.

‘You are mine,’ He says.’ ‘I own you.’

She cries. Relief. Love. Adoration. Something in her let’s go and opens to Him. She feels the completeness of her surrender. All her fears fall away and she shows herself in all her vulnerability. And He loves her. And He wants her. And He Owns her.

There is nothing left. She knows this… feels it. There are no more barriers. Her anger is gone. Her fight is gone. She feels safe. He is the One.

have been on many an adventure.

why wait until there is no fear? why not just take them with me?

You…

have changed all of my truths. 

How do you tell a slave girl?

It’s not by the collar around her neck.

It’s by the callouses on her hands. 
The rough patches on her knees.

 The way she carries herself. 
The sparkle in her eye.

How do you tell a slave girl?

 It’s not by the pictures she posts on FetLife.

It’s by the certainty in her voice. 
The way she says His name.

The fullness in her heart. 
The stillness of her mind.

 How do you tell a slave girl?

 She will be the one with purpose. 
Sprinkling a trail of hope, everywhere she goes.

He read an interesting article about orgasm denial…

you can kiss your orgasms goodbye ? 

slave is a title of honour that You bestow upon me.
I will never feel worthy of that title…

but I will always work damn hard, without guilt, shame, or remorse, to earn it.

 ‘My mind begs you to ask it something so it can obey.
Do you want me to follow you for the rest of your days? I will do that.

Do you want me to crawl? I will crawl.

I will be quiet for you or sing for you,

or if you are hungry, let me bring you food,

or if you have thirst and nothing will quench it but Arabian wine, I will go to Araby,

even though it is across the world, and bring a bottle back for your lunch.

Anything there is that I can do for you, I will do for you;

anything there is that I cannot do, I will learn to do.’

‘I love that you’re so unapologetically you,’ He says.

She smiles. It’s so strange to hear that because she never feels secure in herself in this world. Always feeling like a misfit, like she doesn’t belong anywhere. Like she’s too soft for this world of sharp and jagged edges. But a part deep down inside understands what He means. She has accepted that she is simply as she is. Somehow she knows who she is… and has always known… despite what others, and the world have always tried to tell her. Sometimes she wonders if that knowing is what will prevent her from becoming the type of slave she desires to be. Then in moments of fleeting understanding, she realises that no, it’s because of that knowing that she recognises that this is the right path for her. How can she possibly walk any other path?

10 days it has taken to get from there to here. From an ending to a beginning. 10 days it took for Him to find her. And for her to love Him. 10 days for Him to become Home. Thinking back it seems impossible to measure their time together in days or hours or minutes. It just simply feels… ongoing. Everything she thought was insurmountable has become obsolete. Why did she fight so hard to hide? Why did she fight so hard to resist love? Why did she fight so hard to resist handing over control? Why was she so reluctant to trust? All of these things seem so ridiculous now. Falling away like leaves, she watches as they simply drift to the ground to lay scattered around her feet. She realises it is her heart that is in control. Both herself and her mind thought otherwise. But her heart knew. Her heart held all the cards. Sneaky heart.

Somehow, by some kind of miracle, He has brought her back to life, and she hadn’t even realised how much she had been dying. Sounds, colours, smiles, laughter, love, happiness… suddenly the greyness is gonefornow… like a fog that drifts in with the dawn and dissipates with the sunlight. His presence radiates into her soul and creates a prism of life that she can finally remember is how she reflects back into the world.

These marks she carries. This fullness of being used by Him. The way in which He owns her. His willingness to accept everything she has to give of herself. She hasn’t felt this beautiful, perhaps ever. This known.

‘I will never love you,’ He says. ‘But I will always keep you, my slave.’

She smiles, and her heart bursts with happiness.

She loves Him. It is enough for both of them.

‘You have a Home here.’

“Pardon, Sir?” she asks.

‘You have a Home here… with me,’ He says. ‘This can be your Home if you want it to be.’

For a moment she is confused. It came from nowhere, this sentiment. And then it clicks. He has just read her response on a platform. Ahhh. “Oh, You mean in response to my writing on that platform, Sir?”

He nods. ‘Yes.’

She smiles. “Thank You, Sir.” “It wasn’t written in the context of a “physical home” though, Sir.”

‘I understand,’ He says.

His look suggests that perhaps it is she who misunderstood. She realises He means within Him. She has a place in Him. Her heart flutters. This Man.

May you attract someone who speaks your language, so you don’t have to spend a lifetime translating your soul.

“When choosing between two evils, I always like to try the one I’ve never tried before.”

~Mae West~

It all began at our regular munch. Glancing briefly in my direction, he proceeded to explain how he had decided that he would like to explore the possibility of nailing someone’s breasts and hands to a table. So cheeky. He laid the bait. And he knew I would swallow it hook, line and sinker. Whilst everyone else shared their distaste at the thought, my curiosity perked up. An image began forming in my mind. I raised my head from my lazy afternoon slumber, basking in the sunshine on my towel, like a cat. 
Tell us more, I asked. He smiled. He knew he had me lol.

It’s not something I’ve ever done. However, the first time we played together, we recognised a kindred spirit in each other. His Sadism is the exact Sadism that my style of masochism absolutely adores. And it seems my style of masochism feeds his Beast. In all honesty, whenever we come together it feels like we’re little kids. There is a playfulness and curiosity that comes out for me with his style of play. A joy. He finds true joy in torture. And I find true joy in being tortured. We laugh. It’s fun! It feels like we’re going on an adventure together into the unknown… and we are. However, we are venturing in as informed, mindful, consensual adults.

As mentioned in my previous blog. From that moment, we began negotiating. I researched every way I could think how, to find any information that might be useful, and thankfully had some very wise contacts from my old community who I knew would be able to guide me well. He researched as well. Way more in-depth than I thought to. We came together frequently to check in and “compare notes.” Also to determine that we were moving towards being on the same page (literally- with a document typed up that we would sign on the day).

And so it happened. We were ready. I rocked up on their doorstep with my aftercare bag of goodies, we sat down and had a catch up and chit chat, signed our contract… and then the fun began!

There is nothing in this world more satisfying than having something turn out better than you hope. The joy in finding people who find pleasure in the same things as myself is just inexplicably intoxicating. An afternoon of laughter as he proceeded to nail me to a table, one nail at a time, checking in with each and every one, that I wanted to continue.

I don’t go into subspace when I experience pain. I become super alert. Super focused. Hyper. High. My heart bursts with happiness. It’s moments like this that I do believe I’m a masochist. Or perhaps, one in the making. It’s this type of play that brings me to life. 
Creative torture. I feel so guilty saying that “out loud.” However, my body truly never feels more beautiful than when it’s bearing the marks of a Sadist. I looked down at my breasts and for the first time ever they looked truly beautiful to me. Droplets of blood. Puncture wounds. I couldn’t stop staring at the holes between my fingers. Mesmerised. 
Had I really, truly just endured having nails hammered through there? 
Such subtle, beautiful marks, that no one knows are there but me. I love them. I feel most me right now, in this body that allows me this gift to both give and receive. It has been way too long.

*does happy dance*