Kinking It Real

So vivid, so intense that the emotion of it still swells in my chest. I awoke this morning from a dream so wonderful I nearly want to cry, knowing that it’s not my current reality. 

The dream: I had been dolled up, intending to spend the day doing activities although dream-me had a tiredness that could be felt even through the slumbering haze of dreamland. As I return home Daddy is there. Sitting on the couch, head leaned back, resting carelessly. His lap is inviting, calling to my weary bones to rest, the way a patch of light beckons a sleepy kitten. I seemed to have been trying to keep quiet, tip toeing my stocking covered feet across the floor. He whispers, His presence alone was enough and He knew it. “Sneaky little girly, what are you up to”. Dream me is raw, emotional, nearly coming undone at the sound of His voice. He looks at me. Eyes a deep, deep brown, nearly black, yet so expressive. His jaw ripples with tension as He scans from toes finally up to my gaze. Something in my posture or gaze alerts Him to what I must need, what I crave with every ache in my body. His strong hands pat His lap, veins shifting as He flexes and moves. My steps lead me to my goal and I settle into His lap, my perfect seat. He wraps big arms around me and His breath washes over me as He breathes a single phrase that is my undoing, “Relax, I’ve got you.”

Daddy didn’t look like any one man per se. But someone powerful and comfortable leading, sure of Himself and abilities. I don’t know if dreams come true but I really hope this one does. I’m tired, a weariness that has settled into every part of me and made a home. My body is where tiredness lives. I desperately need to relinquish this weight and rest.

Recently I’ve been finding myself having more and more urges to speed along this process. 

I’ve been hunting for a Dom for what seems like the better half of this year. I’ve also been taking efforts to have more discipline with myself in this process. 

More often than not, I’m approached by pseudo Dom/mes or people who just want to fuck, passing off their rough vanilla tendencies as kink exploration. I find myself becoming frustrated and a bit hopeless. 

I have been reinforcing my patience with avid yoga and mindfulness. Mindfulness of how I carry myself:general upkeep, self care, style of clothes, career, and health. I’m more intentional when I speak or engage in any activity or with any person. It is refreshing. I’ve come to realize although much easier and less taxing to my mentality to have someone lead me in these areas as well as other aspects of life, I’m more than capable. There’s something satisfying about that. 

Although I am becoming restless, these increasing urges have been tamed a little while longer yet. The current tamer: vinyasa flows and trying new foods!

As I lay drifting to sleep last night, I constantly thought of my ideal Dom. I’ve settled on the idea I’d like it to be someone physically bigger than me. Tall, powerful in appearance. It helps to draw out the submission I hesitate to show. Typically, I am meek but independent, powerful in my own right. 

But not this time. As I said, while drifting off to sleep I held in my mind qualities my desired Dom would have. He is tall, fit, full sleeve tattoos for some reason. Tattoos are hot to me but I didn’t think my mind would create this seemingly 6’8 dark brooding eyes, lips full of sin, with the physique of a dedicated athlete. Let me tell you how he acts in my dreams.

The scenario begins at dinner with friends. My head is slightly down eyes looking up at him through full lashes across the table. He’s devouring me hungrily with his eyes, tongue darting across his lips greedily. His eyes are dark with hunger, seemingly growing darker still, like two black flames threatening to engulf me whole. I’m squirming in my chair helplessly, he knows he’s making me restless. Our food arrives and he feeds me off his plate insisting I have a bite before eating my own, a power play, all the while talking with the other couple there with us. My mind simply registers other people at the table with us and yet I can barely gather my wits to respond to their conversation. I can feel their gaze on occasion, quietly meeting it with a shy smile. They don’t capture my attention it seems the way this man does, and he knows. He beckons me to sit next to him as the other couple excuses themselves. To where, I know not and I simply don’t care. I’m enraptured by this predator who clearly wants to devour me. He feeds me again, this time taking the steak he’s eloquently cut from the tip of the fork, caressing my chin running his finger across my lips, he beckons me to open my mouth, his thumb and forefinger holding my chin as he feeds me, his eyes locked on my lips as I chew. I can’t help but to feel a warm pool of desire. He holds his fingers up and prompts me to clean the juices off with one word “lick”. I greedily oblige. My eyes on his as I run my tongue over his index and middle finger, shyly at first but I’ve become emboldened by his fiery gaze. My head is swimming and those few moments felt like an eternity. I can’t help feel my cheeks burning with desire and my lips part, about to plead to be taken to the bathroom and relieved, something anything.

But I guess my brain is just as hungry as my body cus the dream shifts and now we are in a bed. Crimson silk sheets caressing my skin as he runs his eyes over every inch of me. I’m bound, my wrists in cuffs together as he holds them above my head. He needs only one hand to over power me. He knows it, smiling smugly and it only makes him sexier. He spreads my legs slowly giving one command yet again “be still, let me taste you” and he devours me. His lips kiss mine, whispering sweet nothings as he parts them slowly, urging forward my warm essence to coat his tongue. And I open for him, with a sigh effortlessly. His tongue swirls round my clit and he wraps his lips around my cookie and eats like it’s his last meal. The sounds he makes while feasting should make me embarrassed but I feel more bold, empowered by the fact that he is enjoying himself so immensely on just the taste of me alone. I decide to push my luck, rocking my hips, and his hands tighten around my hips and he moans and growls. When his eyes look up at me, and our gazes lock, his blatant desire sends a bolt of heat down my spine and straight to my clit. A pulsing orgasm rolls over me and I arch my back, and yet he doesn’t stop. He sucks and licks until I’m twisting to get away and he comes up, smiling pleased with himself as he stares at the tears on my cheeks and haziness in my eyes. He picks up my limp body, situating himself under me and pulling me into his lap. I can feel his desire, like an anaconda pressed firmly against the heat of my own desire. We won’t be needing lube, his tongue has done all the work. He holds me close, rubbing my back comforting me so I don’t fall off the deep end. He flexes his hips occasionally, taking pleasure in my gasps and whimpers when his girth teases against my slit. I want him, I need him to stretch me, fill me up, fuck me rough, own me. He knows it too, smirking to himself. “Beg me for it” he taunts me. “You know how to ask for things you want right pretty girl” his words wash over me only making it harder to not fall off that deep end. I know what he’s doing, pushing me closer to subspace, words can ignite my urges and mind far more than a rough fucking ever could. “Say the words baby, to let me know how and where you want it” I’m nearly about to beg, but the brat in me holds out. “I want to feel your pussy squeeze me and your cum to drop down my cock, are you really going to make me wait princess” I cave. I love that pet name and I want to feel him stretch me out as much as he does. “ fuck me please Daddy. I need it, I need to feel you pushing into me, your cock pulsing with hunger for me” he thrusts into me, a wild look in his eyes before he sinks his teeth into my neck. Devouring my entire being. He loses himself in me, moaning in my ear “such a good slut” “you’re taking me so well princess” “your pussy feels amazing my good girl” I melt into his touch feeling my orgasm building again. He feels it too, my pussy pulling around him, he smiles, the predator in him coming alive. He pulls out, instructs me to get on my knees, face down ass up. He watches me the entire time only looking away to grab something from beside to bed. He drives into me from behind and presses whatever he grabs against my clit. Instant orgasm, I’m not sure if that’s what a forced orgasm is but it was damn close if not. With his arm wrapped around my neck holding me close against his body he rails me, mercilessly endlessly. Stimulating my clit as well. I’m a moaning dribbling mess, only capable of moaning and begging at this point. Yet he keeps going. 

I come undone with a shuddering orgasm joining with his. His warm delicious cum filling me up, making me feel so good full, content. He’s rubbing my stomach kissing my cheek and shoulder. As I “pass out” in my dream I awake in real life. Warmth pooling in my tummy and a slick wetness built up between my thighs. My desire knows no bounds it seems.

Mind you, I don’t know any 6’8 men with tattoos even though I’d like to 😭

I woke this morning with a hollowness in my chest. An ache so deep, it leaves behind physical pain. I crave the affection and attention of a solid dynamic. I hunger for it. The knowledge I’ve gained makes me ever so grateful albeit a bit bitter. With this endless plethora of knowledge that flows into me, I’m painfully aware of the standards that must be set and met when finding any partner who actually not just plays their role, but lives it, and authentically at that. Not fakes or instadoms (which I refused to capitalize since not only are they dangerous but deserve no respect) there are plenty of those. I mean the affection of a genuine Dom, a real Leader. No long fancy writing, just a deep hunger that grows by the day. 

As I sit with myself each day, time passing as it so does. I can feel it. This….longing. Like a deep, pulsing hunger. I’ve been giving myself daily tasks, chores set in place to allow me to challenge myself. As I accomplish each task I set before myself, I find myself still feeling unfulfilled. It wasn’t until last night that I realized….Im holding in my submission. 

Like a breath you hold to stop the hiccups, I’m holding in my trust. Keeping the reigns of my submission close to my heart so as not to stumble into a dynamic that snatches my breathe without consent and leaves me bruised and aching in a less than ideal way.

What I failed to realize was how heavy it can get. Shoutout to Doms for carrying it in such an effortless seeming fashion. I hunger to be devoured. I want to prey, to be desired so deeply that they become predator. 

The longing is eating at me!

I wanted to return not with a bang…but a whimper.

I’ve been very calloused with myself lately. Harboring a lot of tensions, stress, and somehow grief. No one has passed away, well except a part of me. I tried to kill off a piece of me that I constantly am reminded that I cannot live without. Tonight was my first shadow session addressing not just childhood trauma and past workings…but my incessant need to hide when emotional. Today I sat with it. Then allowed myself to be affirmed. Then I wrote, well typed. I am going to be doing a lot of work moving forward. But I somehow feel more ready. I’d like to start with sharing my thoughts I pondered today. Not for validation, or anything of that nature. I’ve searched for that long enough, it’s time to give it to myself. No, I’d like to share so that just in case someone else feels this way. Maybe someone else is struggling with these realizations. Hopefully, there are those who can also offer GENUINE insight. 

Surrender

I have been holding this anger

An anger I didn’t know plagued me until the moment I felt moved to write this.

I’ve been running

Running away from things I didn’t realize were begging to be recognized, accepted.

Everyone else can see it

Well those who look deep enough or hold compassion in an endless supply.

People who are also, in a way, like me

I don’t mean submission either, but I’ll get back to that.

See, there is a vulnerability inside my very being that I always hide. I purposely take up more space, am louder, more robust with my expressions and movement. The stereotypical black woman.

But I wasn’t always her. The true essence of my being was like a more whimsical, darkly romantic version of tinker bell.

Oh, I really truly thought myself to be a fairy. And I fear I’ve killed her off from lack of attention.

Her light sputtering, silently pleading to be let out, to be admired….to be loved.

I thought she wasn’t good enough, too soft, too feminine.

As if I wasn’t allowed to be those things.

I convinced myself that since I am a 5’9 dark-skinned black woman I should “play my role”.

I’ve come to realize that that has only served to make me miserable.

Which brings me full circle.

I surrender.

I am allowing myself to truly step into my “soft-girl” era or whatever. And not just saying as a hashtag.

Surrendering to my emotions

Surrendering to my whimsy

Surrendering to my femininity

Surrendering back into submission.

I forgot that it wasn’t a role I could cast aside.

There’s a creator I follow, and I feel it fate in a way to have crossed his platform. He reintroduces me into the community again and reminded me my hunger for it. Why that hunger burns so hot and runs so deep for me.

Submission is me, not just how I react, not just accepting a role, being obedient to orders or rituals. But an integral part of how I process myself and the world around me. And for a while I thought having an alter that was more Dominant meant I had to learn how to tune out the parts of me that loves to surrender. A whole 2/3 of me. I will now be in a period of life that allows myself to capitulate.

Truly relinquish the shackles of this facade I’ve been holding over myself and allow myself to feel, think, process, and eventually accept my reality and the things in it on the same profound level I had before.

There’s something weighing on me, and sadly it’s not the weight of a hand wrapped around my neck. I wish it were…and I think that’s what’s wrong. I think…I’ve been away from the scene too long. Although for good reason now I feel…hungry. I want to devour and be devoured. I also I feel a sense of caution. 

I want to be devoured yes but I also want to draw clear lines. I need someone to be able to communicate and not just sex.

Besides the serious problem of above mentioned there’s the source of my sexual frustration. Femme power. And not in the sense of exuding it. I want to be over powered by a Goddess, other than the one residing within. I want that hand that’s tightly wrapped around my neck in my imagination to be a that of a woman’s. I want her wet, dripping heat to be pressed against my lips, and I mean both the ones on my face and the ones between my legs. I want to be called her pretty slut while she teases and mocks me. 

But then the scene in my head will drift. And that hand will become a hard callous one. Soft, teasing laughs turn to hard growls and the gentle toying turns to rough torment. Possessive greedy hands. Hungry eyes devouring me. Greedy hands clutching me.

As you can see my type for Dommes and Doms vary drastically and yet…

I want to be devoured in both these ways

Both separately and together.

I think….I’m going crazy.

Raw Beauty: you don’t see it if you don’t know where to look. 
It’s not the make up she wears, even minimally

The dress she slips on

The heels she struts in

Its her CONFIDENCE

The way she SMILES like she knows all eyes are on her

The way she caresses her own curves because she knows she is beauty reincarnated

Its her laugh

Its the twinkle in her eyes

It is her

SHE is raw beauty

To see this you must truly look and SEE her.

Small short story. I just want to see how the public perceives it before continuing more. 

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The warmth of my covers is nowhere near to the heat that radiates from your embrace. There is an underlying fire in every stroke of your fingers, in the very way your eyes trail over my body. Lust is prominent it snatches my breath and makes my clit throb. My mouth has never watered for any man and yet when I look at you…. mmm when I look at you with half lidded eyes, my lips already parted, you know exactly what I want. You see it in the way my gaze is locked on your throbbing cock. You see it in the way my knees part more, the way my kneel becomes more relaxed. When my head falls back, and you brush your fingers down my neck down, down, down until you reach and tug my nipples. I’m putty in your hands. Do as you like with me. I want to ease your stress, feed into your desires…satisfy your cravings.

Embrace me, don’t let me escape. I want to be trapped in a spiral of your sadistic pleasures. To be lifted into heaven only to be yanked to the ground. All by your hand. Make me me beg, please, scream, and whimper. All in one session. The high I get from your touch, no your voice, maybe even simply your gaze, sets a fire under me. My inner slut comes out only to dance in the light of the fire. She loves your gaze being fixated on her, on us…on me. She is me after all. The sway of my hips, the rise of my breasts with each breath. The hunger in your eyes is predatory and oh how I love being your prey. Do you enjoy watching me? The glow of my ebony skin under the light, the glisten of my dripping mess down my luscious thighs? Or maybe it’s my sweet scent, when you grip my hair and run your tongue down my neck? The way I smell of chocolate and strawberries? Or maybe you smell my arousal, how turned on I am…how horny you make me? I want to splay myself across the sheets, on full display for you. I’m sure you know I crave to be devoured.

Even in all my clouded thoughts, I have the desire to make you crave me as I do you. The way I arch my back, the way I flutter my lashes. Even the lotions and perfumes. You love my soft skin smelling of sweets and treats. I do it to entice you, like a siren calling a sailor. Only I draw you in to feel your touch. A caress of lips trailing kisses along my inner thighs. The nearly bruising grip on my hips that feels so delicious. You don’t need to be gentle. You know this when your kisses turn to nibbles and those to bites. The Predator has caught his prey and is ready to feast. And feast you do. You lick at my sopping pussy as if my juices will quench a deep rooted thirst. You suck on my clit as if it’s dessert. Diving your tongue so deep into my messy hole, your face is buried between my thighs as if you’ve come home. Your moans…mmmm the moans I hear are so yummy they make my thighs quiver. It’s so good I can’t take it. I have to try and put space, get break…but I’m truly caught and you aren’t letting me go until you’re satisfied.

Pleasure is such a funny thing. I’ve been chasing it all night I forgot you know how to weapon use it. My pleas and begging fall on deaf ears. You love when I cry, when I run. You get a sadistic twinkle in your eye, like a bold dare. You want me to fight and beg. Because when you finally break me, it’ll be so delicious. And break me you do. That firery feeling is back and I feel as though someone has dripped hot wax on my clit. It hurts so good I’ll cream, or scream, maybe both. It’s both, always both. And your strong grip keeps my hips in place as you slowly finger fuck the orgasm out of me. Your thumb playing with my clit and pussy juice squirting out of me. It’s embarrassing but it feels so good. My pussy walls are throbbing and pulsing and you laugh to yourself every time you feel me quiver. I always cry when you do this. Not the light laughter, no. The tears come after the pleasure becomes so great I can only see stars. You know what comes after the tears. CRAVINGS….

Should I continue you this mini series. It’s a little insight to how I fall into sub space. I’m kinda feeling like I want to share it with you guys.
 

As I grow and discover new parts of myself, I find that there are pieces of the past I struggle to make peace with. Me writing this is my way of making peace. I’m not a strong verbal communicator, my words get twisted up and I use the wrong ones in times when I need the write ones the most. However. After thought and effort I can typically express my thoughts, nearly effortlessly in writing. So here I am. 

My past has been haunting me recently. There was trauma I blamed myself for as a child, relationships I stepped back from, blaming myself all the while. You see I struggle with realizing that my presence is a gift whether that be in my submission, dominance, or just living outside of kink and bdsm. There are many around me who say they miss the old me, and for a while I did as well. She didn’t confront people, went with the flow, kept her head down, and was meek and always so willing to help. However, she didn’t know how much of a gem she was. Smart, talented in more aspects other than what she can do for others, and above else kind. She is someone with a healing heart and  wild soul, free spirit. Who she chooses to let in should be done so carefully. Fear controlled her every move. Fear of not being enough, fear of failing, fear of rocking the boat or creating waves. As fearful as she still is she is also tired. Tired of hearing that the woman she grows into is for naught as people pine for her old docile ways. She is tired. No longer will she serve u less the dynamic also serves her. Not in the sense of topping from the bottom but in the sense that of the relationship is harmful in anyway it is not the relationship she needs to indulge in. Her time is precious. She is me.

I will no longer just idly be. Maybe it’s due to me discovering strength in not just submission but dominance as well…but I no longer feel the need to bend over backwards to serve others. Instead I am quick to ask what can you do for me. I don’t mean this in a material way. I’m financially stable with a place of my own and don’t need to be provided Ed for. So now it’s a matter of I’m here and giving my Dominance or submission because I want to, no longer because I need to. Although I need the expression of each I will no longer line after dynamics that don’t serve me. It must nourish me in some way mentally, spiritually, emotionally. I want to be moved by the connection.

I will not be returning to the lost, scared girl for anyones comfort. I am sincerely sorry to those who I hurt with this, who I’ve hurt in the past as someone hurting myself, and to anyone who is mourning the girl I used to be. I am not sorry for changing. For molding into a woman I can live with and love everyday. It is a wonderful feeling to begin to love yourself and I will no longer give that feeling up for ANYONE. I no longer feel the need to be a people pleaser. If you are not pleased by my presence I will no longer make myself smaller or less bright. Even in my submission I am a Queen and will now behave as such. Being a switch submissive does not mean I need to be meek. Furthermore as I discover more aspects of my Domme energy I will no longer allow myself to be meek. Seeing both sides of the spectrum I feel it takes more strength to totally submit to someone anyhow, therefore in my mind submission and weakness/meekness no longer go hand in hand. I will not return to anyone I e stepped away from as I feel like I need yo look forward to the new connections I will make as I heal and learn on this journey. I am sorry for those who may feel hurt or abandoned by this but I must start doing for myself what I would have done for others: leave, heal, spoil myself.