Esoteric Submission

It is the darkness which will always
invitingly remain.
It mimics your footfalls and bleeds your
secret name.
It will linger behind you as a reminder,
intricately restrained.

It shudders and sighs, your beautifully
relentless thing.
It moves with all of your gestures on
molten strings.
It is your gray side, a curse, a hidden
broken wing.

It can drown without water and burn
without fire.
It is your truth, your mimic, and your
wanton sapphire.
It will chase you, delicately led on your
invisible wire.
 It is your nothing, your toy, a flicker, a
delicious sigh.
It exists for your pleasure, amusing,
remarkably sly.
It will beg, plead, and whimper, yours to
savagely deny.

I love when Daddy treats me as his It. I have the capacity to fully immerse and forget my identity, becoming only a construct of his desires. The hard part is bringing me back, reminding me of my humanity, and making me remember that I have to be a person too. Somedays I want nothing more than to remain It forever, but thankfully he understands the balance that is required. 

Some say that it’s unacceptable behavior. Others say that it’s a bad idea. Still more look at it in disdain.

Not him.

He allows me a space to behave unacceptably and he just happens to find that to be preferable. He is the best bad idea that I’ve ever taken to. He looks at me with curiosity.

Some say that it’s irreparably broken. Others say that it’s a disaster waiting to happen. Still more think that it’s a freak.

It is.

In his realm my brokenness is beautiful. He is the safe place that I get to go be a disaster. I am his favorite thing to play with, his toy, his broken little freak.

Sadism and masochism are often misunderstood because there are so many different variations of it. For some it may be something that they engage in with play partners to feel a sense of power, for others it may be purely about punishment, and for still more it may be the novelty of the experience. I can’t speak for those people but I can speak about what it means to us. For Daddy and I, it is an expression of and avenue to intimacy.

The dance between a true sadist and masochist is intricate, intoxicating, and at all times interesting. I’m going to be leaving emotional play out of this because that’s a whole blog in and of itself. I am particularly speaking about my personal experiences with physical pain.

When I met my first Dominant, a sadist, back in the early 2000’s I had no idea that I was a masochist. Looking back, yes the signs were always there but I was young and lacking knowledge so I didn’t recognize it for what it was. He hurt me in a multitude of ways, and I deeply struggled with this. I couldn’t understand why I kept going back to see him for sessions, and why I would say never again and then two weeks later I’d be ringing him up. This lack of understanding of my nature, lack of knowledge about the lifestyle, and lack of valuable leadership on his part led me to ultimately ending the year long relationship and walking completely away from the lifestyle for 12 years.

From that 12 year point it has now been another 5 or 6 years, and I have had my fair share of experiences, some good and some bad. I also spent time learning about myself, learning about what makes a healthy dynamic, and learning the influences behind masochism. And we can’t forget that addictive little thing called sub space.

I learned not to be ashamed of what I am, and to value myself enough to accept that this is part of what makes me, me. I also learned that what I have to give is quite special and that whoever I give myself to needs to realize that along with the fun comes a responsibility to dedicate himself to our dynamic. The responsibility that he takes on is essential to maintaining the balance required to live this lifestyle, engage in some very deep edge play, and come out on the other side safe and sound.

When Daddy hurts me I feel absolute love and appreciation towards him and also coming from him. The intimacy that we share through experiencing pain together is like no other, and we are symbiotic in the way that each of us needs and provides for the other. He handles me carefully and skillfully while truly putting thoughtfulness behind every action. I rely on him to cultivate and shape my needs into what he wants and I rely on him to bring me back away from the edges that we skirt, never allowing me to topple over. He is my foundation, he is my source of joy, he is my future. He is my sadist.

Thank you for Daddy for all that you are, for all that you provide, and for allowing me to relinquish everything that I am into your capable hands.

He was silent in the way that he strode into my room, that obscure and hidden corner of my mind in which my vermilion submission blooms.

He set a solitary crimson candle alight with his patience and care, never overtly demanding yet always tempting me with his X-ray stare.

The candles flame languidly spread throughout my room, setting my scarlet core on fire. I began to slowly acquiesce my will, as his dominance became my hope to inspire.



Adroitly led by his leash, a newly fortified soul against solitude’s bloodied blade. I follow after him, needing and craving to always be at his feet drenched in his shadows shade.

I hear your voice whispering light into my clouds as your breath envelops me like ocean waves. It is the voice that once taught the world how to spin, and is now the commander of my passions, my hopes, and my dark proclivities. I follow your flickering movements with my insatiable eyes as I relinquish my will into your capable hands, my body aching, my mind enthralled, my soul calling to yours. I’m drenched in gratitude as I place my lips to your feet, worshiping your presence in my euphoric submission. I implore you to continue to guide, protect, and wholly own this slave until our last day.

I wrote this in a moment of anguish, perhaps more than merely a moment. It is, in my opinion, the most raw emotion that I have ever written. I am happily experiencing and writing new chapters now, but I wanted to share this one too.

For V, it was a good chapter.

If I could exist as but one thing in the wake of losing you, I’d be a charred and creased parchment. Crinkled and spotted with inky blots of mercurial tears, my words to you on the softest vellum.
I’d sacrifice myself, with only your will in mind, to feverishly write and burn another chapter. Thousands and thousands set to burn slowly, steadily, unendingly. The ashes of my thoughts, the blackened edges of my being.
If I could be something, I’d be your nothing. The words that you crumpled up and threw aside, pages that you pick up now and again, smoothing out the wrinkles, thoughtfully reading for a moment. The space between a heartbeat in your mind is worth a lifetime of use.
I would not even want to exist, while whispering your secret name, yearning to hear the words that say I am kept as a toy on your shelf. Nothing to you, everything to me. Your smudged and burnt pages.

It flows into you one grain of sand at a time, the prismatic particles of his will. At first the granules are unnoticeable, a faint tickle that feels like the shadow of a recently forgotten dream. Steadily the grains gather and spread faint decrees throughout your mind, nestling soothingly into each unmarked crevice. The grains build into mounds as his will intensifies and spills over to gingerly make you forget that there was ever anything else. The amassed particles become a weight that shifts with the slightest movement, and each time a choice is made that isn’t his will the balance is tilted, like a pillar threatening collapse. He skillfully shifts the sands back with a gentle nudge, avoiding destruction, encouraging and reinforcing stability with his desires. The grains of sand seek and saturate every gap of your mind until the weight of his will is so great that you become a delicately balanced puppet dancing blithely on his strings.