Rope drop

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Faithless, it creeps, uncoiling itself in tandem with the rope which drops from the body to fall flacid on the floor.

Cooling, subtly, the breeze with an insidious icy chill.
It’s the arms that once held you in comfort, yet now you only feel the ache of the loss of around you.

It’s abandonment you aren’t aware is happening until the silence echos, and nothing comes back when you call.
It’s the kiss you lament the ending of, the lips which brushed against yours yet the memory of which alludes you.

Warmth now glows blue, endorphins thin, adrenalin blushes, then pink bloom turns to white, nothing visible remains of the embrace you were once bound within.

It’s the echo of intimacy you hear in the distance which implores you to search for just once more as it plays hide and seek with your emotions, it’s the connection lost you fear you may never find again.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked

The Purge

My mind blurted it out, and in submissive parlance, it fell upon the screen.

“I have a hankering for something….destructive, and cruel.” I tell Him out of the blue.

<pause>

“Anything in mind?….” came the response, not really the one I was expecting.

For a moment it threw me, and I stumbled over His words, my mind becoming snagged upon them as I fleetingly hung there, seeking to complete my own thought processes.

<pause>
<think>
<respond>

“I can’t describe it, because I only know how it feels, not what it looks like”

I don’t have a scene imagined in my head, I don’t have an implement already picked out for Him to use as I visualise my destruction.

I just know what it feels like before, in those moments of anticipatory suspense.
imploring
I only know what it feels like during, as His sadism surrounds me.
bereft
I can only feel what it’s like in the aftermath, when He is finally sated.
sobs wrack my exhausted body

It feels like stomach churning fear, it feels emotionally purging, something which eviscerates the thoughts clogged inside my head. I know my throat feels dry, skin clammy as nerves cause my body to shake, adrenalin amplifying the tension between us.
It feels like being precariously balanced on a precipice edge, knowing I’m about to be thrown forcibly over the edge.

I can’t pinpoint physical stimuli, only the emotional recoil in response.
I can remember, though, the last time I felt what I now find I’m craving.

I remember I wanted to curl, foetal, at his feet.
I remember he wouldn’t let me.
I remember I almost abandoned myself, then, and it took His words to bring me back.

This is what I have in mind, I acknowledge that this, however, doesn’t really answer His question, or help Him to take me there again.

*

Note.
This is always the way when vulnerabilities and usually deeply hidden thoughts have been shared;I need to be caged, I need to be small below him, trapped. The resultant restlessness which claws it’s way resolutely to my marrow needs to be expunged before it threatens to lead me away, back to that place where I guard myself possessively lest someone should breach my defences and catch a glimpse of those facets of self I instinctively keep hidden.

 

KOTW:Static on the line

One thing I crave is his control. In his absence it’s comfort reassures, a mesmeric distraction from the claustrophobic longing distance creates. My submission looks to him for direction, for a purpose when not at his side.

“Would you like more tasks like that to do?” he asks, and my mind stretches greedily towards the morsel he’s offering.
Coyness strikes.
I blush.
“yes please, Sir”

I feel oddly small as my words appear on the screen in response to the question.

“Today’s scenario is to built around this…” he says, and a gif appears before me.

Cold.
I feel cold.

Internal monologue
“…I can’t do this…”

A fault line trembles, and a chasm opens up between us, made deeper by my fear.

Internal monologue
“..I’ve failed him already…”

I’m scared.
I don’t want to say no, I don’t want to tell him I can’t.
He’s given me what I asked for, he’s placed me where I love to be,
underneath,
below,
control wrapping itself around me and holding me in place.
Yet…

I can’t do this.

I’m disappointed in myself, I don’t want him to be disappointed in me too.

There’s a
<break>
in communication, static in the air as I look at the screen.
Type words, delete words, type words….delete.

Reflect.
He asked me if I wanted this.
I said yes, because I did. I do.
And now I’m saying no.

Internal monologue
“…not much of a submissive, am I?…”

My main fear was undermining his authority, authority I asked for, authority I asked for more of, and got.

<Shut down>

Around me, my mind folds inwards, closing down all avenues of communication. Sentences remain unfinished, thoughts hang in mid air, frayed strings taught, threatening to snap and scatter shattered emotions at my feet.

Freeze or flight, simultaneous stimuli spinning me off centre.
I felt the need to run, but protocol pinned me in place.

I didn’t know how to say ‘I have misgivings about this task’ without it looking like I was throwing it back at him. So I dodged the remaining questions as best I could until we said our goodbyes for the night.

~

On reflection, it was the wrong thing to do. I inadvertently undermined him by not giving him all the information, I placed him in an awkward position by shutting down, by running away.
I regret that.

~

Protocol dictates that I contact him each morning, before a certain time. I really didn’t want to.
I was
irrationally
angry with him for giving me *that* gif from which to build a scenario, yet he gave it me because he knew I’d find it challenging.
I ask to be challenged, I ask, when we speak of tasks and the ways in which we interract as Sir and pet, for more…
..more control, more of him, more ways to deepen our connection.

Conflicted.
I felt conflicted, and ultimately didn’t complete the task.

<pause>

As oft happens if we’re not quite on the same page, I had an overwhelming need to talk to him, crawl beneath him and surround myself with his protection.
I knew I had to find the words to fit the dialogue which needed to take place, staccato steps in an awkward conversation. I was looking for him to lead, but how could he if I didn’t communicate what was going on?

I placed syllables side by side, and threw them at the screen, hoping their resonance would convey my emotions.
I’m angry with you.
I’m not angry with you.
I’m angry with me.
I failed you.
I’m sorry.

As he always does, he listened, and let me spill all the words at his feet. He picked them up, considered them, and put them in an order that worked for us both. He let me crawl to him, words in hand, and together we came up with a way for me to complete the task in a way that fulfilled us both.

This is what we do, it’s all we can do. We are human, we are going to make mistakes.
D/s, for us, isn’t about robotically engaging in protocols, divorcing emotion from the equation.
It’s about intimacy, it’s about deepening our connection, finding fulfillment within that imbalance of power, knowing that showing each other our vulnerabilities builds trust.

<reflect>
I had to allow my vulnerability to show in order for him to help me through.

I love being given tasks, I find peace from completing them, it satisfies my submissive needs to be challenged, it helps strengthen the connection in his absence.
But they only have meaning, only satisfy both our needs, if, even when it’s uncomfortable, lines of communication are kept open.

Dear Diary ~ over my shoulder in 140 chars or less

I originally posted the following on Twitter as I sat and thought about the journey Sir and I have taken to get us to this point. Once I’d finished I realised it may have been better as a blog post, so here it is!

~

As of October I’ll have known Sir 5 years. From casual fuckbuddies to a sometimes turbulent but no less wonderful D/s, Sir &pet relationship.

It really is a relationship that should never have been. It was something neither of us envisioned. A most unlikely union. But it works.

I never thought I’d hear the words ‘I love you’ fall from his lips. Hearing them now still gives me the butterflies in tummy feeling.

We both had doubts, we both had to be brave. We knew we were risking a lot, emotionally, by even tentatively approaching a relationship.

He had(still has) an aura which renders me powerless against him. It terrified me at first, and still makes me nervous on occasion.

He became the dream I knew was never going to be more than that, so I put the dream aside and vowed not to fall for him.

I told myself never to look past the last visit, the last fuck, I always looked at it as the last chance to spend time with him.

I never dared look past that point for fear of losing both mind and heart to a man I could never have as anything but a fleeting apparition.

I tried to walk away but couldn’t. I tried to burn the bridge, then panicked as I watched the boards ignite.

We both got burnt putting that fire out. It was the first time I gave any hint as to how I felt about him. More panic, lots of tears.

I remember his words.. I am going to hurt you, but I’m not going to hurt you. I had to trust he would honour that.

Trust is such a fractious beast, sometimes frivolous, oft guarded, always unpredictable.

I gave him my body to hurt and to fuck, but never more than that, until it became impossible to defend myself against how I felt.

I had to acknowledge that I did feel, if I was going to have any chance of keeping him in my life.

I couldn’t have gone back to just being an acquaintance. I’d have had to cut all ties in order to move on.

But it’s so very cold on the other side of him, and I needed his warmth.

Need. Him. I even wrote those words down on a scrap piece of paper because my mind kept trying to erase them.

We are useless communicators, there’s no denying that fact, but D/s gave us a way to create open dialogue at our own pace.

We became comfortable with being uncomfortable, we understood the toll it took on the other to be free with emotion & expressing it.

Empathy for the other gave us common ground.

If either of us fucked up, we knew that fear, not malice, was the reason behind it.

And we have fucked up on occasion, hurting the other along the way. Causing him hurt is my only regret on this journey.

I can smile now, looking back. But the myriad emotions experienced from there to here sometimes echo in the corridors of my mind.

Frost will always coat some memories, molten ash others. But each time I kneel, I understand that it was worth it.

Wicked Wednesday... a place to be wickedly sexy or sexily wicked