An Impossible Puzzle

Committed, in spite of the fact, or perhaps because of it – I can no longer tell – that his fingers are clasped around a beautiful, free, transforming black belt of pain and his strong right arm is moving it swiftly and with complete authority downward. Our eyes lock in the mirror as the stripe is painted diagonally across my white, white cheeks.  His are filled with wisdom. His are filled with love. Mine are filled with tears. Mine are filled with gratitude. - Anastasia, guest post (Poppy's Submissions) (11/29/11)

"My need for a spanking woke me up this morning , I do not know what that says about me other than I am built for a certain type of man."- @PoppyStVincent (Poppy St Vincent) (14 hours ago)

If you do not follow @PoppyStVincent, and read her Submissions, and tumbl(e) her Crimson and Black tumblr, you should.

The recent guest post on Poppy's Submissions made my throat constrict and my heart flutter when I read it a few days ago. I know the feelings Anastasia describes. The above tweet made the girl in me ache when I read it last night. I have thought of it, and my need to be thoroughly spanked for hours on end ever since. I text messaged my Sir this morning and told Him how I am feeling the strain, and very badly need to run away with Him and then be spanked and pushed until I scream, cry and fly.

I have been writing posts all day and now I need to be spanked and ravished. Except I have to wait until Friday. BUT I need a spanking NOW.- @PoppyStVincent (Poppy St Vincent) (23 hours ago)

I think I just wrote the rudest thing I have ever written. I need my lover and I need him now.- @PoppyStVincent (Poppy St Vincent) (14 minutes ago)

I feel need in my skin. It echoes in my voice. I want to be bratty, to have a tantrum. My body clamors to feel the red sting and to wince and squirm as I find it hard to sit. A part of my mind is working tirelessly on a puzzle -- how to give myself the sorting out I need, so I can just get back to life -- but the puzzle is impossible. There is a reason for the rule against 'self scene-ing.' We joke about it, Sir and I, because I can be a klutz and that may result in bumps and bruises of a very different kind. But the reality is no joke. The need I feel is intense, and it marks me. I am frustrated and am torqued that I cannot push myself this way:

I cannot roll up my own sleeve past my elbow, 

while myself watches, trembling from her bent over place in anticipation.

I cannot lock eyes with the girl in me, and assure her that she can be helped and freed, 

while myself shudders with relief and great big butterflies of dread dance in her tummy.

I cannot be strong and commit to the best course of action, 

when that moment of panic comes crashing in, 

and the pain is the most unbearable thing myself can imagine.

I cannot wield the strap, or the cane, or the hair-brush with love and determination, 

watching her pale cheeks pink, and redden and bruise, 

while myself muffles her cries in the bedding, or lets them echo off the walls, 

begging me to stop with her words, and not to stop with her body.

I need His strength, because I do not have it to give,

 when myself acquiesces.

And He is 251 miles away.

And His text message response reminds me that He needs -- just as I need -- that spanking.  He assures me,

"Remember our times together and draw on that. Reach out and draw from my energy with your mind and heart. It is there for you.  [Soon] we will have time and space."

For now, I will make use of my own strength.  I will write about how I need Him, how I ache and burn for Him.  I will use my words to express the awful needful, hungry feeling that pulls at my flesh and torments my mind. Then I will spend some time imagining the last time He spanked me and pushed me.

The last time I flew.

Finally, I will find my strength in His energy, and I will get dressed and go do some adult things -- like paying bills, or Christmas shopping, I will not have a bratty tantrum when it won't get me the spanking I need.

Soon.

Into the Dark and Darker Woods

This post is a response to Sir Lostpup Grey Shepherd



The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
-Robert Frost


Into your darkest corner, you are safe in my love, you are protected. 
I am the openess you seek, I am your doorway. 
Come sit in the circular temple of my heart, & let yourself be calm.”
-Agapi Stassinopoulos

There is pleasure in the pathless woods...
-George Byron

“Darkness soothed. It softened the sharp edges of the world, toned down the too-harsh colors. With the coming of twilight, the sky seemed to recede; the universe expanded. The night was bigger than the day, and in its realm, life seemed to have more possibilities.”
-Dean Koontz, Midnight

“I trust only you and the dark always to look at me so honestly.”
-Meredith Duran, Wicked Becomes You

----------

Who am I?

I am a poet-girl with a raven spirit, who flew headlong into the sky, to find my freedom, and meet myself.  I am a grateful dreamer, a child-of-the-wild-blue-yonder, with a big, roomy heart, and a hunger to know and love.  I am both strong and weak, young and mature, confident and insecure, graceful and awkward, woman and child. I am a girl who at nineteen, found myself in the middle of an unplanned pregnancy, and spent the next two decades serving my family as mother, educator, wife and friend.
I loved that life, and chose it on purpose.  I love my husband, children, grandchildren, and the life we've made.  Yet, when my babies were grown and my life became my own again, I needed to stretch my wings and find the path that had always been mine alone.  I have been trying to mind
my steps and be thoughtful about where they lead me ever since.

I think I have always been a poly girl, though I did not always know it was possible to be so, nor did I have the words to describe or label what it meant.  My heart craves people.  I am fascinated with their stories, their lives, their emotions and their reasonings.  I ache to know and be known. Being invited into someone's heart and their inner world feeds my heart in ways this word-girl can't even begin yet to describe.  This journey to find others who crave what I do, has been rocky thus far.  The path has been rough.  I've been wounded and bruised and have had to learn to heal and be tough.

Enter the Wolf.

One day I decided it was time to go hunting.  I felt alone, and alien, and my experiences with loving more than one had been so very painful.  I knew I needed more, and so I went into the woods to find like minded beings who understood my need to know and be known.  I found Him, and perhaps He was also hunting for me, and my life is forever changed.

He is not what you might expect.  He's a Wolf and a Shepherd, fierce and gentle, dark and light, sadistic and loving, simple and complex.  He works harder than any man I've ever met at loving those who are His pack.  He makes mistakes, and makes amends, and He gets it right.
He fights for me. He is the man I trust with every part of who I am, and He celebrates me fully.  He loves my darkness.


He is my Wolf and my haven.
He lives by the promise to hurt but do no harm.

He includes me in his pack.

He includes me.

        I am welcome. 

               I am wanted.

                          I belong.

I am at home in His woods, they are mine.

When the civilized world -- where darkness is a diversion locked away in boxes -- becomes too loud, too demanding too much to bear, I know I can come home to His woods and find that I have a place.  There is a space in His heart and world only I can fill. I can escape to Him, and find my peace, my center, myself.

And so, I look to the future - into a new year - into a long life in His heart and at His side, and I know I belong to Him.  He owns me, has earned my trust, and I am His ink-smudged poet-girl with the heart of a raven.

At his invitation, I will keep exploring.  I will fly, I will hunt and  play. I will grow and live and inspire words and wonder and the flight of others.

At the same time, I will forever be bound to His heart and life. Soon I will wear his collar, I will be tethered to Him as a bird to her Falconer, trusting Him to train me, care for me, protect me and love me.  I hope to always make Him proud and happy He invited me in.

As he said, you are welcome in our forest.  I know there are other girls out there like me, who long to find themselves in the dark and darker woods.  I hope if you are that sort of girl, and you are reading here, you will be encouraged by my journey.  There is a great big, off-the-beaten-path place for me, and for you.  I hope you won't stop searching until you find it.

Out of Sorts and Sorting Out

I did not post a journal entry last night.  The truth is that I forgot about it completely.  I honestly have no excuse.

And that's okay. Here's why:

Sometimes a girl needs to be reminded that someone is watching, that someone cares enough to notice when she misses a deadline or crosses a boundary.  Come closer, so I can whisper a secret.  Sometimes a girl will purposely, or unconsciously cross such a line because somewhere inside her, there's a little girl who just needs to be told off and sorted out.  She needs to know her boundaries and her value have not changed.

I watched it all day yesterday with my grandson.  Things were hectic. Everyone was busy and he could sense it.  So he pushed.  He needed each of us in turn to assure him that he was secure, that the boundaries were still in place.

Babies do this intuitively.

For me, two very small, inconsequential things happened yesterday.  First, Shepherd texted me and said that our call on Tuesday might be squeezed by a very busy week that is outside the normal routine.  He is in "the country" all week, celebrating Thanksgiving with Shepherdess. It is just where he should be.

You know what? I can tell I've grown. I responded by telling him I understand.  It is that time of year. Now, I would much rather talk to him, but he knows that; and being grateful for every phone date can really change a girl's attitude.

The other thing that happened yesterday involves the fact that Husband is off in the woods this weekend, camping and hunting. We have been talking recently about text messages. We each send little notes to others we don't see every day, just to say "I'm thinking about you and I miss you." We agree that though we see each other nearly every day, it's nice to send the occasional note. Additionally, when we are apart, like we are this weekend, we always try to send each other a good night and good morning text.

I realize that he is in a remote area. I've camped there before. But there are several places in camp where you can get signal. He managed to text me to say they had arrived, and again yesterday evening to say they hadn't seen any deer.

No good night before bed and no good morning.

I find myself wondering if he has been in touch with anyone else he misses.

I will get over that. It's a very small thing. But I wonder whether the girl in me is feeling a little out of sorts, like my grandbaby -- just needing reassurance and sorting out.

Several months ago I recognized that I needed some boundaries that might seem childish.  I know that Husband and Shepherd get busy and they both do a great deal to express their love for me.

So, being poly and resourceful, I enlisted the help of a fellow writer and dear friend who was perfectly willing to ask me every day whether I have written in my journal, or done my affirmations, or scheduled time to myself.

He is very diligent to enforce those boundaries and provide consequences that make me feel noticed and secure.

So, today, when he realizes I didn't post a journal entry, I won't even balk at the consequences...

...too much.

To Submit

“I, with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me naive or innocent, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.”
- Anais Nin, US (French-born) author & diarist (1903 - 1977)

I am not a submissive.

I used to think I was.  I used to think I needed to be a submissive, but what I really need is to submit to one man "who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me..."

Shepherd says it this way, and it makes sense to me:

"There is a difference between needing to serve somebody and finding someone you wish to serve."
-Sir Lostpup Grey Shepherd

The thing that I love and seek in a power exchange dynamic is the reality that something, someone in my life is immovable, strong, demanding.  I am a strong and intelligent woman, independent, determined.  I don't have an overwhelming need to serve others, I do not have an urgent need to please others.  But in my life, I have always sought a strength that exceeds my own.  I need to submit.  In that submission, I will serve someone by choice and desire, but not out of need.

"I do not want to be the leader. I refuse to be the leader. I want to live darkly and richly in my femaleness. I want a man lying over me, always over me. His will, his pleasure, his desire, his life, his work, his sexuality the touchstone, the command, my pivot. I don't mind working, holding my ground intellectually, artistically; but as a woman, oh, God, as a woman I want to be dominated. I don't mind being told to stand on my own feet, not to cling -- all that I am capable of doing -- but I am going to be pursued, fucked, possessed by the will of a male at his time, his bidding."
- Anais Nin, US (French-born) author & diarist (1903 - 1977)

From the time I was a child, I never knew a man who took the dominant role in a relationship.  I am loved by two fathers.  They are both submissive.  Let me stop here, and say that submissiveness is not a bad trait.  It is neither bad nor good.  It simply is.  My fathers are happy being submissive.  It is how they choose to express their love and devotion to their wives and children.  I admire and love them for it.  Both of my husbands, are/were submissive, much like my fathers.  By choice, they act and did act in ways to please the dominant personality in their relationships -- me.  I am not complaining.  I need and want my husband to be that person, it makes him happy, and it makes me happy.

But I also need a strength under which I can submit.

I want to push against a wall and find it immovable
I want to pound and find it solid
I want to know that I can’t win
I want to fight with all my might, and lose,
I want to kick and scream and stamp my foot
and find that it won’t work. 

I want to know that I will not be pushed away,
will not be rejected, abandoned, screaming silently in the night. 

but who will be the wall
who will stand firm
who will hold me til it’s over
and still be there?
Alice, quoted by Poppy St. Vincent, in her post 'The Fear and Loving in Everwhere'

You see, I am messy.  It is who I am.  I am emotional, and passionate, and impulsive, and creative, and reckless.  I want to explore, to learn, to experience, to live!  I am impatient, and immature and hungry.  I can be an adult.  I can be responsible and reserved, I can lead and control.  But there is in me a girl, a bird, a poet, that wants to fly headlong into tomorrow, hair tangling in the wind and heart pounding in my ears.... driven and undisciplined.  

"Without discipline, there's no life at all."
-Katharine Hepburn

Yet, I require discipline. I am like a falcon needing a falconer to tether me, teach me, protect me and let me fly.  I need the structure, the boundaries, and the reassurance that I am "owned, taken, safe, wanted...someone's so much that even I am second to them." Those too are Shepherd's words.  He is wise.  He is right.

"To be completely woman you need a Master, and in him a compass for your life. You need a man you can look up to and respect. If you dethrone him, it's no wonder that you are discontented, and discontented women are not loved for long."
-Marlene Dietrich, quoted by Master Obsidian's slave, namaste in her post Humbled Females: Reclaiming the Feminine Mystique

I have found that falconer.  He has a strength of character that moves my heart, and makes me want to please him.  He is my immovable wall, firm and resolute.  He is the strength to which I can submit myself, and he loves me.  He sees me, body, heart and soul --- all of me. He knows the woman, the girl, the hunter, the prey, the poet, the explorer, the child. He celebrates me, and wants to take responsibility for my well being, my growth, my submission.

I have found someone I wish to serve.  By his definition, and now by mine... I have a slave-heart.

"If you are a slave, it is what your heart said.  You did not get a vote."
-Sir Lostpup Grey Shepherd

The journey ahead frightens me.  It will not be easy.  I have already shown my ability to panic, to push and  fight and frustrate.  I have suffered consequences that I both hated and deserved.  I have been called to account, and instructed to stretch and grow.  I was not rejected, not abandoned for being too much.  He is still here.  He did not move, did not leave.  I am still here, still wanted and loved.  I have been shown a bar that is higher than what I have yet attained.  He sees my potential, and wants to see me reach it, so the bar can be raised yet again.  He believes in me.

"When [one who submits] enters into a journey with a Dominant, she is never quite sure of the path He will choose and the challenges she will face. The dance is first and foremost a dance of trust. Given this most precious element, she knows there is no limit to the places she will go under His hand. This is true only because He cherishes her and will not take her places she cannot go …"
-Fringe of Darkness tumblr

I trust him. I choose him. I submit to him. 

I belong to Him.

Sir Lostpup Grey Shepherd

What we do flows from who we are.
-Paul Vitale

I want to unfold. Let no place in me hold itself closed, for where I am closed, I am false...
-Rainer Maria Rilke

Daily I learn - sometimes painfully, other times with glee - that mine is a path never meant to be paved.
-Jeb Dickerson

We must be our own before we can be another's.
- Ralph Waldo Emerson

----------

My Shepherd, my Wolf, my Sir recently wrote the following piece and sent me a copy:

Prologue:

It is odd to think I would find myself with another label. I was always the person with another name, another label and I was never the one to choose. I have now forged my own 'found label'. It started five years ago as a simple pun, but it has become me.

Who I Am

I live in the woods, in the shadows, in the places others do not like to go. In these dark places I have found myself, my Mistress, and my pack. In these woods I have learned to hunt and to play. They are traveled by only a few and fewer still make their home here with us. In the day, I see you looking into my woods wondering what is beyond your sight, asking why I do not want to live in your bright world where the dark is locked in boxes and expelled by the lights you burn every night. In the night I see you sneaking into the woods from your cleared, cut spaces. What you do not know is that I see you looking and I am watching you. I see your tracks in my woods. I smell you in the dirt and… sometimes when you enter my woods, I will find you.

When we do meet in my woods, you should know who and what I am. I am the wolf you mistake for a friendly puppy; you will not guess my age, size or identify my markings. I am not what you expect, am unlike anything you have seen before. I am the source of the tales others repeat in warning whispers. My name, like my form, will surprise you in its substance. Like all labels my name is meant to convey something in a few words. Who and what I am is a story that is told within my name and my full name is long and complex, which fits me.

I am the Lostpup who once enjoyed looking around and going over the next hill, until I could never return home and did not wish to turn from the adventure. Like most youthful creatures, I needed a strong guide and protector. She helped and continues to help me learn, flourish and grow into the creature I was born to be. In exchange I serve and love her. Like all puppies I choose fun and play over conflict and struggle. I play the games of the dangerous woods I found myself within and sometimes it is not safe. Sometimes too, the world forgets that behind the grin and the playfulness are fangs and the power of a predator coming into his prime.

I am a wolf and like all wolves, my pack is my life. My life’s work is leaving a strong healthy pack. My pack is made of the people I love and hold dear. They are a part of who I am and what I do. I am the Shepherd who leads and cares for his pack. I do this out of purpose not pride, although I am proud of my pack. I gain pleasure from the pack, but the pack is not for my pleasure. I work to lead the pack with integrity and to enrich its members, but I not for my enrichment or their attribution.

I am like the mist and the fog within your perception but not part of your codes or frameworks. I am Grey; I am neither pure nor evil. I am neither selfless nor narcissistic. I demand that my needs be filled, but not that others needs be excluded. I will hunt and revel in the acts of the hunt, but I will not waste what I take or take what I do not need. 

I have given my freedom and heart to my Mistress, and now I have been given leadership and responsibility for others, at their request and in exchange for their freedom. Now, just as I answer to the lead of my Mistress, I hold leads as well. These ties embrace and bind me. I cherish them because they help me remember that I answer to my Ma’am, that I am responsible to my pack, and that my pack gives to me. 

Feel free to visit us, but remember who and what I am.

Sir Lostpup Grey Shepherd 

----------

Every time I read through it, I smile.  I'm reminded of the reasons I love this man, and how grateful I feel to be included in his life.  I've written here before about my journey to discover who I am, about the urge to explore darkness, to take that after-dusk path into the shadowy woods.  When I read this piece the girl inside of me wants to cheer and celebrate the relationship, the man, and my good fortune.

Soon, I will post my response to this declaration, at Shepherd's invitation to do so.

This is a cross post on the Kink and Poly blogs.

Confession

I have a confession to make:

I've been silent for far too long.

You see, I started this blog, and the others to chronicle a journey - my journey, and when the road got really, really tough, I stopped writing about it.  The point of writing in the first place is to help me process, to show me where I'm headed, to keep me from losing my way.  The second point of writing is that, for some strange reason there always seems to be someone asking me for advice... about loving more than one, about embracing your own darkness, about relationships and journeys in general.  I don't know why god or the universe, or fate brings people to me with questions.  I don't think it's because I know all that much.  I rather think it's because there are so many questions, and I am usually transparent enough to say I'm stumbling my way through my life with questions galore.

At any rate, when I lost my way, and got caught in a downward spiral, I stopped sharing my journey.  

I wish I hadn't.

I don't want to spend too much time on the negative, but if you're reading here, I don't want you to think my life, and the road I've chosen is always wonderful.  I don't float through my world chasing lovers and getting all the kinky play and sex I can handle without ever screwing things up, or getting lost, hurt, taken advantage of, or being misunderstood.  I don't do everything right, and I certainly don't fail to deal out a fair share of pain and frustration to others, though I wish I never hurt anyone.

In the past nine months, I've fallen in love, given my heart, trusted.
I've been wounded, depressed, despondent.
I've been welcomed, accepted and loved.
I've been childish, afraid, and repentant.

I've risked greatly by opening my heart and life to women who are loved by the men I love.  At times that has been so frightening I felt backed into a corner, fighting like a cat, with claws and terror.... and the result is I've hurt some of the women, and in turn, the men I love most.  My insecurity has been a bitch, and I have spent several weeks looking hard in the mirror, taking responsibility for the pain and depression and frustration I've been living, and causing for others.

Don't get me wrong, I don't have a martyr complex.  But the bottom line is that my happiness is my responsibility.

In terms of the women... three of five have proven to be human. Real. Strong. Amazing. Giving and accepting of my fucked-up attempts to keep my footing.  It's strange to realize just now that those three, are all loved by my Shepherd.  I think it says something about him, that they are so amazing.  It may well say something about me, too.  For I have no doubt that I am loved by him, and by these three women as well.  I am grateful to be counted in such company.

As for the two who have proven otherwise, each simply decided she could not face me, and could not share.  One did so honestly, and is now no longer in a relationship with Husband.  I am sorry about that, but bear her no real ill-will.  She has to seek what makes her happy.  I am watching to make sure she does so in a way that honors Husband.

The remaining woman, I trusted too much. When I began to uncover her lies to me, to Poet and to others, it was too late, the damage was done.  I stopped trying to figure out what were truths and what were lies with her, weeks ago, and simply limped away.

I am more guarded than ever with women now.  I hope I am not always, though.

In terms of the men... I find my circle of lovers smaller today than it was six months ago.  In addition, I carry the scars of those who chose to leave.  I have lost a play partner perhaps due to something as simple as scheduling issues.  I have lost my young Poet because he chose to stop communicating with me, with no explanation as to why.

I do not stop loving, just because someone decides their life is too full, too complicated, too unhappy for me.  I admit freely, that I am still mourning.  I especially miss the passion we shared for language, verse, beauty and romance.  I believed in him.  I still do.  I still love him, and probably always will.  And yet, today, I accept that he has made the only choice he could.  Perhaps someday he might trust me as a friend.  Perhaps that door is forever closed.  But I cannot continue to lie on the floor outside of that door, waiting.  I must live.

I stand in front of the mirror today, and I can still see the scars.
Someday even the scars will be beautiful, and perhaps they already are.
I know at least that I am alive, healing, and stronger.
And I am loved.
Wanted.

Yes, today has been about confessing that I am weak, and messy and have recently been extremely fucked up.

But there is more:

I am strong.
I am beautiful in my brokenness and in my strength.
I am imperfect.
I am willing to be transparent, in case someone else is looking to me for direction.
I don't know the answers, but I do know that this life I've chosen is the one I want.

I only hope I earn the good I've gained so far.

This is a cross-post on the Kink and Poly blogs.

The Night Calling

There's a new chill in the autumn air, and I yearn for the crunch and crackle of leaves beneath my feet, the aroma of a bonfire drifting on the wind.  I close my eyes and dream of pools of moonlight, tendrils of fog, and the irresistibly spooky sounds of the night.  

I'm not really the kind of girl who will willingly watch a scary movie. I don't love roller coasters, or sky diving, or those strange, expensive slingshot rides at the county fair that shoot you into the sky and bounce you several times while you scream in terror, before you can get back safely on the ground.  I'm not an adrenaline junkie, per se.  

Yet, there's something to be said for pushing myself to venture out into the darkness.  There's an excitement that comes from plunging into the domain of spiders and snakes, and the occasional green-eyed nocturnal cat that brushes by your ankles in the shadowy night. I'm not into the blood and gore hallow e'en stuff, or the kind of supernatural evil that makes one wake screaming with the bedclothes clinging to damp skin.  But I do love to entertain the cold fingers of fear along that line between my shoulder-blades, and the papery voice of dread as it whispers into the hollow just below my earlobe.

I want to feel my heart flutter like a startled bird in a tiny cage.  I want to explore the darkness, and let my imagination carry me away, so that when my feet do finally find the path toward hearth and home, I can be the courageous girl who lets you welcome me back with open arms, soothing me as I fight to catch my breath.  I want you to tell me how very brave I've been, and how proud you are.  

Then after a nice cuddle, please usher me off to bed for a wholly different kind of dark fun.

Welcome Morning

Dark haiku:

tension builds with dawn

body twisted in the sheets

swiftly comes uncoiled 

~Ephe 8/28/11

#concupiscence
#darkhaiku

Up Your Sleeve

Dark haiku:

With ribbon, chain, words,

"Stay close to me, Mine, don't stray."

My heart could be bound.

~Ephe  8/18/11

Today I Need

To hear the strength in your voice. To know that calm. To stand silently in the corner and wait for you, for a short while. To feel your eyes watching me from across the room.

To be told to strip, and lie face down in the bed. To feel your hand upon my bottom. To feel the sting of fingers, or a cane, or a paddle, or a flogger.



That first sharp intake of air, and that first groan of welcome, of acknowledgement, pain is mine. The second blow, and the third, the unexpected rhythm, the surrender, the knowing that I do not need to know when the next strike will come, or where it will land, only that it will.

To be pushed, closer and closer to tears, to that breaking edge, to the emotions I've been hiding away because they were too messy to let spill out. To feel them rise in the back of my throat, and leap with every moan, every pain filled cry.

To hear your voice, steady, patient.

To arch my back and kick my feet, and scream my protests into the pillow without fear that you will stop before I'm there.



To scream until I am exhausted from holding back, and then feel the tears spilling down my cheeks, the sobs tearing from my chest. To tremble and shudder and weep.

To be gathered in your arms, and to blubber, sob, messily, uncontrollably, wrapped in your control. To spend my emotion in your embrace.



Safe.

Loved.

Known.

Understood.

Then, to love you in return, to sate your hunger and meet your need.






But today is not that day.

The Rope Twists

I don't really believe in 'directions' in art; the rope twists as you follow it, that's all.
~Graham Nelson

-----

We learn the rope of life by untying its knots.
Jean Toomer
-----

Weave me a rope that will pull me through these impossible times.
Tim Finn
-----

Husband's first attempt, and I rather like it.

I love the marks that stay behind... ephemeral memories.

Collared and Cuffed Poet

Today I gave myself a gift.  These remind me who I am.  I love everything about them and  this journey of discovery they represent.

So many sensations I want to write indelibly upon my mind and heart, and never, ever forget.

The flow of silk stocking drawn upwards from my toes to my hip... and then repeated. The cinching of ribbons until I feel every single stay. Garters fastened at the top of each thigh, snapped into place with a playful tug. Breathing made shallow by the corset and by the excitement as he takes me by the hand and leads me to stand before the mirror.

'Look at how beautiful you are.'

His hungry eyes just over my left shoulder and the flush of color on my freckled skin. Leaning forward, at his insistence, until my breasts spill out over the top of the fabric while his hands pull my hips backwards into his.

Later, propped upon pillows in the center of the bed -- my legs wrapped around his shoulders. Ribboned black silk a stark contrast against his sandy hair. The swell of fabric over my hips and my utter amazement at my own curves swaddled in midnight silk and brocade. The trembling excitement I feel in my limbs. The way my nipples harden and my insides clench in anticipation.

I have never felt so deliciously lovely, and the light in his eyes is my mirror.

I can't wait to look again.


Photo borrowed from knownbeauty, the tattoo text is this:

"Now I will believe

that there are unicorns;

that in Arabia

There is one tree, the phoenix' throne,

one phoenix

At this hour reigning there."

- William Shakespeare,

 The Tempest, 3.3

He Wraps me 'Round with Words

My beloved Sir Poet has a way with words. He knows just what to say - just what picture to paint - to quiet the voices that clamor in my head.

Every night He uses those words to bid me sweet dreams, to remind me I am His, to take me to that place where I am wrapped safely in His arms, or my leash is held by His hand as I sleep, or I am tied to his bed and curled upon a cushion at His feet. He binds me, always with words... words of rope, of chain, of leather.

On the best nights, His words bind my wrists behind my back, my arms to each other at my elbows, my ankles, and legs in crimson rope, strong and soft. All the while He whispers to me. His words become the boundaries, the limits that settle over me like a cloak.

After the rope, His words bind a length of violet silk around my eyes, as I close them tightly, focusing on the last image before they shut: His eyes - His determined yet gentle gaze. His words ask whether I have anything left to say before He adds another length of ink black silk that slides in between my lips. I whisper softly that I love Him, and express my gratitude for His words; then I am forced to be silent. To listen to His movements, to anticipate His touch.

Soon His breath grazes my neck, and my ear. His words whisper, and sometimes, He asks me whether I'm ready before He slips the noise-cancelling headphones over my head. The last words I hear are His profession of love, and His bid of goodnight and sweet dreams. He calls me His pet, and then silence.

I feel everything.

The boundary of the ropes, the silk, the weight of silence upon my body. My head echoes with His words, and I feel loved, safe, protected, wanted.

I wait.

I know He will reach for me. He will guide me into His arms, and wrap Himself around me to sleep in solitude, in silence and safety. I dream of being wrapped 'round in his protective wings.

I rest within His words.



image reblogged from http://augustserendipity.tumblr.com/

Hello, My Name Is...

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

The Switch in My Looking Glass

"Who in the world am I? Ah, that's the great puzzle!"
- Lewis Carroll (Alice's Adventures in Wonderland)
----------

“I know who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then."
- Lewis Carroll (Alice's Adventures in Wonderland)

----------

"How puzzling all these changes are! I'm never sure what I'm going to be, from one minute to another."
- Lewis Carroll (Alice's Adventures in Wonderland)
----------

"Be what you would seem to be - or, if you'd like it put more simply - never imagine yourself not to be otherwise than what it might appear to others that what you were or might have been was not otherwise than what you had been would have appeared to them to be otherwise."
- Lewis Carroll (Alice's Adventures in Wonderland)
----------

"Speak in French when you can’t think of the English for a thing-- turn your toes out when you walk--- And remember who you are!"
- Lewis Carroll (Through The Looking Glass)
----------

’The question is,’ said Alice, ‘whether you can make words mean so many different things.’
’The question is,’ said Humpty Dumpty, ‘which is to be master — that’s all."
- Lewis Carroll (Through The Looking Glass)
----------

I can't go back to yesterday because I was a different person then. "
- Lewis Carroll (Alice's Adventures in Wonderland)
----------

I came into D/s drawn by the strength of a male partner... his restrained desire, eventually unleashed because he could no longer hold back; his ability to draw from me responses I didn’t know were in me; his acknowledgement of my darkness. I’ve always loved the feeling of being worth so much attention -- because he had to be very attentive to keep me on the edge, to be the kind of dominant I didn’t even know I wanted or needed until Karhu was.

In my day-to-day life, I am a strong-willed woman, intelligent, creative, and driven. I’m the one who gets things done, who delegates, who takes charge of a situation and bends it. I am responsible for my own life, my own pleasure, my own orgasm. Three years ago I began exploring D/s, and I was intrigued by the idea that there might be someone out there strong enough to accept the control I willingly surrendered -- and to wield it with skill; to take me to places I’d never been. That’s essentially what I’ve looked for in every D/s dynamic I’ve encountered or negotiated since.

Because that exchange of power is what I wanted, I used the labels I had a grasp upon to define myself as submissive -- forgetting that I am also strong-willed, driven, and very much a Mom. When I met others in the community who responded alternately to my labels or my personality, I came away surprised. Some expected me to be very subby, others were surprised when I insisted I was not dominant.

I’ve resisted the label of switch, out of fear. I do not want to lose the submissive in me. I am still learning what labels mean, and how I fit. I think part of me hates the idea I mighy be expected to be strong, when what I’m really looking for is a safe place to not be the strong one.

On the other hand, I’ve been struggling with the realization that I don’t fully fit into what I perceive as the subby role. This weekend over the course of several conversations, Shepherd figuratively held up a mirror and insisted in his gentle, indomitable way, that I take an honest look at my own reflection. I had to admit it.

There’s a dominant in me.

She is the woman who told Husband a year ago I was going to be polyamorous, and he could believe I loved him, or go find his happiness without me. I wouldn’t be angry at him if he made that choice for himself.

She is the woman who successfully negotiated a play-partner relationship based on her own wants, needs and limits.

She is the woman who found herself in a situation she didn’t understand, got defensive with a Domme who made her feel intimidated, and stood up for herself, making a mess of things. Now she is faced with the task of making it all right again.

She is the Mommy, the wife, the Child of the Wild Blue Yonder. She is me, and I am determined to go out and find what I need to be happy, only choosing to surrender and submit what I want, what feeds me, what meets my needs.

I may never own a submissive, though I’m learning never to use never definitively. Shepherd says some day I’ll meet someone and say “Mama want... Mama get. Period.” He’s probably right. When it comes to showing me myself, he usually is.

After all, he sees the darkness in me, and loves me for it. He’s the one person in my life I trust and love completely enough discuss a collar with. So, here I stand before that mirror and I see both dominant and submissive. There are needs in me fed by both of these dynamics. How I choose to explore and let them play out in my life is my choice. I will do so in my time. This is my privilege. I don’t have to surrender one aspect of myself, in order to have the other.

In fact, if I am to be true to me, there is no choice, but to acknowledge and celebrate who that woman really is.

Who is in your mirror?

Take Your Kink to Work

One of the symptoms of an approaching nervous breakdown is the belief that one's work is terribly important.
~Bertrand Russell (1872 - 1970)

----------

My work is a game, a very serious game.
~M. C. Escher (1898 - 1972)

----------

I read somewhere on fetlife that Thursday, April 21 was "Take Your Kink to Work Day", and in preparation I asked Shepherd for bruises.  He was very generous.  Very.  (And there was a dagger involved, but that's another post altogether.)  

In addition to the bruises, I of course wore my elastic band.  Shepherd instructed me to snap the band in conjunction with every "Good Morning" greeting or 'Thank You" I received.  The total was seventeen... and my wrist was nicely red by the end of my four hour shift.

The bruises weren't the sort that _sub_girl and I talked about when we first met... they did not ache and remind me of him every time I shifted in my chair, because too much time had passed from Sunday to Thursday for them to still be that tender.  But I still knew.  Beneath my black skirt... they were there.

In addition to the bruises and the elastic, I wore a simple chain around my neck, and a blouse that was laced up the back like a corset, with Scarlet ribbon -- this in honor of Sir Poet, and at his request.  My shift was only four hours, and fairly uneventful, though the thoughts the whole event afforded me were quite yummy indeed, and that made the work day go all the more quickly.

On the drive home, I realized something.

I take my kink with me to work every day.

by scottfeldstein on flickr

I am who I am.  I am dark and twisted, and surrounded by the things in my life that represent the wonderfully loving, kinky, power-exchange relationships I enjoy.  There is a darkness in me that goes with me everywhere I go.  It looks out at me from my own eyes when I stand before a mirror.  It is part of who I am.

Everywhere I go, I meet that girl in me that is wonderfully kinky.

I hope that never changes.   

Thirty Days of Kink - Tying One On

by northerngreenpixie on flickr

Day 30: Whatever BDSM/kink related thing you want to write about.

Today's post is a response to a question from Sir Poet. When I told him I was trying to come up with an idea for this last post, he offered several until we settled on this one. I can understand why he likes it: 

You've been told you're to be restrained - that is all. What image comes to mind? How do you envision yourself restrained/bound/etc? What position, with what materials (rope, silk, leather, iron, steel, etc.)? Any additional toys?

In my fantasies, I've been restrained in many different ways.   Probably one of the most incredible ways was introduced to me in a bit of long-distance-fantasy-role-play, by Maks.  In this fantasy, I was bound with scarlet thread--simple cotton thread, easily broken, except for my absolute desire to submit to him, and to surrender to the mental bonds that made that scarlet thread powerful enough to hold me down.  I have always loved this idea, and hope to try it out sometime, when the mood is right.

I've also entertained many a fantasy about shibari, with a moderately soft, scarlet rope, possibly made of silk.  I've mentioned more than once that I love the imagery, the art, of shibari, and would love to imagine myself so beautifully bound.  That someone or Someone would take the time to get the knots just so, and make the pattern of the ropes exactly right speaks volumes to me, and I would not pass up the experience if it came from someone I love and trust.

Since my trip to Shepherd's local dungeon, I've imagined being bound and locked away in that tiny cell located in the theme room.  The bars are cold iron, and the space is small.  I'm sure I can imagine that sort of delicious dread that would accompany such a bondage.  I have a feeling that before long, I'll find myself smack in the middle of just such a fantasy, and probably when I least expect it.

However, none of those fantasies are what I imagine in the scenario Sir Poet describes above.  Lately, when we are on the phone, or chatting online, and he is ready to say goodnight, I ask him to bind me, at least in our imaginations.  It helps me stay focused on his presence, and to rest feeling secure.  That type of bondage is what I imagine most often and here it is:

I am bound in soft red ribbon, three inches wide, and several yards long.  The ribbon binds my hands behind my back, and then is drawn upwards through the D-ring in my collar at the nape of my neck.  The other end of that ribbon is bound to Sir, tied 'round his wrist, or least, gripped tightly in his hand.  Even in the night, when the house is quiet and dark, I know that at the other end of that ribbon is the hand of my Sir, who cherishes me, and honors my submission.  I love imagining this.

I don't normally imagine additional toys, as my focus is on breathing in the moment, and feeling the connection to the one who binds me.   It's very much first a mental thing for me, and the physical reality is something I look forward to with great anticipation.

----------

And with that, I'm finished with the Thirty Days of Kink posts!  

I hope you enjoyed reading.  I hope to think of other ineresting topics in the future.  Keep reading, and I'll strive to give you something worth reading!