Dual Climate Controls

It was only a couple of weeks ago that Master and T went through that car buying frenzy, and so we ended up with the beautiful, garnet-red, brand new Hyundai Tucson.  The specs for the Tucson say:

•Redesigned compact crossover SUV

•“Fluidic” design language featuring new hexagonal grille treatment to be rolled out to all Hyundai models

•Bigger inside and out, with more head, leg, storage and cargo room

•Available dual-zone climate control

•Available dual-panel sunroof over both rows of seats

•Available rearview camera system with Smart Park Assist

•Available leather seating

•Available Smart Key ignition and locking

•Standard 2.0-liter 4-cylinder engine with 6-speed manual transmission

•Available 2.4-liter 4-cylinder engine with 6-speed automatic transmission

•Available all-wheel drive

•Available 18-inch alloy wheels

 

Yup.  Our new Tucson has dual-zone climate control.  I have seen that control, and in the first few days, I even had occasion to operate it.  It was a heady thing to be able to jump into the passenger seat and set the temperature on my side of the car to whatever number I liked -- warm or cool, I decided! 

For a couple of days.

Somewhere, in those first few power-drunk days, Master noticed that His side of the control system reacts to whatever it is that I do on my side.  If His side was set cooler than my side, then on His side the air would blow cool.  Well, that is all it took...

Today, we were out, running some errands, and I took note of the fact that the Hyundai still HAS dual-side climate control.  However, today, both of those controls were set to the exact same number -- and that number was, of course, determined by Himself.  Of course.

It is a small thing, but I think that the story of the dual-sided climate controls is illustrative.  It shows in very plain and prosaic terms how our relationship works.  He controls.  Everything that He chooses to control.  Big and small.  I may play with making my own decisions and controlling my own world, as long as He allows that -- and not one minute longer.  And, when He chooses to take the control back to Himself, that is how it is, and there is no "wrestling" over that.  The control slides easily into His hands, and if I am not paying close attention, I might not even notice. 

That is, in the end the simplest answer to all the pointed and judgemental questions that have been tossed into the conversation here lately.  Questions that ask why I post pictures, or write the tales of spankings, and others that ask why T and I allow Him to drink when He chooses to do that, and questions that wonder how we can tolerate some of what happens in our household -- all are simply answered by the story of the dual-side climate controls in the Hyundai.  There are loci of control that seem accessible to all of us on an equal basis because we are all competent and capable adults.  There are times when the control rests in my hands, or in T's, but it is deceptive because that only occurs when and if He allows it.  When He wants the control; when He chooses to choose; when He is feeling "dominant," then things are the way He wants them to be.  And that is that. 

There really aren't any dual-control systems in our world -- not even when it looks like there might  be.

swan

Encounter with Terror

Last weekend, Master ordered a new whip. He likes a whip maker named Arturo, who makes whips that seem to be intended for the "non-kinky" market, and that seems to keep his products in a price range that is way more reasonable than what similar items cost in "the lifestyle."


Himself has been pining away for an 8-plait rubber bullwhip that Arturo makes, and so Saturday morning, He placed the order -- and I began a spin into complete terror and despair.


Whips scare the crap out of me, and that is the plain, old, garden variety of whip -- made from leather. Rubber is a material that, in my experience, is way more wicked than almost anything else that impact play implements get made out of. Rubber sticks to the skin when it hits, and it then pulls the skin with it when it pulls away. The kind of damage that rubber does is much more intense and more long lasting than leather or wood or acrylics... A rubber bullwhip seems beyond my capacity to actually imagine, and serious contemplation of that combination takes me to a place that is beyond panic. Beginning shortly after He placed that order on Saturday morning, I was obsessively contemplating the impending reality of a RUBBER BULLWHIP, and it didn't take me very long to get past panic and all the way to terror and utter and complete despair.


But I didn't say anything to Him. He was so delighted in His purchase, and I am His slave. I don't say, "no." I work hard to please Him, to do what He wants me to do. I understand that, in our dynamic, He decides how and when we will play, and with what. None of this pivots around my pleasure or my desires. It is for me to submit; to obey; to trust... So I didn't tell Him about what I was feeling -- I didn't want to be seen as trying to "top from the bottom," and I was acutely aware of His distaste for anything that even remotely appears to be "service topping."

We went to bed late on Saturday evening, and He dropped almost instantly into a deep sleep. I laid there in the darkness, and the RUBBER BULLWHIP loomed larger and larger and larger in my imagination. I know how whips cut and burn, and I know how rubber sticks and pulls. A RUBBER BULLWHIP would, I was absolutely certain, pull great strips of skin right off. I couldn't sleep. I could barely breathe. My heart was pounding wildly in my chest. Tears simply streamed down my face as I tried to keep from sobbing out loud. In my mind, I saw myself, standing under the lash of the RUBBER BULLWHIP -- skin being flayed from my body; blood running down my legs and back and pooling at my feet; knowing that I must stay in position; knowing that I must not make too much noise; knowing that I would die (really and not metaphorically) before it was all over.

It all made me very sad. Very sad. I mourned the years ahead that we would not have together. I wondered why He wanted to kill me when He'd always seemed to be completely thrilled with having me in His life. I wondered what it was that I'd done or not done that had changed things to make that happen. I went round and round with the internal voice that wanted to declare that "it wasn't fair," explaining the dynamic and the agreement I'd made and how that impacted the notion of "fair." Lying there, in the dark, awash in panic and misery, completely unable to sleep, I began to formulate a list of things that I needed to get done in the few days I had before the RUBBER BULLWHIP would be delivered: laundry, final phone calls to my son and daughter, some sort of legal transferal of the deeds to my condo and my car so they could belong to Master after I was gone, batteries in the smoke detectors, one more trip through His closet to make sure everything is in order... What a crazy hodge-podge of "chores!"

By Sunday morning, I was limp; exhausted both physically and emotionally. I wasn't angry, but I was completely without any hope. There wasn't one shred of belief in me that I'd be able to survive what was coming, and no thought to do anything to change my fate. I was completely resigned. All that was left of the emotional storm I'd been through was a slow, steady, seemingly inexhaustible stream of tears.

When He woke up, all fresh and rested and ready to go, He found me completely wrung out; compliant but without any energy or enthusiasm for anything. I was completely into a "whatever -- nothing matters anyway" state of mind.

He read the despair in my eyes immediately and demanded to know what was wrong. At first, all I could do was burrow into His chest and shiver. It wasn't the response He was looking for, and eventually, I heard that tone of command that inevitably brings me straight to whatever is demanded: "What's wrong? Tell me!"

Five words, spoken in a tiny, and very tired voice: "I don't want to die."

"What!?!?! What are you talking about? What is wrong with you?" And, so I told Him. Told Him all of it. My fear; my certainty of the outcome; my confusion as to His reasons; the whole list of things that I needed to get done before... well, before; and my utter and total saddness at all of it.

I think He might have laughed except that I was so clearly serious, and in such a state. He pulled me in very close, and began to reassure me, as if He believed that all of my craziness was, in fact, not crazy. Carefully, step by step, He walked me through the logic of all of it; He loved me -- always and all ways; would never harm me; had ordered the whip because it was such a great deal, and because He liked it; had never ever hit me with the one bullwhip we already own... so why would I believe He intended to use this one on me? It was a tapestry of reasoning and logic that began to pull me slowly back into a contemplation of the possibility that I might not be at the end of my life (and yes I know how melodramatic that sounds -- welcome to my sometimes wild internal universe).

Finally, sensing (I think) that I was through the crisis I'd created in my mind, He asked me, "Why are you still here? Why didn't you leave? How is this "protecting Master's property?"

I just looked at Him, incredulously, tears springing afresh -- "I can't leave! Where would I go? I don't know what I would do!" The idea that I would somehow leave was beyond my ability to even conceptualize. It had never once, through all the long and scary hours of the night, crossed my mind...

Which brings me to the point of this whole long, pitiful tale: slavery is about relinquishing control. It is as simple as this: all the decisions are now His. Often, when someone wants to get into a tussle with one of us who claim the title "slave," there will be the proposition that we would surely draw the line at some point -- family, work, physical injury, or death. I've always resisted getting into that sort of hypothetical discussion, because I don't think there is anyway for any of us to know for sure what we would do in the event we came to be pressed in some atypical and very difficult fashion. I've watched others wrestle with their own enconters, and I know that the outcomes are as unpredictable and variable as the people involved. There is no pattern, no prescription, and no "one size fits all." Giving up control, as it turns out, is a risky business. I only know that I encountered my own terror, all alone in the depths of the night, and I stayed put. It is a piece of information about the nature of our dynamic that I've never had before.

swan

Toy Collection Report #1

Master wrote, in His comment on the first of the toy collection posts:

"I am wondering,since you are intent on writing about various ones of our toys, if after you introduce each of them we shouldn't use them so you can describe the effect from recent memory:) "



And so, of course, this morning's session included the paddle I spoke of in that post.



He wasn't mean (at least, not as mean as He CAN be...). The session began with a lot of hand-spanking. I felt myself settling in under His touch. Then, He traced the cutting with the point of His knife... deeply enough to bring intense sensations up, and deeply enough to send me far down into my mind, flowing with the meaning of that act for us both. I felt myself beginning to float away, and began to think that perhaps I'd simply fly through this session.



And, then... He drew me back up and sent me off to fetch the paddle off the wall. Fuzzy-headed, I stumbled off to the living room. When I brought it back to Him, He pulled me to Him and smacked my ass soundly with it several times as I leaned into His frame. It didn't take long for me to come up out of subspace and fully into the pain of the moment. By the time He sent me back to my pillow for the "actual" session, I was completely out of the headspace, upset, and on the verge of tears.

He held me, told me to go right back to where I'd been. I whimpered, He began again, repeating the hand spanking and re-tracing the cutting. I settled some.

I know that He used some straps on me. They felt sharp, but not heavy. At some point He switched over to a paddle, but not THAT paddle. I was processing the pain, and managing alright, not struggling horribly. It was work, but I was OK.

Then He started with the "featured" paddle. The first few smacks were just heavy; hard; un-yielding. I didn't count. I don't count if I don't have to. He counts. I hear Him sometimes.

Because I wasn't counting, I didn't have any sense of how many strokes it had been. Not many I think. Suddenly, I was not OK anymore. Suddenly, I was overwhelmed. I heard my own voice, crying, sobbing, and begging: "Please! Please! No more, please! Please, please, please!!!" I didn't move. Didn't flail. Didn't resist Him or fight -- just begged Him to end my agony. I remember He said something into my panic as He continued to smack my ass with that paddle. I have no idea what it was that He told me in that moment.

And then it was done, and I crumpled into Him sobbing. He held me for a few minutes, calmed and soothed me, and then told me that He was going to finish off with the cane. That was relatively, easy; after the rest.

Finished, I kissed the paddle, and asked His permission to snuggle into His arms. I cuddled with Him for a bit of time -- recovering and calming down. We made love then, and it was good. We finished happy and satisfied with ourselves and each other.

The whole business gives me pause. If there is to be a "featured" attraction to every session as I work my way through this toy collection project that I've begun, it seems that I have some ability to "control my own destiny" in a sense. I was simply planning to work my way along sort of methodically, looking at each implement as I came to them; organizing, perhaps, by type, but without much intent to "choose" them for any particular reason. Now, given this dynamic, I could, I guess, choose depending on my mood and "desire." As I've contemplated that notion today, it feels "icky." I don't want to be led down that path. I want to not direct things in that fashion. So... I am going to do my very best to follow my original plan -- to simply look at the individual toys in our collection, one after another, without being influenced by Master's plans around all of that.

swan

The Consent/Control Paradox

Recently it seems that we have been awash in friends and Internet contacts who are wrestling with struggles about consent vs. control within BDSM, or DD, or adult consensual spanking relationships ( or M/s, D/s, or..............et al.)

They wrestle with how much control they should exert (or have exerted) in all aspects of life and particularly in areas of corporal discipline styles and D/s (DD) lifestyle philosophies in that they must be "consensual."

A key concept in the power exchange dynamic (the dynamic that is central to all sorts of D/s relatedness with whatever sort of label is placed upon its underlying philosophy) is that if you consent to give over control and retain the option of withdrawing that consent, then you are the one in control of your relationship. If you do this it is in fact the Top (HOH) who is submissive in the relationship and you have not ceded control at all.

Often these conundrums emanate from an etiology like this. One relationship partner (often the woman, but not always) expresses a deep seated need for some sort of discipline dynamic in their life and asks her partner to undertake to discipline or Dominate her. They begin to practice adult consensual erotic and/or disciplinary spanking or other related D/s practices. As they evolve into their new lifestyle enhancement either the Dominant or HOH or Leader in the relationship does this in a fashion that is not the way the bottom partner feels he or she needs to fulfill the needs that have lead her to this new relationship dynamic. There are a plethora of "typical" complaints: He's not consistent enough; He's not strict enough; He's not severe enough; He's too severe; He's enjoying it too much and I don't want our pure asexual disciplinary practice to become "erotic" (oh horrors:); He doesn't take it seriously enough; He's "gone mad" and thinks he can "run my life" beyond our agreed to "list of rules"; He's not really Dominant (unless I tell him to be); He's far too Dominant; etc.

Inherent to these discussions is the bottom partners' precipitating the power exchange by requesting and consenting to submitting to the authority of the Top partner to "take charge" or "lead" or be "head of household", etc., it is incumbent upon them to SUBMIT. If, for example, your new HOH decides to take the relationship into realms that might be described as BDSM and you define your orientation as DD, then it is your role to follow. If He decides to not discipline you for an infraction then he has not failed you. He has, in fact, used his judgement to exercise the authority that you granted him. If He requires you to go out and cut 18 switches, bind them into birch rods, and then gives you the licking of your life, that is his judgement reliant on your original consent and request (and I bet you don't repeat the precipitating behavior again anytime soon.)

If you are to withdraw consent then you withdraw consent for the Top to be Top at all. Consenting to a disciplinary or D/s relationship and then piece mealy selecting which particular types of control or disciplinary practices you will then consent to, is inherently self-defeating and is usually very damaging to relationships.

It has been our experience (all three of us) that it is rare for previously vanilla relationships to successfully evolve into mutually satisfactory and enhancing D/s relationships. I think it is the failure to successfully negotiate this paradoxical dynamic that leads to these failures.

Here I am in control. I exercise that control as I choose and judge to be appropriate for us all. There is no withdrawing consent (not more than once) nor is there any sort of disrespectful back talk or push back. (Well there could be but typically that is not an option that is chosen more than once after experiencing the consequences of that mistake.) I am not over bearing. Actually many would I think be quite surprised how empowering and laissez faire I am in my control style. Whether we are talking about my M/s with swan, my D/s with t, or simply a much more limited and casual Top/bottom disciplinary spanking relationship with a friend, once I am granted control I lead and the bottom follows. If consent is withdrawn then the relationship ends (at least as far as any sort of D/s, DD, etc. dynamic.)

There is a concept in management that is notoriously noted for leading to organizational dysfunction and failure. It is delegating responsibility to achieve outcomes without simultaneously granting the requisite authority to achieve them. Worse yet is to grant that authority and then randomly withdraw it and then restore it as occurs in micro-management. Those who ask a Top partner to achieve the benefits of Dominance or Discipline for them both and then withdrawal that authority eclectically are unfortunately making this mistake and they and their relationship can be harmed greatly in the process.

If you are a Top partner in a D/s or DD dynamic and you encounter this problem, tell your partner to stop, you are in control and it is her (or his) role to follow. If he or she is not willing to follow you then end the D/s or DD dynamic. You were never given control in the first place and you are living out a fallacy within which it is impossible for you to succeed. If you are a bottom partner respect the authority of your Top and do not withdraw it unless you decide that you do not have a partner with whom you can be fulfilled in your need for submission, discipline, etc. Then, of course, you will need to determine what you will do about fulfilling your need to submit or be disciplined.

I hope explanation of relationship dynamics that are evident to us from our lifestyle experience can be helpful to some others. As always, the only "right" way for you to live your life is exactly as you and your partner choose, and no one has a right to judge your life based upon their opinion of your life's "correctness."


All the best:)

Tom

Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've imagined.

How to Begin

We keep track of the statistics for this little bit of cyberspace using StatCounter. We do watch our stats go up and down, and we sometimes scratch our heads in utter amazement at what it is that brings people here. It isn't always, or even often, clear at all.



Overnight, we had someone find their way to The Heron Clan by typing in a Google search looking for "what should I ask my Master before I give my submission." We came up, among the other hits for that query, because of what I wrote here about the differences between BDSM and Domestic Discipline. I can't imagine that, if the seeker was looking for advice about how to negotiate ahead of entering into a D/s or M/s dynamic, that they found what they were looking for. I don't believe I've ever even come close to discussing or addressing that topic area.



I am not clear that I am the person who ought to talk about this, given my experience. All I can do is reconstruct the path that brought me to this life. Perhaps there is something in the story that others might find instructive.



It was the month of March; exactly this time of the year, six years ago. We'd known each other, at that point for a little over two years. Mostly, our contact was by IM, email, and long-distance phone calls -- because I was living in Denver, Colorado, and He and T were here in Ohio. We would travel, one way or the other, to visit and play, usually several times a year, but ours was a long-distance relationship.



We'd already declared our love for one another, and weathered the storms that were the result of that revelation. We'd come together, as a "quad" at the new year to make the final decision that would bring us together as a "family." We understood that we were moving to make that a reality.



We hadn't set a date. We hadn't discussed timing.



That day, in March, He and I were IM'ing, and I was running down a litany of perfectly sensible and rational reasons why it would be "at least" two years before we could reasonably make the move. After all, I told Him, there was a lot to do...



I will always remember the words as they blinked across my screen: "Do you think that we will live forever? Get here to me this summer!"



And, I did exactly that. I sold my home; quit my teaching job; said goodbyes to the grown children and my mother; packed all the household goods that I didn't sell; and separated from the few friends that had shared my path to that point. Just a bit more than 24 hours after the last children walked out of my classroom in Colorado that first week in June, we pulled up out in front of the apartment complex where He and T were living, and where we had rented the apartment next door to theirs.



I don't recall that there was any negotiation to that process. He said, "come," and I obeyed. There was huge eagerness between us, but very little in the way of conversation about our respective expectations for the relationship that we were creating. I remember asking, once, about what "sex" would be like between He and I -- a question which He answered with absolute candor and honesty.



We thought we knew what we were doing. Neither of us were "children." We were of a certain age. We'd played together a few times by then, and we'd talked and talked and talked. We were dreadfully, irretrievably, ridiculously in love.



So, clearly, I am no expert at the business of submissives negotiating with Dominants in the beginning stages of a power exchange dynamic. I've seen negotiations carried out to a rather remarkable degree of precision before people entered into short-term scenes in my local public dungeon. I've surely read a whole lot of advice on the subject. In practice, it wasn't like that for me with Him. I'm not clear, that if I had it to do over again, I'd do it a whole lot differently. There is all that "theory," and then there is the reality of what is at stake when you make this kind of move. I'm not convinced that you can really "negotiate" the entry into this kind of dynamic -- anymore than you can negotiate the final step over the edge of a cliff.



If I'd asked questions then; if I'd tried to come up with some list of "limits" or "requirements," I think I would have been entirely caught up in the "physical" implications of our pending arrangement. It would have been the kind of thing that comes up on "check lists" like one finds on sites that try to provide BDSM information for beginners: what and how much and how often and how hard and on and on. I would have seen, and possibly tried to address, what was within the scope of my vision. It would have been grotesquely inadequate in terms of trying to define the life that I was about to step into.



I can't imagine. I can't imagine Him being anything but amused (or perhaps mildly annoyed) by me attempting to define the life that He was calling me into with Him. He was utterly sure and completely in control at that point. My submission was not something that He needed me to "give" to Him. He had the vision for us together, and He would have it in exactly the form that He could see in His mind's eye. So, part of me believes that if the question is "what has to be in place between us before I agree to give my submission?" there is already an issue of whether the Dominant partner is ready to assume that control.



I suppose that, if I had the gift of prescience that would have allowed me to see into the future, I'd have asked:

• What will we do to mitigate the unavoidable impacts of aging and health changes on our life together?




• How will You help me and guide me through the emotions that I'll encounter when/as You become "bored" with me (as You surely will) and seek to create relationships beyond just "us?"




• How will we find the strength together to withstand all the unexpected and uncontrollable vagaries of living our lives day to day?




• How will you shelter me and us from the impacts of social sanction and isolation related to our lifestyle?

Those are the far more piercing questions that might have been asked. I doubt very much that He'd have been able to answer those "look into the future and tell me it will always be OK" questions with any kind of specificity or accuracy. The only truthful answers to those kinds of quetions have to fall into the "I don't know" realm.



So. No answer to what questions one ought to ask a Dominant or a Master ahead of deciding to enter a power-based relationship dynamic. The only advice that I can come up with, six years later, is to reach for a level of self-awareness that makes it seem "right" for you personally to follow the path that lies at your feet, aware that there are hurdles and chasms ahead that you cannot see or predict. There is no way to eliminate the risks; no way to prevent the disasters and challenges that will come up along the way; no way to measure the ratio of joy to sorrow that might be your portion. In the end, it is His tag line that seems to offer the best advice: "Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you've imagined."



swan

Polyamory Theory

Some of the very best, brightest, most illuminated writing about polyamory is being done by pepomint at Freaksexual. In the last few days, she's put up a lengthy and amazing piece on the connection between love and sex in polyamory relationships. It is a very deep, challenging, and comprehensive exploration -- far better than anything I've ever read on the subject. There's a lot there to contemplate and digest, but here's a bit of material (extremely condensed and cut down from the original) that I think we too often try to soft pedal, duck, or just not address in talking about what polyamory is all about:

...it is clear that love is strongly associated with relationships... our culture separates out sex and love and treats them differently, love much more positively than sex...Sex is not necessarily the most important part of love, but the presence of or potential for sex is a mandatory requirement for love...the connection between love and sex is an “A is not B, but A requires B” relationship...relationships definitely require love...we find that relationships also require sex.

There are people who contemplate the beginnings of polyamory. Those people quite often read the tiny bit of published material and envision some sort of beast that can be defined by rules and agreements and tidy little arrangements. I remember one friend, beginning the journey into polyamory, who created an elaborate set of "rules" with her partner about what was and was not OK as they began to form new connections. In the first year or so of their poly-ness, they spent enormous amounts of energy dealing with the continual fallout from broken "rules." Another "correspondent" that I had a few exchanges with, was all wound up because she and her partner had agreements that defined exactly what and how much "sex" and "emotional" involvement with "others" was acceptable in their poly relating. Of course, in the actual event, it didn't go that way at all, and she was completely devastated. She'd read all the stuff about honesty and full disclosure and working things out together, and just couldn't understand "where they had gone so wrong." Oh good grief!

The simple reality (or maybe not so simple), that those of us who are doing and talking about poly ought to be clearer about is this: People forming relationships will, in spite of intention or agreement or rules, sometimes without any planning on any side, perhaps fall in love and respond to one another sexually. That may or may not be something that partners anticipate and discuss in so many words, but it really doesn't matter. It is the nature of the beast. We can keep on talking about the "niceties" that are our stock in trade -- the things that make us seem a little more socially acceptable (maybe), but we ought not keep on peddling bullshit among ourselves and to those who are trying to learn from us.

One more lesson. More about control and not control. I know that I tend to hold the edges pretty close, and that beyond the edges are fearful places for me. Many say that jealousy is about fear. That might be. Sometimes fear is just fear. Whatever. The truth is that there is no way to control things once you embark on a relational dynamic that opens the door for other relationships. Give it up.

swan

Control and Submission

In 1996, John Travolta starred in a light-hearted, funny little film called "Michael." He played a cigarette smoking, cookie-sniffing, sugar-eating, bull-charging, womanizing, slob of an angel with an awfully big heart. The film irritated the heck out of some folks. Others called it "Capra-esque." There was a tag-line of sorts that proclaimed that "He's an angel; not a saint." I remember there was one point in the movie where Michael was engaged in some remarkably un-angel-like behavior. When this was pointed out to him, he simply declared that he wasn't THAT kind of angel.

So, what's the point? Well, like Michael, I embody a "type" that people believe they recognize. I self-identify as submissive and slave within the BDSM lifestyle community, and most people who are reasonably conversant with the "in" vocabulary understand what that language implies. I've been at this long enough to have read probably millions upon millions of words about "true" submission, the submissive personality, submissive nature, and all the rest. I've known (on-line and in person) a fair number of people who lay claim to the submissive label, some of whom have lots more "experience" in the lifestyle than I do. There are plenty of people who are way more accomplished and graceful at this "submission" business than I am -- or likely ever will be. When it comes right down to it, I am sorely tempted to go right to a variation of that movie line: "I'm not THAT kind of submissive."

Because. I'm a controller. By my nature, and by lifelong habit. It is my inclination and instinctive response to move to assume control in any situation where it is possible for me to do that. If control is within my grasp, or if it is placed within my grasp, I will take it. It isn't always good for me to do that, but if no one else has hold of the reins, I will pick them up and hold onto them for all I'm worth. And not just hold on, but actively drive the whole contraption.

I'm better off, emotionally, physically, sexually, spiritually when I can submit to someone that I can trust to take the control and allow me to let it go. It isn't good for me to orchestrate absolutely everything in the world around me. I've done it and I know what it costs me. That doesn't change the nature that lives inside my psyche.

Submission is something that I do. It is a practice that I undertake; a personal discipline that leads me into a condition of internal peacefulness, calmness, and emotional wellness. It brings me to my center, and, when I manage to find my way into some kind of balance point with it, it fulfills me as a sexually vibrant, healthy, free and happy woman.

It is finding that balance point that is the trick for me -- because I tend to analyze, and mutter away inside my head, and ascribe motivations where none exist. I watch every move and every facial expression and every gesture, and I "read" great meanings into it all. I hear every nuance of voice and expression, and believe I perceive entire unspoken (mental or subvocalized) conversations that really never happened. Simultaneously, I miss things that get said "in passing, " or perhaps even directly, because I'm caught up in my own internal script. I wonder about what I do not know or understand -- actually, I may even verge on the obssessive edge of that by times.

I want to be all the things that I know, logically and intellectually, I SHOULD be as a submissive and a slave. I really do strive for perfect obedience, and perfect calm, and perfect patience, and perfect trust, and all the rest. I understand that He owns me, and that I DO NOT own Him -- so I "get" that I am without anyplace to stand when the voices begin to push me to the place where I plot and plan to get what I sometimes believe I want from Him, or even (more insidious in some ways) just unconsciously behave in ways that passively move the dynamic in directions that I define. I am a "piece of work." Still. Even after all this time. It makes me wonder about people who lay claim to years of lifestyle experience (and therefore expertise), because I've got years, and I continue to fall far short of any sort of reasonable mark or level of achievement or expertise...

I am lucky. I belong to One who is completely comfortable in His own skin, and utterly sure of who He is. For Him, the question of who is in control within our dynamic doesn't come up at all. He knows the answer. He doesn't invest a lot of effort or energy into "controlling" me. I think, by now, that He understands that I do this wild gyrating spin every now and then. When I get too far out of bounds for His taste, He tightens things back up and puts me back where He thinks I belong. It isn't something that makes Him particularly "happy," but it also doesn't present Him with huge angst or emotional issues either. He seems to tackle it as some sort of needed, routine maintanance; like changing the oil in the car...

He's begun to talk in ways that indicate that we are probably coming into that kind of cycle here. I know enough to know what that will mean (in general terms). Almost certainly (as life settles a bit), there will be more intense, higher end SM play -- and most certainly that will be styled in ways that He enjoys. Other subtle and perhaps not so subtle shifts in our daily lives may show up as well. I expect there will be far less effort or attention invested in doing things that are aimed at "making me happy," because, as He has noted, "That doesn't really seem to work for us anyway." There's just a hint of exasperation and accusation in that comment. Really, though, I think it is mostly Him talking to Himself about what He sees and what He will be doing about it all.

I feel open and fearful and eager and quiet and focused and somehow calmer than I've been for a very long time. I am aware of the heaviness that I've been carrying around with me, and of the promise of being able to lay it down soon.

It isn't time yet. We are still working on recovering and grieving. The pace of our lives has dropped into an odd timeless place where everything is driven by the subtle and not so subtle ebbing and flowing of grief. That has its own schedule. There is really no way to predict what it will be from day to day. No way for any of us to control that.

Waiting. Breathing. Being in place to serve as needed for now.

swan

Learning

We are finding our way. Slowly. Together.

One of the hurdles for me and for us, in the last couple of years, has been figuring out how I could ask for what I wanted and needed sexually, and in terms of our SM play -- without feeling like I was "topping from the bottom," or putting Him in the position of "Service Top." As my sensitivities, responses, needs, and capacities changed, I really needed to be able to show Him what was good / not good for me, and tell Him what I wanted and needed. Unfortunately, there were impossible "standards" and expectations that I had built up in my head and in my imaginings that left me feeling like doing that would betray everything I'd said I was when I committed to be His slave. It was a ridiculous dilemma -- I couldn't change the "rules," and I couldn't live up to them either.

AND all of that was my doing. I was the one that was setting all of that up in my own mind. He was, I think, desperate to know what to do to re-establish some footing for the two of us that would make it possible for us to reconnect and move forward. The information that I couldn't and wouldn't share kept us stuck for an awfully long time.

I've begun to find my voice, and to trust that speaking to Him of my needs and wants can work to our mutual benefit -- that giving voice to my needs and longings is not necessarily a "wresting of control" away from Him, but is really giving Him the information that He needs to steer us in the direction that works for us both. I've remembered (how could I have ever forgotten) that just because I mention a thing that I might want or like doesn't obligate Him to do it for me -- that the choosing remains entirely His. The result -- we are rediscovering that our play and our power exchange is not merely about M/s, about obedience, about SM... it is also about joy and delight and eroticism and connection and wonder and contentment.

That is how it happened that last weekend I spent Saturday night sleeping in wrist cuffs. Not intensely restrained, but only gently and subtly so. I'd murmured, quietly, as we were falling asleep, that if we were going to spank in the morning I would like it if I could be restrained -- please, Sir? He pulled me close and assured me that, of course, that would be fine. Then He asked me if I needed to have the restraints to sleep in. I hadn't even thought about that -- we never do that. My mind whirled in a dozen different directions at once, and all I could do was burrow deeper into the warmth and security of His chest. He heard and understood the catch in my breathing, and chose to put the cuffs on me. With complete seriousness, He explained to me what He expected --

"I'm putting these on you and I don't want you to take them off, but you understand that IF there were an emergency there is absolutely nothing that would keep you from being able to get out of these cuffs."

"Yes, Sir," I replied. We have to be so careful, and so aware of our own mortality these days.

By the time the morning arrived, I was feeling ready to bring up another request. One of the things that I'd been struggling with was the pervasive feeling that our SM play was all pain and no pleasure. I'd come to feel that most of the time it was a matter of "living through it," hoping to get out the other side well enough that He wouldn't be "disappointed" in me. Most of the time, I end up feeling that sessions begin fast and move along at a speed that leaves me behind right from the start. Metaphorically, the train pulls out and leaves me on the platform. I don't ever "get on the train," and I never, ever arrive at the "destination."

I've kept telling myself that a "good" slave wouldn't care about any of that -- a "good" slave would be happy that the Master was getting something out of it all. It has seemed clear that He was getting plenty out of things the way they were, and I was definitely not getting "happy" as things went along, so by definition, I was a CRAPPY slave.

Still, I was ready to risk asking for something different last weekend -- just one shot at something that might change things enough to let me "get on the train."

Some of you might remember my "rock collection." I've got a small but well loved collection of phallic rocks. I am absolutely sure I am not the first woman to own these "fellows." I cannot imagine that there has ever been a red-blooded female that would have stumbled upon these lovelies that didn't pick them up and cherish them for exactly the same reason that I did and do...

So, last Sunday, I asked if, before things got going, it would be OK if I put one of the rocks in my pussy. I told Him that I thought it might help me feel like the whole thing was "sexier" and give me a way to work with the sensations in a different place. For just a second, I think He was surprised, and a little taken aback. I was afraid He'd be grossed out or something, but He was glad to let me try it, and so soon I was happily cradling a phallic stone deep inside me, and presented for His pleasure.

He just couldn't resist the urge to play with the darned thing, and I was soon panting and gasping. By the time the spanking began, I was more than ready to get on the train. He went after me with enthusiasm -- strap and paddle and cane, and I was right there. Things that would have left me in tears simply took me higher and higher, and when it was done, I was entirely exhausted and sated and fully sure that I was indeed -- His.

swan