November 25, 2008

The Gift, the Giver, and the Stranger

I was searching for an old and "gone" web page in the Way Back Machine yesterday. I came across this old parable, perhaps an overly romanticized notion of the "gift of submission", but it brought back fond memories, I have not seen it in many years, and now share it.

The Gift, the Giver, the Rebel, the Thief, and the Stranger and his Glue
author unknown

The Giver was alone, and the Gift unused: the Giver felt lonely, and sought to find someone worthy of the Gift.

The Rebel came along and saw the Gift the Giver possessed, and desired the Gift for himself. Rather than ask the Giver for the Gift, or ask what the Giver wanted for the Gift, the Rebel decided that social rules did not apply to him, and simply said "Give me the gift."

The Giver knew that the Gift was fragile and would be destroyed if mistreated, and did not trust the Rebel; for how many of those who are impolite are also delicate? But the Giver did not wish to offend, and so said to the Rebel "I am sorry, but this Gift is for someone else."

The Rebel grew angry and blustered "But I deserve the Gift. I am special and I deserve that things be given to me."

The Giver, glad to have trusted her first instinct, merely repeated: "I am sorry, but this Gift is for someone else." And the Rebel, still complaining, went his way.

The Giver sat under a willow tree, contemplating the Gift and wondering about the qualities needed to really appreciate the Gift; as she was sitting there the sun and the breeze and the sound of the creek below lulled her into a doze.

The Thief, who had overheard the Rebel and the Giver, was waiting for just this moment. Dashing out from behind a nearby bush, he made a grab for the Gift; grasping it he started to run away. However, the Giver was awakened by this and reached out to stop the Thief.

"Give that back!" cried the Giver. "It is not yours! You have no right!" So saying, she reached out, trying to retrieve the Gift.

The Thief said "I do not care if it was not mine, I have possession of it so it is now my property." And so saying, he pulled again at the Gift, hoping to wrench it from the Giver.

In the ensuing struggle, the Gift was fouled, battered, and broken. The Thief, deciding he did not want a damaged Gift, finally let go and said "You keep it; it is now worthless."

The Giver cried at the state of the Gift, which she had hoped to find someone worthy of; it was dirty, pieces were missing and scattered in the grass around her, and the intact parts were bent and dented. She began to believe the Thief's assessment of the Gift: perhaps it no longer mattered who it belonged to, worthless as it was.

But then she noticed that her tears made clean streaks on the Gift as they fell, and she thought that perhaps if some of it could be cleaned, all of it could; perhaps she could make her Gift have worth once again. She took the Gift and its broken pieces to the creek, where she began to wash them.

The Gift was easy to clean, but in trying to wash the pieces that had been broken from it, the Giver lost one. She began to lose hope again. Yet she was still determined to try to repair the Gift.

Hours passed as she fit pieces back together where they would stay. Some pieces she could not make stay, however. From behind her, a voice: "Perhaps this Glue could help you mend your Gift". She turned to see a Stranger, holding a small tube of Glue. She took the Glue and thanked the Stranger, then finished repairing her Gift with the Stranger's Glue.

When she turned to give the Glue back to the Stranger, he was gone. She thought to herself that this Stranger had thought her Gift worthy enough to donate his Glue, and not even demand payment, nor even ask for the Glue to be returned. Perhaps her Gift had worth after all.

And as she sat and contemplated her Gift, she realized that the Stranger was the type of person who would neither ask nor demand a Gift, nor would he take, but rather he would give. And she thought to herself that the Stranger was a Giver too. And who better to appreciate a Gift but a Giver?

So she sought out the Stranger, and when she found him, she tried to return the Glue to him. He thanked her, but said that she should keep the Glue, in case the Gift should break again.

And the Giver said "In that case, you should accept the Glue, for I wish to give the Gift to you." And so saying, she placed the Gift in the Stranger's hands.

The Stranger looked at the Gift, and said "This is too precious; I do not know if I can take care of this Gift." The Giver said "I believe that you can, and I will stay with you and help you care for the Gift when you falter."

So the Stranger and the Giver took the Gift together, sharing in it and sharing it, and held it as an example for all to see.

November 12, 2008

Allowing Submissives to Vote

There is a web blog called "The Thinking Dominant, Growth Through Mental Exercise" that offers up thought provoking questions from time to time, I have come to think of them as sort of Dom-me-me's. In fact their About says, "Journal prompts and writing tasks for the Top's mind...because Dominants need help formulating their thoughts sometimes too...."
They recently asked about Voting.

Their entry was posted on Tuesday, November 4th, 2008 at Noon and is filed under Relationships.

I am just getting around to responding because frankly, I initially thought it was a pretty silly question. But the more I thought about it, I decided to give it some attention, perhaps because while I am astonished by the question, if they are asking the question, then there might actually be people who thought this way. Or, perhaps that is part of what a Master/slave commitment might include? I would argue against such a defaulting.

Here are their questions, and my answers.
The right to vote, a privilege to everyone in the US. To those in a D/s relationship, it may have been gifted along with the submissive.

Will you be voting today?
Actually, I voted within two hours of the start of early voting here in Nevada, on October 20th.

Do you allow your submissive to vote?
In the context of this post/question, if I had "owned property" I would insist that she studied the issues, the candidates and participated in the process as an informed active voter. I think of voting much more as a duty for every citizen, not just a privilege, and my direction would be to exercise that duty or right.

Are they able to vote for themselves or do you tell them who to vote for?
I would provide my thinking as part of the study and understanding process; however, I would expect that she decide for herself. I suppose that choosing not to vote would be a possibility, but I would be insistent on a knowledgeable and informed decision. And would counsel vehemently for voting.

Why do you feel this is a sensitive topic amongst the community?
I did not realize it was a sensitive topic in the community but can imagine it might be if the perspective offered by even asking the question has any legs. I see my role as a dominant as providing for her betterment, and for me that is enhancing her abilities in intellectual matters, not substituting mine for hers.

November 3, 2008

Later That Morning

Continued from here
He collapsed forward, holding himself hovering over her, supporting his torso with his hands on either side of her hips, still in her mouth. She had relaxed into a quiet daze, moving her tongue around, back and forth, rolling him from cheek to cheek. He hooked his hand under her left knee and pulled it up close, kissing and licking her inner thigh, gently teasing the soft smooth flesh of her inner leg. They both were slow and woozy.

Finally he pushed himself up to a standing position, leaving her prone on the bed, and pulled his pants up and fastened them. He seated himself next to her head and smoothed her hair back, wiping the dampness from her forehead and brow, smiling at the look of contentment on her face. But he also noticed that smirk on her face as she took hold of his hand and took his thumb into her mouth, sucking on it again. Rather than take the chance she might bite him again, he pried her jaw open and removed his thumb, he said, "No, if you are going to bite, it is not going to be my thumb this time." He reached over into the pile of implements and pulled out the piece of hardwood dowel, one inch in diameter and five inches long. He rolled it around in his hand, loving the feel of the smooth finished texture, imagining how it would feel with her tooth marks in it. "Open wide sweetheart", as he pushed it into the back of her mouth, stretching her cheeks back slightly and lodging it between her molars. "Hold it tightly".

Once he was assured the gag was in place and she was settled, he told her to stay exactly where she was, on the bed, while he went down to Starbucks for their morning coffee. He took the elevator to the parking garage, went out to the car to get the second bag of implements, and then he took a leisurely walk around the casino. Then, he proceeded to Starbucks for coffee and orange juice.

When he returned to the room she was as he had left her, although she had moved back up onto the bed, resting, with her head on a single pillow and all of the bedding pushed back off to the side. She was stretched out with her arms just over the top of her head, left wrist crossed over her right, as if they were bound, but weren't. Her head was turned slightly to the left, tucked against her arm. She was stretched out, completely uncovered and naked, completely exposed to him. Her breasts heaved with her breathing, floating above her ribcage, nipples erect. He looked down her body, past her ribcage, her smooth stomach and navel, and noticed that her hips were twisted just slightly to her right, and for all of her nakedness and openness, her left thigh and knee was just over her right, not crossed, but enough to provide the smallest bit of modesty. She had the slightest smile on her face, looking content, despite the discomfort of the bit gag in her mouth.

He took hold of both wrists in his left hand and took the bit gag out of her mouth. She sighed and moved her mouth around, trying to get her lips and cheeks limbered back up. He had brought a towel, and used it to wipe drool from the side of her mouth, cheek and neck, roughly but baby talking her and teasing her about the mess. She took the teasing with good nature.

Then suddenly he let go of her wrists and placed his hand so it completely covered her mouth. His hand covered her mouth so she could not breathe or speak, and so that the heel of his palm was also blocking both of her nostrils. He looked intently into her eyes and could see the first signs of concern reflecting back as she realized she was not able to breathe and that he was not moving to let her. He kept his hand in place as she took hold of his arm and tried to move his hand. As she started to squirm more, he lifted his hand and she sucked in a large breath, and looked at him questioningly. After she took a couple deep breaths, he pushed his hand back down over her mouth and nostrils again, holding it there. He maintained strong eye contact, holding the smothering posture to a point just beyond "please stop". And he released his hand again.

Again she took deep breathes, and it appeared her trust in him might be faltering. For a third time, he moved his hand into place, and she immediately started to squirm and wiggle, and he grabbed tight onto right nipple, holding on tightly and keeping his hand over her mouth. And then, he lifted his hand off her mouth, let go her nipple, and sat back and let her catch her breath. She had a look in her eyes that was a mixture of startled, scared and very, very aroused. He smiled down at her to reassure her and his palm cupped the side of her face and his thumb roughly traced her lips, telling her, "Relax, it is okay." She was not sure that she believed him, but she trusted him.

He lifted her up into a sitting position and gave her the coffee. She sipped it and relaxed, calming herself, resting her head against his chest. They talked about her impending departure, confirmed her flight time, and held each other, hugging, knowing that their time would soon be over. She assured him that she was packed and had set the alarm for the time he would have to take her to the airport. They both avoided the words neither of them wanted to hear.

When she finished her coffee he took the cup and put it back on the nightstand, and told her to lie back down again. He climbed up onto the bed, and squatting above her, her head between his thighs, his knees at her shoulders. He reached into the bag he had brought and put the leather cuffs onto her wrists, holding her head snuggly between his thighs. He pulled her arms up to his sides and hooked the clips of the cuffs to his belt loops on each side of his jeans. He playfully and leisurely began swatting her breast with his hand, and then a little harder, and then more, watching her face for reaction. He again tightly gripped her right nipple; modulate her responsiveness by his intensity on the nipple and the slow but firm pace of swatting her breast. He finally could see in her eyes and breathing that she was worked up to the degree of arousal he was hoping for. He caressed her chest and rubbed his hands down to her stomach, rubbing her and feeling the warmth of her skin.

Again he reached into the bag and took out the small suede flogger, and saw her eyes light up. He started to slowly swish in back and forth across her breasts, first just grazing her nipples, working back and forth across her chest. She made small whimpering sounds, and her breathing began to deepen. Steadily he increased the force and lowered his aim, striking more and more of her breasts as he continued working the flogger back and forth across her chest. Slowly he worked his way down from her breasts onto her ribcage and changed from a side to side stroke to a circular swatting motion, moving from one side of her torso to the other and back. He worked his way down her body, watching her breathing and listening to the noises she made, judging when she was reaching her tolerance for each area. As he worked down from her chest, to her ribs, across her stomach, to her hips, her breathing was becoming more and more sharp, and her growing arousal was more and more obvious. Her responses to his words of reassurance were becoming more and more staccato and less coherent. She pulled her arms, trying to move them but the cuffs attached to his belt loops kept her arms in place and up out of the way.

As he worked the flogger across her hips and lower stomach, she reflexively opened her thighs more and more. He began to strike her inner thighs on each pass, and moved to striking her mound between her thighs. She began to writhe from side to side as the intensity rose within her. "Open", he repeated each time her reflexes tended to pull her thighs together and he continued to work her closer and closer to the edge, until her legs stiffened straight out, and she cried out, so loudly he placed his hand over her mouth this time, but did not obstruct her breathing and continued to steadily but more gently play the flogger onto her as she quivered deeper and deeper into her release.

And then she went completely limp, and he laid the flogger down over her so that the strands both covered her and still continued to touch her as she shivered and twitched her way down through the orgasm. He unhooked the cuffs from her wrists, letting her arms loose and lifted her up and hugged her, kissed her and let her breath. As her breathing began to settle, as her body started to relax and release the accumulated tension, they were both startled and jumped as the clock radio alarm rang out so loud and interrupted the quiet of the moment. He reached over and pressed the off button to silence the alarm. They laid there staring at each other, sadly, knowing that the visit was at its end.

Eventually, he gathered her bags, took her out to his car, and drove her to the airport for her journey back to reality.