Equal but Different

A current post by Pygar, A Kind Dom, asks, “Who is in control?”, I responded:
"Ultimately, they each have the power to end the exchange, but it is a power exchange. She exchanges her power for his control and having done so, as long as the relationship/exchange continues, the Dom is in control.
If the sub withdraws, there no longer is a "who?"."

Two related topics, again by Pygar and his correspondents, “submission and feminism” and “submission, feminism and equality” also talk about who is in control but goes on to discuss the question of the value of the submissive in the power exchange relationship. The construct for women that is called feminism is about a quest for equality, and the full and complete right to choose from all the available options. There is nothing about feminism that equates to dominance just as there is nothing in it that is tied to submission.

Aisha also spoke on this topic in response to the Newsweek article about 50 Shades of Grey that suggests that the submission portrayed in that story is anti-feminist. She says:

". . . they’re trying to figure out the connection between women being equal and being submissive at the same time without understanding BDSM at all."'

and

"But i think it increases the split, creates a greater dichotomy, between feminism and submission, when in fact, it is not even a split. Not a dichotomy at all."

I think it is interesting that she titles her post, BDSM Lite because it reflects the common misconceptions. Until you have the real, personal, and visceral experience of Dominance/submission as Aisha says, you are almost sure to see the two positions in a hierarchical view where one is above the other, not a linear view, where they are truly side by side, equal but different.


Feminism is about having equal rights; what is done with those rights and that choice, it seems to me, is up to the individual. Some women may choose to take on a strong business challenge or be a dominant leader in her career, or to grab the reins of her relationship and lead her husband/man in the course of their connection and activities. Or, exercise that same free will and equal opportunity to choose letting go of her power in the context of a power exchange relationship where she knowingly relinquishes control and ceeds it over to her partner. Of course, she knows she can always take that power/control back, effectively ending the power exchange dynamic and perhaps consequently the relationship, or at least the currrent formulation of the relationship.

But there is no hierarchy like:

Dominant

Feminist

Submissive

where if one is a feminist there is a better/higher position called Dominant and/or a lower/lesser one called Submissive. The feminist is a feminist, whether she chooses to be dominant or submissive or neither. Perhaps it is more like this:

Dominant - Feminist - Submissive

where she can choose either on a linear scale with no hierarchy involved at all. One is no better than the other, except as it relates to her personal feelings, perspective and desires.

There seems to be a popular sense, a misconception, that Dominant is superior to Submissive, higher, better? Admittedly in the context of a power exchange there may be that appearance. A feeling that the Top is above the bottom, qualitatively, not just physically, but I have always seen the dynamic as, again, "equal but different." I am not a better person because I am a Dominant nor do I see a/my submissive as a lesser person, nor would she view herself in that way. That “who is in control” discussion poses the exact question, who is in charge, who has control, who has the ultimate power. I would suggest that both parties have the power and control because without them being in the relationship 100% each, equally giving themselves to each other, there is not power exchange, no dynamic, and really no relationship.

Bullies

I am a tall man, maybe what some would call a big man, and through a practiced demeanor, very immune to the likelihood of being bullied by others. However, growing up I was lanky, and awkward, lacking in social skills, even shy and reserved. Because of that I was subject to negative attention from others who found in me an opportunity to exert their power over someone else. I hesitate to call it bullying because I do not want to co-opt the sense of helplessness so many young people must feel when they are singled out by others and treated badly.

Over the past couple years I have followed this issue of bullying in the various media and come to recognize it for what it is. I have my notions about what it’s origins likely are and see that those origins are not an excuse, and are not permission, to treat others badly.

A friend recently posted the following remarks on her Facebook page and I wanted to give her thoughts an additional venue and add my voice to it.

That girl you just called fat? She's overdosing on diet pills.

The boy you just tripped? He is abused enough at home.

That girl you just called ugly? She spends hours putting makeup on hoping people will like her.

That man with the ugly scars? He fought for his country.

That guy you just made fun of for crying? His mother is dying.

As a dominant man (not that dominance has anything to do with it really), I am ashamed of the way so many people treat others but feel a sense of powerlessness to do anything about it, I really have no solution. I can be an example and I can step in if I witness that kind of behavior and I can speak up when I have the opportunity. I am taking this opportunity.

I suspect I am preaching to the choir here, but perhaps something here will affect someone somewhere and it will have made a difference. I hope so.

Frederick - Shopping

Continued from here

It was still just early morning but Frederick pulled his boots out of the closet to polish them for the evening. He also checked his pants and shirts to be sure everything was back from the cleaners and fresh. Tonight he would dress up and take Agnes out on the town for dinner and then some entertainment. He collected the boot black and cloths and water. He gathered some old newspapers to spread out to minimize the mess and protect his documents. He set up his work space and his mind began ruminating over his involvement with Agnes over the past couple of months.

While working on the boots he glanced over his journal notes for several of their “dates”. And he did consider them dates. It was an interesting courtship if that is what it was. Most of his relationships had been intense from the very start for an extended period of time, but he felt very much like he was courting Agnes, slow and deliberate, methodical and filled with feints within feints. She was so much younger and unfamiliar with his more mature and formal style. So he always felt he was presenting himself and she needed to be reminded on a regular basis of the structure of their relationship. He knew she was playing coy with him at times and teasing along, two steps forward, one step back, or to the side. He did not think they were deliberate ploys but maybe deflections borne from uncertainty.

He loved the sensuality of rubbing and working boot cream into the deep black leather, making swirls, building up depth and thickness. He worked meticulously, being sure to get the cream up under the various buckles. Once he finished working the cream into the leather he would let it sit so the leather would absorb the moisturizing cream. Later he would buff off the patina and add layers of warm soft wax.


He recalled a couple weeks ago, while walking down the street Agnes had been captivated by the dress and women’s wear shops, stopping and looking in all the windows. She stared in ecstatic wonder at the treasures in the shop windows. ‘Window shopping’ she called it but Frederick felt differently about it. In his mind, if you were going shopping you decided what you were looking for and went to a shop that would offer what you wanted and bought it. He recognized that his more direct approach was considerably different than hers. He was not sure whether it was really their different ages and life experiences, or if it was just a fundamental difference. The results of their shopping trip that afternoon helped to resolve the contradiction in his mind.

Frederick began making note of the particular clothing styles that seemed to catch her interest. When they came to the street corner he grabbed Agnes’s elbow and turned her to the right to cross the street, even though she had just then been turning the corner to go left. She followed along passively looking back over her shoulder, perhaps thinking about what she might have missed rather than really watching where they were going. A few doors down Frederick turned her into the entrance to a particular shop. Agnes turned to him and smiled, “Oh, look at the lovely dresses in these windows. I really do like the looks of these.”

Frederick smiled to himself, happy that he had interpreted her window shopping correctly. “Shall we go in and have a look around?”

“Oh, yes, I would like that. Yes, please.”

They walked past the foyer windows and on into the shop. They were greeted by two young sales girls and one of them addressed Frederick. “Good afternoon Sir. It is very nice to see you again. It has been a long while since you have been in.” They were both beaming, and Frederick could feel the slightest tug on his arm as Agnes recoiled back just a bit.

“Good afternoon ladies, I am happy to see you again. We are on a mission today to find the perfect dress. A dress to be worn to a very special dinner and night on the town; a dress that will show this lovely girl in all of her splendor. This is Agnes and I would appreciate you showing her your best offerings. Make no assumptions and show her a number of choices. Stir her imagination and find something to accentuate her beauty.”

The two girls smiled enthusiastically, came forward and each took hold of one of Agnes’s elbows and led her toward the racks. Agnes cast a questioning glance back at Frederick and he smiled, nodding his head in approval, encouraging her with a gesture to go ahead with the girls and see what they produced. Frederick followed along to the open space near the changing rooms and said, “I will sit here and enjoy the show. When you find a few appropriate dresses, Agnes can go and try them on and let me see how they look on her.”

Frederick found a leather wing backed chair and settled himself down. The three girls had gone off into the racks of clothing and he could just barely hear their titters now and then, punctuated by the occasional giggle or burst of laughter. After a few minutes they emerged from the racks and each of the girls were carrying several dresses and skirt/jacket outfits. Agnes followed along behind and as the girls stood in front of Frederick she stepped up and said, “Which of these do you like?”

“On the hangers they are just colorful pieces of cloth and I can’t decide anything other than perhaps I might favor a color or general cut. I need you to give them shape and life, show me how they take form when you put them on. Take them into the dressing room and try them on. If you like how they feel on you and look in the changing mirror, then come out and show me.”

“Which ones should I take?”

“Take all of them.”

And with that, the girls headed off toward the changing rooms with their collections. Agnes held back and looked at Frederick. Frederick smiled at her and gestured for her to “go, go, go on go” and she reluctantly followed along and disappeared into the dressing room maze. Once again there was the occasional giggle and laughter. Shortly, Agnes came out wearing a very nice floral patterned summer dress and stood in front of Frederick, hands crossed in front of herself, very tentative. Frederick noticed she had no shoes on and said, “Stand on the balls of your feet, as if you had on a pair of heels. Turn around and show off the dress.”

Agnes got up on her toes and took several steps and turned in a small circle, making the skirt of the dress billow and flow out. Quickly she seemed to lighten up and brighten up and fell into the playfulness of a little girl in a pretty new dress. After two circles and a slight spin, she stopped again in front of Frederick and said, “What do you think?”

“It is a very pretty dress but I am sure there are many more to try on and model. Set this one aside on a ‘possible’ hook and pick another for me to see. Later we will trim down the possibles.” Agnes grinned and disappeared back into the dressing room.

In a couple of minutes she came back out wearing another dress, similar to the first but in a bright solid color, not a floral pattern. One of the sales girls came out with her and walked over and stood beside Frederick’s chair. Frederick gestured up with the palm of his hand (up on your toes) and then spun his finger around (spin around and show me), and Agnes moved as instructed. Once again she finished, standing in front of Frederick with the obvious question on her face. He shrugged his shoulders and shook his head. She nodded her agreement and headed back to the dressing room.

The sales girl knelt down beside Frederick, put her hand on his forearm on the arm of the chair. Leaning in, she whispered, “She is a very pretty girl Sir, with a lovely figure. It is easy to see why you fancy her.”

“Thank you Camille. I agree completely. She is new to Paris and in need of a friend. I am happy to befriend her and help her in any way that I can.”

Camille chuckled as she stood up to head back to the dressing room, “Yes, of course Sir. Your friendship is very generous and appreciated, I am sure.”

She gave him a wry smile and disappeared behind the curtain.

Again there was much laughter and giggling from the changing room area and Frederick began to wonder if they had become derailed from the dressing process. Then finally there was quiet and a couple minutes later Agnes emerged again.

This time she was wearing a blazer and skirt combination. It seemed particularly provocative because she had no blouse on under the buttoned up jacket. The outfit was even more appealing because of the way her calves were accentuated by the tip-toeing and the skirt was mid thigh, with broad pleats. It was a medium charcoal gray that went nicely with the dark blue of the blazer; very classic looking. Agnes did her tip toe, spin around, flare and twirl showoff routine and landed fore-square in front of Frederick again smiling broadly.

He looked the outfit up and down and with a broad smile, nodded his approval. Agnes smiled back and turned and ran back into the changing room and there was the familiar giggling again.

Over the next half hour Agnes came and went several times with a variety of different styles and shapes and colors. Frederick made a mental note of a couple of his favorites and was keeping track of the ones that Agnes said she liked as well.

Finally, Agnes came out in a little black dress that immediately caught Frederick’s attention. It was shaped in a way that highlighted all of the strong features of Agnes’s figure. It had a nice trim waist, slightly flared at the hips, three quarter sleeves and high neck line but with a slit that exposed a good deal of cleavage in a provocative and immodest way. The length was shorter than many of the others, showing not only her lovely calves but the musculature of the backs of her thighs. Frederick was particularly fond of Agnes’s legs, not too thin, muscular and strong without being bulky, ‘swimmers legs’ was the description he had heard that seemed perfect to him. The dress was immediately slotted at the top of his favorites list.

After Agnes modeled the little black dress she stood before him with a sad face and said, “I have run out of selections to show you.”

“Have you found something that appeals to you?”

“Oh, yes, I have, yes.”

“Why don’t you go back and change into your own dress and send Darlene out here. Camille can help you change and gather your things.”

Agnes disappeared and Darlene emerged. “Darlene, please hang everything we have tried on today on a small rack and bring it back out here. Also, discreetly gather her measurements and sizes for lingerie.Thank you.”

Darlene walked over close to Frederick and squatted down in front of him and spoke softly.

“Certainly, Mr. Frederick. It is wonderful to see you again. It has been a long time. I have missed you.”

He reached out and took hold of her hand and pulled her up, “It is good to see you too, Darlene.”

They smiled warmly at each other, she rose and turned and went back to the changing room.

When Agnes came back out she was in her old summer dress and sandals. She was accompanied by Camille. Darlene came out behind them with the rack and placed it in the middle of the floor. Frederick stood up and walked over to Agnes, took her hand and led her over to the rack. “Do you have a favorite among all of these?”

Agnes looked them over, reached out and touched one and said, “Yes, I do, this one.”

“That is a very nice dress, I like that one too.” He pulled the skirt and blazer out a bit and asked, “How about this?”

“Yes, I like that too, but think I prefer this other dress.”

Frederick reached into the rack again and pulled out the little black dress, “And this one?”

Agnes looked confused by his questioning, her smile was gone and she seemed to tense up, “That is nice too, but I really do like this one.” Again, indicating her first choice.

Frederick stepped closer and put his hand on her shoulder and pulled her to his side, “It is okay, I am not trying to change your mind or make you pick something you don’t want.”

He could see her visibly relax again. He pulled her even closer so she was standing side by side against him with his hand on the back of her neck. Frederick turned to the two girls and said, “We will take these three, the two dresses and the blazer outfit.”

Agnes pulled away a bit and said, “I can’t afford these dresses, Frederick. The one dress is within my range, but there is no way I can get all three of these outfits.”

“It is a treat from me Agnes. I brought you into this store and it is what I wanted to do. I also know your birthday is coming up very soon and so this is an early gift for you.”

Agnes threw her arms around his waist and hugged him. “Oh Frederick, thank you so much, but this is too much. These dresses are expensive. I can’t let you do this.”

Frederick smiled down at her and said, “You are very welcome and it is not a matter of you letting me do this or not. It is what I am doing. These will be nice additions to your wardrobe and will inspire me to find opportunities to show you off. I will be challenged to find outings which will befit you and these lovely outfits.”

Agnes hugged him tightly again and said softly, “Thank you so much Frederick. You are so good to me. I am a lucky girl, thank you.”

Frederick gestured to Camille to pull out and package up the three selections. He untangled himself from Agnes and said, “Agnes, go with Darlene, I think there are a couple more things that you will need to compliment these dresses. She knows what is needed and will help you.”


Frederick smiled at the recollection. it had been a fun afternoon; a great outing. He picked up one of his boots and pushed the shoe stretcher down into the toe, locked it in place and did the same with the other boot. With the leather stretched and formed he started vigorously brushing off the patina of the cream in preparation for applying the wax.

When he finished buffing the boots he picked up the bottles and cans and papers and tidied his desk. He set the boots in the sun to warm them in preparation for applying the wax. Looking at the time, he walked over and picked up the phone and called to make reservations for the evening.

Agnes reflects on the shopping trip

Frederick - Friday morning

Continued from Agnes sleeps over . . .

As they sat on the bed drinking their coffee Frederick moved his hand under the comforter and placed it on the side of Agnes’s leg. Her body shivered as his hand pushed up into the hamstring muscle and then slowly back up toward her knee, applying a lifting pressure that dug into the hollow of the muscle, fingers digging into her hamstring. He repeated that movement again so that his fingertips worked even deeper into the muscle. He moved his hand up to the back of her knee and lifted her leg, turned it across her torso and twisted her to almost a sitting position. He marvelled at her wonderfully strong but lithe legs; trim, healthy, country girl legs.

He offered his hand and pulled her up into a sitting position at the edge of the bed. “Another cup of coffee?” She nodded. He took the cups to the kitchen, refilled them and brought one back to her.

“Go shower.”

She gave him a quizzical look and he repeated himself. “Go shower and I will put out something fresh you to wear. It will be in the bedroom. You will find any toiletries you might need in the bathroom cabinet. ”

While Agnes went in and turned on the water in the shower, Frederick went into one of the bedroom closets and picked out a simple soft cotton shift with 3/4 sleeves, medium short length. He held it up and guessed it would fit well and come to about mid thigh. He nodded his head, smiled, and laid it across the foot of the bed.

He heard the shower running and returned to the kitchen and began preparing something for breakfast. He chopped some nuts and dates, put them in a serving bowl and added raisins. He served up two bowls of cereal, and filled a small pitcher with soy milk. He then peeled and sectioned a couple oranges. He moved everything over to the dining table and set two places.


He moved over to the desk and sat down, checking his morning email. He sent off some instructions to his agents, arranging activities for that day that would effectively clear his calendar. He wanted to be sure he had the entire day to spend with Agnes. He knew he would have to take a few calls but they would be simple status updates and a couple of yes/no decisions he would need to make. He checked to be sure that his phone was plugged in and charging, and that everything was synchronizing.

Just then he heard the bedroom door creak and Agnes stood there on the threshold.

“How does this look?”

She stood there wearing the dress he had put out for her. It was a little longer that he thought it would be but was still well above her knee. She looked all squeaky clean without any make up and wet, flat hair. He was pleased with how the dress fit her, and how she looked.

He got up from his desk, walked across the room to her and gave her a big smile. He put his hand up, his index finger pointed down and twirled it slowly. She turned around to let him see how she looked and he said, “You look very nice, and it fits you quite well. Do you like it?”

She smiled back and nodded. “I think I . . . “ but he put his finger up to his lips, and said, “Shhhhhh.” He decided to test her a little and see how she responded to non-verbal signals.

He picked up a leather and wood hair tie from the kitchen counter and went around behind her. He lifted and pulled her damp hair together, combing it with his fingers. He twisted it into a loose ponytail and wrapped the hair tie to gather it at the base of her neck. Her wet hair fell half way down her back, dampening most of the back of the dress. He then came back around in front of her, tilting his head, raising his eyebrows, begging the question, is that what you were going to ask about? She started to say something but he put his finger to his lips again and she fell silent. She smiled, and put her palms together, held them up in front of herself and bowed slightly.

He took her by the wrist, led her over to the table. He put up his hand in a “stand still” gesture and picked up a length of light rope. He wrapped it twice around her waist and tied it loosely as a sort of belt or draw, "We may need this later." She looked down at the rope, pondering the rope for a moment and then shrugged her shoulders.

He pulled her chair out and seated her. He went and took his seat at the opposite end of the table, and made a gesture with his hands to indicate, help yourself. They ate in silence and he used this quiet time to observe her in a more relaxed natural environ, sitting in a quiet “home” setting and eating a very simple meal. She seemed lost in the moment, not performing for him or trying to impress, but simply being herself. Being stripped of her clothes, in a common ordinary shift dress, no make up, bare feet, she seemed new and fresh and pure.

After he finished eating he got up and went to the refrigerator and took out a water pitcher. He snapped his fingers twice and Agnes turned and looked at him. He held up the pitcher and a glass. She nodded yes, and he brought them each a full glass.

He sat and relaxed, drinking the ice cold water while Agnes finished eating her breakfast. He interrupted the silence momentarily and said, “When we finish breakfast I want to take you down and show you the courtyard we talked about last night.” He looked over at the clock, it was approaching 11:00.

Frederick got up from the table, walked around, picked up Agnes’s water glass and refilled it. He came back and collected Agnes and led her over to the couch where she had fallen asleep the night before. He motioned her to take a seat, put down the water glass, and moved a stack of magazines closer. With a raised hand gesture, he signalled her to remain seated. He turned and walked away, to go brush and shave and comb, and get himself ready for their outing.


In the bathroom he opened the cabinet and found her skirt and blouse and bra on hangers on the back of the cabinet door. He gathered them up, went into the bedroom and hung them in the closet where he had earlier retrieved the dress she was wearing. He also put a wide toothed comb in his pocket.

While he was in the closet he gathered up a couple of long light bandannas and put them around his neck, securing them in place with a simple wooden ring. He also took out a small hunting knife in a sheath with an attached sling that he put over his head and under one arm so it hung at his right side. He pulled his shirt out and over so it lay against his skin, out of sight. He found his lightweight huarache sandals at the foot of the bed, slipped them on and headed back out to the living room.

When he came back into the room he stopped by his desk and looked quickly for any messages. Finding none, he unplugged and pocketed his phone and went over to the sitting area. Agnes was seated on the couch, exactly where he had placed her, reading a magazine. She looked up and smiled as he walked across the room, and adjusted and settled herself as he sat down beside him. She turned to him and started to ask a question, but once again he put his finger to his lips.

He gestured for her to turn her back to him and as she did he removed the leather hair tie and brought out the comb. He spent a few minutes combing out her hair, parting it in the middle, smoothing it back into a new ponytail and reapplied the hair tie, tighter this time, close up to the base of her skull. She sat very still during the whole process but he could hear her making a soft deep humming sound as he worked her hair. When he finished, she turned back to him, smiled, and said, “Thank you very much.” He nodded his head to say, you are welcome, but again, with his finger, admonished her to silence.

As he looked at her he noticed her erect nipples pressing out against the soft material of the dress, and remembered that he had found her bra with her other clothes in the bathroom. He wondered with a wry smile if the arousal was the result of the cold morning air, or if it was in response to his attention and touching, and suspected the later. He looked back up and noticed she was noticing him noticing. He smiled back at her for a few moments, making no excuse or apology and then offered his hand to help her stand up. He led her over to the alcove, and pointed down at her sandals. She slipped them onto her feet and followed Frederick to the front door.

They went down the hallway and past the stairs they had come up the night before, and through a door at the end of the hall. The door opened onto a broad balcony that ringed the inner walls of the building. Looking down over the rail, down two floors was a lush, mature garden, so full of trees and bushes that you could not see the ground through the foliage. Frederick motioned Agnes to the right and they walked toward a spiral stairway that wound down into the treetops.

(Agnes's reaction)

(to be continued)

First Winter's Kiss - Friday Flash Fiction

He spread her parka over the snow and she lay down. Repositioning, he slipped on the ice, and slid down. She turned, laughing. He finished undressing as she watched over her shoulder, savoring the view. He was about to score the ultimate goal, directly between the uprights. Clambering up the ice, he slipped into her. His hand hooking her neck and accepted her first winter’s kiss.

66

Releasing her neck, his hand moved down her spine, squeezing her cheeks. His thumb probed incessantly deeper and found entrance.

86

(Use the picture provided to write a flash fiction of 66-86 words. incorporating the phrase, "...winter's kiss...")

Oh you wanted to see the girl
so what did you have in mind
something small and discreet
or, maybe, bigger and bolder

(Click for details on FFF!)

Other FFF Writers
Advizor
Kenny
Lusting Lola

Naughty Lexi
Panser
Rozewolf
Scintillectually Yours
William

Close Enough

In the main, a man is happy to have a beautiful, and talented, and lovely woman for a partner, one who compliments him, accentuates him, makes him happy. He wants to be comfortable in the relationship and so does not make any real demands, does not want anything, he thinks she is just fine as she is. And she may be, but maybe she wants to be more, wants to grow and expand, and certainly he is happy to support her in her growth, if that is what she wants, gladly.

But on the whole, men accept their partners nearly as they are, and feel happy/lucky to have them and grateful that their personalities overlap so well and accept that, as is, for the most part. He doesn't want anything more from her, for her, of her. He certainly doesn't want her to think that he thinks she needs to change. He thinks she is just fine as she is. Having found that partner, someone who is enough, just as they are, he has no real thought or intent that he might improve her or help her improve, although he certainly would likely be supportive.

And then there are some men, men who have what? Some kind of arrogance? Certain kinds of men who want to help and mold their partner. Delve into her wishes, and wants, and desires, dig down and find out what she needs, and find ways to bring those urges and impulses to the surface. To nurture them, to work with her, work on her, actively help her strive toward that ideal, to work on making her the perfect something special. To blend in his own desires, and intentions, and direction; his vision of her as well. He wants to challenge, and coach, and question, and push, all these things to help her grow, and become even more. And he knows she might resist from time to time, but will come to rely on that push and guidance, that encourages her.

I read this recently:

. . . what is wonderful about being a submissive is that the right dominant man can teach you so much about yourself. As a submissive, your place is not just to serve, but to grow; to flourish in his attentive and intelligent care.

Yin yang are complementary opposites within a greater whole. Everything has both yin and yang aspects, although yin or yang elements may manifest more strongly in different objects or at different times. Yin yang constantly interacts, never existing in absolute stasis.

More (and then)

Welcoming him at the door each night, postured,
prepared, taking his coat, umbrella and attache;
(and then) his hand on her cheek, increases her calm.

Hosting a party, greeting guests with a smile,
shaking their hands, nodding in acknowledge;
(and then) no words, a weekend of silence.

Sitting quietly together, enjoying an evening movie,
the beverage fills her, her body needs relief;
(and then) she must ask permission, may I? please?


Dressed in business wear, she is a true professional,
Blazer/skirt, ruffled blouse, heels/stockings, jewelry;
(and then) a yarn bracelet, reminds, a special task.

A carefree day of shopping, sunny, fine weather,
selecting blouses, and skirts, and pants, and shoes;
(and then) phone pictures sent, seeking endorsement.

Arrives home, undresses, stretches, and takes her shower,
towels partially dry, cool damp skin, chilled by fans;
(and then) a daily ritual, she follows, proudly, against her will.
"It's so easy to submit my will to yours, when all I want, is to give you everything."

(and more)

She pulls into the driveway, parks her car,
Rings the bell, waiting for him to answer the door;
(and more), he opens the door, eyes locked on hers, and says, "Now".

She comes in the door, removes her shoes,
places her purse and keys on the table;
(and more), kneels down, head forward, for the collar.

Standing on a balcony, leaning on the rail,
pressed close, intimately, gazing at each other;
(and more), he grabs her throat, squeezes.


Sitting in a lounge, side by side, on stools,
leaning shoulder to shoulder, talking idly about nothing;
(and more), his hand goes between her thighs, taking.

Dinner is prepared, taken to the table, places set,
he says "thank you", she smiles back, "you're welcome";
(and more), silently, not speaking, until released to do so.

Out to dinner with her man, dressed to the nines,
she walks back from the ladies room, on display;
(and more), handing him her folded panties.


After dinner, as they leave, the valet brings the car,
he guides her into place, touches her head affectionately;
(and more), locking his fingers in her hair, gripping tightly.

Girl on her back on the couch, spread open,
him leaning over her, pounding her vigorously;
(and more), shoving his fingers into her mouth, filling her.

Ready for bed, standing naked, she waits,
he is absorbed, prolonging the wait, she relaxes;
(and more), as she never would have before.

and more, and more; (and then) even more, than ever before.

Take You For a Ride in My Car-Car

Driving home from work on Friday, I was reminded of how much I love to drive a car, I always have. (I even participated in amateur auto racing several years back.) As I drove along, I noticed how comfortable I was, settled in my seat, feet on the pedals, holding the steering wheel, strapped in place by the belts, operating the controls, enjoying the whole process. Fully engaged in observing the activities around me, maneuvering in traffic, adjusting, compensating, making allowances for the vagaries of others, ready to adapt to situations that might arise.

And then I got to thinking about being in a car, going somewhere, and realized, I am always the driver, never the passenger. I have made various excuses for it over the years, even to the point of offering to drive when it was not completely practical, or there may have been advantage to letting another drive. One of the associated pleasures or related tasks is always to be sure there is a well preplanned trip, virtually always knowing where I am going, how best to get there and alternatives along the way should unforeseen events disrupt the adventure.

Another aspect of this is perhaps some old fashioned chauvinism from my upbringing. I can probably count on one hand the number of times I have been a passenger in a car when a woman was driving, or anyone for that matter. It has nothing to do with an attitude about women drivers because, again when racing several years ago, some of my fiercest and most effective competition were female drivers. I think it is simply part of my make up, perhaps along with other old fashioned notions. She once wrote a story that started out thus:

"My first clue that something was amiss was him handing me the car keys and coming around to open the door for me. He never lets me drive, 'Driving is a man's responsibility, ladies should ride and relax', I had heard many times before. After I was seated in the car . . . he offered me the buckle for my seat belt, which I pulled across and clicked into place."

When I am taking a girl somewhere, I always open the passengers door, making sure she is settled, comfortable, and fully ready before closing the door, and going around and getting into the drivers seat. Once settled into the car, I again check to be sure she is buckled in, comfortable, the seat is adjusted to her comfort and convenience, that all is well and we are both ready to get underway.

One additional thing I have noticed, and have had pointed out to me, particularly when I am driving with enthusiasm and vigor, since I have a hold of the steering wheel and obviously am aware of where and when I will be accelerating, braking, turning and making other tactical moves, I am in greater control of my experience in the car. It has been pointed out to me that the passenger, who has simply the seat under them and the seat belt around them, has less connection with the vehicle. They are not privy to the movements or actions I might be taking at any time. In other words, the passenger is usually slightly off balance, and more affected by my whim.

Additionally, there is most always an agenda when traveling in a car, going somewhere, an intention, a plan, something to be done, and again, the passenger is not usually aware of the full scope of what is planned or intended.

It occurs to me as I have thought this through, and written it out, it is clearly not just about driving a car, is it?

Bring Your Stalker to Work Day

The Consensual Stalker

"Designed to be more than a day camp, the Bring Your Stalker to Work Day program goes beyond the average “shadow” an adult. This will provide your stalker an opportunity to share how they envision your future and begin steps toward their end goals. We have designed the day in a hands-on and interactive manner that’s key to their achieving success. Each year, development of new interactive activities assists us in taking stalkers to the future they dream of."

I had followed her to work on several occasions, and was now familiar with her morning routine. She would pull into the parking garage, emerge and walk several blocks to the office building, and board the elevator. A very consistent routine, little variation in time or pattern. Most mornings she would talk on the phone and/or send text messages, juggling books and folders, and a purse and tote bag. For the past couple days I had boarded the elevator with her and selected the top floor, noting which floor was hers when she left the elevator.

I rode up two floors further, got off the elevator and took the stairs two flights down. I surveyed the hallways and corridors, and peeked into office areas where doors were open or ajar, and finally found her. I noted that her office space was a small odd shaped room and appeared to contain just two desks, hers off to the right, and a older man was at the desk to the left. One whole wall of the office was outside windows, but the door was solid, with no glass security panel. Once the door was closed, there was no way for intruders or visitors to see if any one was in. I had noticed that the older man seemed to be away from the office this week. Today would be different . . .
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Today I watched her arrive at work and head into her building. I waited about ten minutes and boarded the elevator, went one extra floor up, walked back down one flight and down the corridor. As usual, the door was open and slightly ajar. I glanced through the opening and saw her busying herself with her computer, putting on headphones, swaying to some music and sipping a cup of coffee. I pushed the door open just slightly more . . . the door moved about a foot, with no noise, or apparent commotion. As I looked around the edge, she seemed oblivious to the movement, so I slowly pushed the door the rest of the way open, up against the cabinet behind it, and stepped back just to be sure.

After a few moments, I stepped into the doorway, paused, and them stepped into the room. No reaction, so I quietly swung the door closed and stepped up behind her, still nothing. I moved slightly to the right when she swung her chair to the left to open a drawer, but still there was no recognition of any presence in the room, or directly behind her. As she settled back to her workstation she seemed to catch a reflection in the window or her computer screen, I knelt down on one knee behind her and her chair as she glanced around, and then shrugged.
.

I stood back up, leaned forward, and simultaneously pulled her glasses and headphones off with one hand and placed the other hand over her eyes. Then I quickly moved the first hand, covered her mouth, and whispered into her ear, "It is me, just relax." I held her as stationary as possible as she struggled, until the glow of recognition settled over her. Even as she struggled I moved my hand from her mouth, onto her throat, up under her chin, tilted her head back and placed my mouth over hers. I held the kiss, long, longer, I had forgotten how wonderfully soft and warm and pliable her lips were, how her kiss felt and the way she moved, both her jaw and her tongue. I lifted momentarily and repositioned my mouth onto hers again, and savored the sound of her breathing through her nostrils and the swelling of her breasts as she struggled for air. I lifted my mouth slightly so we could both breath through the corners of our mouths without ending this prolonged kiss.

Even as I sucked air out of her lungs, pumped it back in, I was drawn to the pulse of her breathing through the expansion and contraction of her chest, and the swelling of her wonderfully full breasts. I was captivated by the sight of her hardening nipples, pressing through her shirt and sweater, and presumably even her bra beneath them. I reached down and took a grip on one nipple through all of that clothing and pinched tightly, and felt her gasp for air, nearly sucking my breath right out of my mouth this time. I continued to twist and pull, and elicited the most wonderful, guttural groan from deep in her throat, followed by a soft humming sound. I moved my hand and tore open the top two buttons of her shirt so that the opening matched the contour of her v-neck sweater.
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As I placed my palm on her upper chest I could feel her warm skin, and her breathing, and as my hand slid inside her shirt, I could feel her heart beating and her long deep breaths. Once again heard that guttural growl, and I detected a slight chuckle, and her mouth was moving as if she were trying to say something. I shoved my hand down inside her shirt, into the cup of her bra, forcing my fingers across her flesh, and took a solid grip on her right breast, pinching and mashing, squeezing and massaging roughly. She squirmed and wiggled in her chair, not trying to escape so much as adjust to the excitement and arousal my continued groping of her breast was provoking.

I lifted my mouth from hers, trailing my tongue across hers, teasing her lips. I continued to hold my hand over her eyes, pulled my hand out of her bra, and said, "Reach down and release the ergo-control so that the back of the chair tilts back."

"What?" she said.

"Release the chair backrest."

She nodded her understanding, and dropped her arms down between the armrests and the seat cushion, and fumbled with the control levers. Suddenly she found the right paddle and the seat back dropped to a 45 degree angle, startling us both. "Close your eyes, tight." She did. I leaned back down and kissed her forehead, her temples, her closed eyes, the sides of her nose, one cheek and then the other, then one last time, her mouth, a slow, tender, full lip kiss.

Now she was laid out with her head fully back, tilted over the edge of the seat back, almost dangling back. My thumb on her chin pushed her lower jaw down and my palm pressed her forehead down and back, forcing her mouth open further. Her body stiffened as she heard the sound of my zipper, and I stepped forward . . .

and then, at her home . . .

Moving with Force

Read enough blogs, documenting relationships ranging from the most extreme M/s owners, to the sweetest Daddy/little girl connections, and you begin to see the wide range of methods and techniques used to move things along, particularly the degree of influence imparted by the dominant member of the relationship. This is particularly true of training techniques but in many instances actually apply to the entire conduct of the relationship, influencing the entire interaction. It becomes apparent when something goes wrong, when things are off track and corrective action needs to be taken.

The previous post, force, was an attempt to put the idea out there and clarify my thinking, and engage with a few readers from their reaction to that small offering. It came to me during this process that control = force. I had always thought of force as a S&M practice, and overlooked the subtle but effective use of force in all methods of control. The concept of force runs the gambit of techniques employed: force, enforce, reinforce and reinforcement, each an exertion of the dominants will and dominion, over the behavior of the submissive but with radically varying degrees of application. I think a large degree of that is implied by the kind of connection that is present between the parties involved. It is also clear that some aspects of all four categorizations are likely employed at one time or another in nearly all relationships.

Force:
a powerful effect or influence; to cause to do through pressure or necessity, by physical, moral or intellectual means, coerce.
I think the strictest Master/slave relationship involves the potential for the greater degree of pure force - a powerful effect or influence; where the Master is likely to cause things to be done through pressure or necessity, by physical, moral or intellectual means, by applying coercion.

This may well include the routine application of moving a girl along, literally, physically, by grabbing hands full of her hair or tightly gripping her collar and literally dragging her to where she needs to go. It may likely not involve any degree of intellectual instruction at all, but rather just the absolute application of physical force. Even routinely grabbing her and pulling her along, come this way, follow along, and she will, because she is yours, and trusts you or fears you. So, you could MAKE the sub do something through force.

This might include prolonged restraint, caging, physical restrictions, and whippings and beating, real and earnest applications of force.

Enforce:
ensure observance of rules; compel to behave in a certain way - to keep up, impose or bring into effect something, not necessarily by force.
When you talk about how your girl might feel about being restricted, and she thinks the control might be interesting, "really like the idea of somehow being controlled."

You set rules for her, that provide direction and guidance but at other times she has to walk the path, with you right behind her, offering words of encouragement, or correction or perspective, "if you do this or that, here is what will happen". Or, provide a good environment in which she can do something that one time, and then enforce the repetition of the behavior.

Consider the idea of a control that insists, rather than restricts? So many times, we Doms/Tops implement directives that take away something desired, but what about the idea of requiring something that is not a burning desire? An example might be orgasm control, which is often exercised as orgasm denial or limitation, but can also be a rule that insists on orgasms.

This might occasionally blend in some of the rougher, dragging approach, with an ebb and flow, harsh, aggressive at times, friendly, slow and smooth at other times.

Reinforce:
to strengthen, especially by addition or augmentation; to emphasize or review; to encourage a behavior or idea through repeated stimulus.
There are times when the dominant backs off, giving a certain degree of slack to see how well the lesson has been learned. But he may still be nudging with a slight tap or push for the left or the right, correcting the course, needing to watch, pay attention, but not always intervening, teach her the way for herself, with guidance. This involves observing behavior, and reinforcing the positive actions while criticizing but not necessarily punishing the missteps. Ultimately, submission is what the girl gives, not what the dominant takes.

Reinforcement:
a process in which a behavior is strengthened; increasing the probability that a response will occur by either presenting a contingent positive event or removing a negative event.
Where do you want to go? What do you want to change? How can my guidance, dominance, and reinforcement be applied to your life in such a way that you accomplish your goals, and then set about to do it, with subtle and not so subtle reminders, go do it "now".

Some times you might even let go so fully that she doesn't even feel the control any more, or in fact she feels the absence of the control, the looseness, at odds, at wits end. Once having had the comfort and safety and assurance of guidance and control, what does it feel like to have that taken away, quite nearly the complete opposite of force, the complete removal of influence, other than presence, reinforcement of the feeling and idea of control rather than cranking down the control.

Or it might include setting up ongoing situations where doing that thing brings her peace and contentment and rather than feeling forced, she feels embraced and wants to do it of her own volition and to please. This kind of commitment to purpose is at the heart of submission, it is not compliance by force, but simply reinforcement of her dedication to purpose. It might also include companioning, guiding her along as she deals with an issue. Or, slowly and methodically moving her forward, clearing the path of obstacles, hers and the worlds, like curling?


It is always interesting to read blogs and see what kinds of force are employed, or not to correct misbehavior or a failure to follow rules. It is just as common to read about overly lax responses as it is to read about overly forceful actions.

force

force - a powerful effect or influence; to cause to do through pressure or necessity, by physical, moral or intellectual means, coerce.

enforce - ensure observance of rules; compel to behave in a certain way - to keep up, impose or bring into effect something, not necessarily by force.

reinforce - to strengthen, especially by addition or augmentation; to emphasize or review; to encourage a behavior or idea through repeated stimulus.

reinforcement - a process in which a behavior is strengthened; increasing the probability that a response will occur by either presenting a contingent positive event or removing a negative event.

a premise . . . continued . . .

Companioning

A few months ago I was in a discussion with a friend about a troubling situation, mostly acting as a sounding board, and offered some small amount of perspective. As we were saying good-bye, she ended the conversation with, "thank you for companioning me on this little journey" and it struck a chord.

It is often said that D/s (separate from BDSM, if they can be separated), is as much or more mental than physical. When thinking about my friends remark, this mental aspect was once again brought to mind. While I was unfamiliar with the term companioning, I immediately got the contextual sense of it - companion - A person who accompanies or associates with another; a comrade. In other words, someone who goes along with another, yes?

Derived from the practice of grief counseling, this notion of companioning focuses the attention of the counselor away from being the person who fixes something, toward being a comrade who is accompanying someone on a journey. A journey of discovery, finding a way from their current state to a condition or place where they understand, and have some mastery over the circumstances of their lives. It is not about thinking for them, putting your wisdom into their head, so they are smarter. It is guiding them, being a companion on their journey of self discovery, or self recognition.

What does that have to do with dominance and submission? Dominants are supposed to be leaders, providing guidance, show the way, give direction, be in control, active, forceful, managing, employing physical and mental control; all true enough. But also, a dominant can and should be quiet, thoughtful, observant, and reflective; more representative of the dominant as a mentor or guide or leader of another kind, a companion. There are times when each approach can be appropriate.

In discussing the application of companioning, she said:

The trick is learning to be dominant enough to accept the position of authority that a therapist must have in a therapeutic relationship in order to help the patient feel safe. Of course, it's not a kind of authority that you take by force-- the patient is always "in charge" in a way, but sometimes firmness is required.

Interesting isn't it? lets substitute a few words:

The trick is learning to be dominant enough to accept the position of authority that a master-mentor must have in a master-mentor relationship in order to help the submissive feel safe. Of course, it's not a kind of authority that you take by force-- the submissive is always "in charge" in a way, but sometimes firmness is required.

I remember a woman wrote about her interactions with a dominant, "I didn't know what to make of his interest. I mistrusted it. No one had ever wanted to know so much about me. But he didn't ask about details that might reveal my identity, not the color of my hair or what I did for work. Instead, he demonstrated a focused interest in precisely defining my feelings. He listened well. He asked clarifying questions - "Did you feel dislike, or discomfort?" He occasionally offered insight, but more often simply encouraged my own answers to emerge. And in every conversation, I found myself discovering more about who I am."
Someone commented, "Quite an experience for you. I fully identified with the experience of being cared for in that way . . . It's that intense interest that is really the key, not the restraints and paddles. He really wants to understand your psychology and make his decisions from that point of view."

pixiepie once said, "Sometimes we just need to be heard… we just need to know that we are valued for our emotions - good and bad…easy and hard…we just need to hear ‘tell me what happened’ or ‘how did that make you feel’ or even just ‘I understand’.
I don’t want or need to hear… ‘what do you need me to do’ or ‘what can I do from here’ or even ‘it will all be brighter in the morning’."

Sometimes what is needed is a comrade, a companion, someone "going into the forest with a lost person and being with them, supporting them, being with them in their fear and confusion, but not showing them the way out, because that is something they have to do for themselves, it is their task of self discovery."

It is very much a ‘guy’ thing to want to fix problems; I know I have heard it so many times: ‘I don’t want solutions, I want you to listen!’ Submissiveness does not need to be fixed, things do not need to be made right.

Quite often what is needed is simply someone who understands, who is willing to come along for the ride, a companion.

Tenets of Companioning

Companioning is more about curiosity; it is less about our expertise.

• Those we support are the experts on their experience
• Being too attached to our expertise may estrange us from those we wish to serve
• “Teach me…”
• Earn the right to offer advice, guidance or direction

Companioning is about walking alongside; Less about leading or being led.

• Key is to “invite” others to take a step toward what might be important
• No judgment
• No expectation
• No pushing or pulling to some prescribed outcome for the convenience of others

Companioning is about being still; Not always about urgent movement forward.

• Finding a place of stillness inside ourselves
• Stillness means heightened awareness, not dormancy
• Holding the moment in anticipation that something important is developing
• Far more important to be in relationship than to make something happen

Companioning is discovering the gifts of sacred silence; not filling up every moment with talk.

• Show up without urgency or expectation
• Practice silence in dialogue. Delay your responses on purpose.
• Chatter may disrupt one from formulating important thoughts
• Pay attention and be curious about your own personal discomfort with silence.
• Watch others for signs of wanted response.

Companioning is about being present to another’s emotional and spiritual pain; not taking away or fixing it.

• Challenge old definitions of “helping”
• Emotional and spiritual pain must be allowed to flourish before it can subside
• We stop people from grieving at our discomfort level
• Spiritual and emotional pain is a necessary part of healing…albeit, in its most distressing guise

Companioning is about respecting disorder and confusion; not imposing order and logic.

• Is life so orderly?
• Companions can provide a point of grounding for others to tether themselves to
• Know where to turn for help
• Understand that some coping and healing has a chaotic look to it
• Reality check with your support; restore your own energy

Companioning is about going into the wilderness of the soul with another; it is not about thinking you are responsible for finding a way out.

• Willingness to walk into regions of mystery with no answers or even clear direction
• Willingness to sift through ashes for meaning while possibly not offering your own opinion
• Willingness to accept whatever state of reconciliation another is able to find with their loss

Source material for this list from Tenets of Companioning

If you are interesting in knowing more about this idea, Google "companioning" or "tenets of companioning".

Labels and Dogma

"Like people who say that you aren't really owned if you can leave. Well if you were to leave, no, you are not really owned anymore. It doesn't mean you never were."
Are your labels preventing you from seeing what you have? ~ A Dominant Character

Ownership is not a dogmatic principle, it has to be pervasive, it is all in the relationship. When she submits to you, totally and completely, then she is owned, she is owned because she gives herself to you. Her ownership is about her frame of mind, not yours, although you are the vessel into which she chooses to place her well-being, that which she gives away. There is no need for contracts or collars or all of the accouterments; there is just her, giving herself up to you, and you accepting that stewardship.

The outside view of these kinds of relationships almost seem upside-down, or inside-out, words nearly fail in their ability to convey the essence. Ownership is not something you take, it is something given, which the dominant accepts and holds. And just as ownership is a manifestation of what she gives, her submission is a manifestation of what you give to her.

Building Supplies, part 3

The Consensual Stalker

part 2 ~ part 1

She felt his hand on the inside of her thigh, and it startled her so much that her muscles tightened, and her leg jerked out straight. "Relax, it is okay." She felt his hand move up to the back of her knee, and he lifted her leg up and toward the car door so that her foot was flat on the floor, heel against the front of the seat and her leg was against the door arm rest. She got chills as his hand moved along the underside of her thigh until the side of his hand bumped up against her panties, and his fingers were struggling between the seat and her thigh. Then she felt his fingertip push up into the hamstring muscle, and felt him slowly run his hand back up toward her knee, applying a lifting pressure that dug into the hollow of the muscle. He repeated that movement again so that his fingertips worked into the muscle and the palm of his hand pressed along the abductor. She mused to herself, "what a strange and appropriately inappropriate name for a muscle in such an intimate part of the body," as his hand moved back toward her knee again, fingers digging into her hamstring even deeper.

As his hand got to her knee, she felt it move away and then the back of his hand was pressing the inside of her other knee outward until her leg bumped up against the shifter. She felt a rush of embarrassment at the knowledge of how widely her knees were now spread, recalling how short her dress was, and how likely, or at least possible, it was that he was looking straight up her dress at her panties. She could feel his hand rubbing her knee, and then felt his hand and arm lying across her leg, and again heard the rustling of the packages on the passenger seat. Then there was quiet, although she could hear his deep heavy breathing, indicating his had was likely quite close in front of him. She found herself anticipating the likelihood of another kiss? Wishing? Hopefully? Hmmm.

But still it was quiet, and she could not imagine what he was doing, so close right in front of him, but not touching her, but for his arm brushing across her leg. And then she felt his hand pushing the hem of her dress up the outside of her right leg, tucking the loose material under her leg so that the hem was stretched taut across her lap. And then she felt the same movement on the outside of her left leg. Then, nothing but complete quiet, just the sound of his breathing, no touch. As far up as he pushed her dress, and the way he had spread her knees, she was certain that he had a very clear view of her panties now, and she worried how wet they must appear. She could feel the coolness and was sure that the light colored baby blue material was now several shades darker with her dampness.
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Then, disrupting the quiet, there was a whooshing sound, something moving through the air, and then silence again. Then the sound again, closer, then silence again. She felt something cool and rough moving across the top of her thigh, rubbing in a circular motion. Then there was a smacking sound as something slapped down onto her skin, just above her knee. That was followed by another, and a pause, and then another, a little harder, and she began to feel a slight sting in the spot where it had landed three times, or was it four? Then there was another, and she realized what she had heard, and was now feeling, was the flat smooth surface of one of the wooden paint stir sticks. As he began a steady rhythm of slaps with the flat surface of the stirrer, he moved the point of contact inch by inch further along the top of her thigh until it was nearly all the way up her thigh. There was a pause, and then he moved the point of contact down the outside of her thigh, and he started to slap her even harder, each slap bringing a sting of its own. She couldn't help herself, she started to protest, and he stopped. And it was silent again.

She couldn't help but feel a little whimper in her breathing, which had quickened as well. She felt something pushing at her lips, and he said, "Open your mouth." She opened it a bit, and he said, "More." And she felt some kind of bulky cloth pushed into her mouth. "Bite down on this." As she did, she felt his fingers pulling back from the material and she bit down harder onto the cloth in her mouth. It has the warm, earthy taste and aroma of something like a wool scarf, and she realized it was the scarf she tossed on the seat along with a light jacket, just in case it was to get cooler in the evening. As she clenched her teeth on the scarf she saw his hand come up over her face, and she cringed, what large hands he had, she had never seen them before now. He reached up and pulled the blindfold back down over her eyes, and positioned it in place. Then it was quiet again, and she felt him rubbing the stir stick in that same circular motion against the inside of her upper thigh. An involuntary groan, accompanied by a "No." sound, choked up in her throat.
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And then the slapping of the wooden stick against her inner thighs resumed. It was a steady and methodical pace, harder and harder each time as the target moved from the inside of her thigh down near her knee, upward to the more tender upper inner thigh and then over onto the top. As the intensity of the strokes increased, her breathing became shorter and shorter, until he would stop, and then there would just be the sound of her gasping at the air, accompanied by nothing but silence. Then he worked his way back down to the knee. Then he moved to the other leg and repeated the cycle; knee, up the inside of her thigh, as far as there was room to swat, then up onto the top of her thigh at the hem of her dress and then down the thigh again. Then back to the other leg. The pain was not overwhelming but was a constant stinging, and after each cycle he would stop and rub his hand back and forth up her inner thigh, bumping up against her at the far reaches of his stroking. Each time his fingers would bump up against her damp panties, he would mutter an appreciative, "Mm-hmmm," and then pause before starting again. She was alternating between the soothing feel of his hand, and then the sharp sting of the flat slaps of the paint stick, and then a few moments of nothing but a dull ache, before he repeated the treatment.

Just as she was expecting him to start again, she felt his hand on her forehead, and realized he was removing the elastic band. He pulled it up and over the top of her head, untangled it from her hair. He put his hand at the back of her neck and lifted her head into an upright position. Her neck and shoulders were tense from that cramped position, how did he know to rub her shoulder, and the base of her neck?

As she begins to settle down, her breathing becoming more steady and calm, she feels his hand curve around the back of her neck, pulling her head forward, until her lips meet his again. But this kiss is calm, soft, warm and deep, not hurried or urgent, tender but strong, almost like a thank you. And as she settled into and savored the kiss, she felt something cold and hard against the inside of her thigh. Still the kiss continued, distracting her from the presence against her thigh, but not completely.
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She felt his hand, and something cold and hard in it, move further up between her thighs, and then there was something rubbing against the damp material of her panties, the dampness making resistance to the smooth movement of the object up and down. Then his fingers were slipping under the elastic of the leg band, pulling the material out, away, and over to one side. She gasped, now sure that what she had imagined impossible moments earlier was, in fact, true. She felt the hard plastic tip pressing against her, pushing the material of her panties to one side, while simultaneously slipping into her ever so slightly. She moaned and growled louder, sounds of both rejection and pleasure, confused by the feeling, but overwhelmed by the sensation.

As it slipped ever so slightly deeper, she heard him say, "We are going to exercise some muscles, show me some resistance." And his hand pressed it forward, inch by slow inch, rotating and twisting it slightly. "Are your muscles are strong enough to prevent this? Clench and push." Still she felt the pressure and inward movement.

"I am not sure I want to keep you out." she whispered.

"Not me, this thing, this invasive foreign object. It is difficult, even without your resistance." She felt herself shudder and start to shake, her legs stiffen, deep in her throat she growled again.

"Push against me!" And he was pushing in, twisting and twirling, and she could feel the lumpy ridges, she could not exert enough force to overcome his insistence.

"Stop please." And then she was having spasms again, and shaking, she was seeing red. She felt muscle contractions, and this time they did indeed succeed, she gasps, "Please, stop . . . rest." He relaxed the pressure, and let her breathing settle. She felt his hand on the side of her face, caressing her cheek, his thumb wiping the moisture from the corner of her eye.

"Breathe slow, deep and steady breaths, relax," and he continued to rub the side of her face. Slowly she regained her balance, letting out slow, long, deep exhalations.

"Are you okay?" he asked, and she nodded her head, and smiled. She was calm again, her breathing settled. She so much wanted to look into this man's eyes, but she just let her head fall back against the head rest, and sighed.

As she settled back, she felt his gentle but firm push again, and she felt slight contractions, anticipating a renewed assault on her senses. Then he pushed her knees together and she felt something being wrapped around her thighs just above knees, holding her legs tightly together. And he pushed gently, deeper again, and her closed thighs held it in place. Again she felt shaky, she felt at the edge of more spasms, but then he relaxed the pressure, and removed his hand.

She felt something cold, hard and metallic against the back of her wrist. "Be still," he said. Then the sound of snip . . . and, snip, at the other wrist. "Be still, don't move your hands yet," he repeated. She sat there in the quiet, flexing her fingers, stretching them out, twisting her wrists, getting circulation back into her hands.

"Now? Can I move now?” she asked, but there was no answer, just quiet. Tentatively she pulled back her hands, nothing. Then she moved her hands to her face, and pushed the blindfold up onto her forehead, eyes squinting from the shock of long being deprived of light. She finally blinked, and slowly opened them, looked to her left, no one there.

She heard a noise behind her, looked up and saw movement in her rear view mirror, it was the large black sedan backing away from behind her car. Over on the passenger’s seat, she hears her text message chiming once again. She picking it up and read the message, "Go home. Take a long hot shower. Lie down for a nap. I will call you later."

trois et fait

And then, sometime later

Authenticity

The Thinking Dominant, offers up thought provoking questions from time to time. Their subtext says, "Journal prompts and writing tasks for the Top's mind...because Dominants need help formulating their thoughts sometimes too...." I say, Amen to that.

They recently asked about Authenticity.

• What are your thoughts regarding those who primarily are attracted to BDSM because of its “transgressive” nature?
• Are dominants who embrace BDSM more as a fun, taboo way to explore sexuality any less authentic than those who have committed to the philosophy of BDSM/ base their relationships on power exchange regardless of the sexual elements?

Is an ethical Top less Authentic than an ethical Dominant? I don't think so. The notion seems to imply a kind of elitism, "my dominance is better because it fits into some predefined framework". After all, the definitions even tend to suggest that:

authenticity - the truthfulness of origins, attributions, commitments, sincerity, devotion, and intentions.

authentic - entitled to acceptance or belief because of agreement with known facts or experience.

There are any number of forums, particularly across the width and breadth of the Internet that seek to define peoples roles and kinks into finer and finer layers. I think that if people are truthful with themselves and their partners - then it doesn't really matter which side of the coin the Dominant falls on. At some point we get into too much parsing of roles and characteristics.

As in many other venues in life, people ought to celebrate their similarities, not their differences. Think of the differences as the flavorings, or toppings, or decorations on the lovely cakes that we all are.

It is certainly my personal opinion that developing a strong and deep and abiding relationship with someone I do such intimate things with is far more fulfilling and intense than just doing a scene on a stage for others to watch. However, I think that is true of nearly every connection with another human being, regardless of the activity.

W I I F M

What is it about being a dominant that satisfies and fulfills?

If it was a six word meme, my answers would be; closeness, affection, trust, respect, pride, appreciation

The relationship between a dominant and a submissive is first and foremost, simply, a relationship between two people. It has all of those feelings of affection, friendship, closeness, loving and caring, in both directions, as does any other relationship. Creating a safe space for a submissive girl to be herself, recognizing the depths of a girls feelings, you will likely bring out sadness, fear, embarrassment, humiliation, and shame, all of these feelings that are often hidden away and considered negative, you open up a huge vulnerability. But, when you acknowledge those feelings, make it okay to have those feelings, it is liberating. Creating a safe place to explore how they can fit in her life, to let her know that it really is absolutely OK to be needy and lonely and afraid, and to have the light of that realization and it's comfort shine back on you, how can you not get something out of that?

There is an affection that is returned that can have an overwhelming intensity and depth. I receive a great deal of satisfaction from being able to make a positive contribution in someones life. I relish the respect and appreciation that I am given in return for the guidance, direction and support. Here I am, a man who has recognized a girl's special needs/desires and not only do I not think she is crazy, I nurture and feed those new feelings, making her feel all the more special. This only magnifies her affection and passion for him.

I think it is that connection to the core of submissiveness within her and there is a greater appreciation and affection returned, there is a feeling of power at having unleashed those intense inner feelings within her, recognizing their acceptability, and having that glow directed back onto me. It is overwhelming in intensity at times; breathtaking, awe-inspiring and humbling all at the same time.

Providing the structure and control - routines that address positive changes, and routines that provide reinforcement and connection throughout her day, to know that I am there in her life, in her daily activities and that I am an ongoing influence, available, active, present and caring. An overwhelming gratitude spills back onto me for having unlocked and found, or notice and nurtured, those feelings she has never been allowed to expose and cultivate, and there is a joy to seeing the warm glow in her eyes, to hear it in her words and to feel it in her touch.

I recognize, sometimes just in flashes, the depth and wealth of what I have given to her, and what I get back from it are feelings of thankfulness, of affection, of joy and pleasure, of admiration, of loving and caring, that makes my heart float. Frankly, there are times that the glow back is overwhelming, frightening, and magnificent. Then, I stop and recognize that I have opened up something very special in her. And, I recognize that I am different, that I do evoke an emotional, psychological and even physical response in her that few ever have, and from her feedback, I am pleased, touched, and humbled.

That's what's in it for me.

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.