Punishment

What happens when He lets me down?
What punishment is there for Him?
I was left to wait for Him, alone in the night. Afraid and haunting my own house, a confused spirit.

To be forgotten, to be cast aside even temporarily is a harmful emptiness that leaves my hot anger frozen. Turns me numb and hollow.

I imagine this role reversed, these paddles and whips in my hands. I imagine Him immobile, tied carefully and securely down. His physical resistance so conveniently out of the way of my hands.

This is a futile and silly imagining.

If I even had the nerve to raise my hands against Him I would break before He would. Every sting of leather on His skin would harm me more than it could ever harm Him. Every steady intake of His breath painful for me and louder than the begging I would want, begging that He would never let pass His lips. His internal resistance so much stronger than any bonds I could imagine or create. I would not reach Him.

So what recourse is there? What protest?
What options do I have? What power?

There is no holding myself back from him. I will go where He tells me to go, I will wait as long as He tells me to wait.
And when He does come I will unfold like a love letter, revealing my secrets. I will feel comforted even if no comfort is offered.
I will ask for nothing.

Trust (2)

my love for Sir has found no limit.
i don't think i have ever been in a relationship that has held me so completely or been so balanced.

On this journey i am learning a lot about myself and Sir... the structure of this relationship is so intrinsically and necessarily well-defined that there is freedom to explore the physical and emotional limits safely and deliberately.

The key aspect of our relationship is trust.
i trust that He will protect me and care for me, that His actions and are designed for us both. i trust that he will be clear about His limits and needs. i trust His instincts and the sweet power of His love.
He can trust that i will give myself to Him completely and still maintain my own limits. That i will communicate my own needs even as i strive to meet His.
From me, Sir can expect devotion and obedience without question. He can expect reverence and respectful honesty.
From Sir, i can expect respect and deliberate care. i can expect that He will push my limits safely and carefully; that even a punishment is meant with love.

I prepare myself for You.
At night I warm fragrant oils and rub them into my skin until it glows warm and pink. I condition my body this way for Your hands, for the bite and force of Your teeth, Your tools. I massage this oil in deep, fueling the strength of my muscles to remain in position for You.
And the touching, oh the touching, slick and heated, warm and slow. The pleasure of thinking about You, the contrast of my soft and sweet and slow with Your hard and pain and quick. My dream and sigh with Your focus and growl.
I try to be patient and calm.
I try to wait for You, in my mind I can hear Your low warning, "No."
And all I can say is "Yes, yes, yes."

Sir

I need You.
I need You to break through my fog, to find focus that only You can give me.
I need the pain, the steady rhythm of hurt to push me back into a place where I can breathe.
It's not sex, though You can have me anytime You want me, it's that push, that slow build from light swats to pain so bright it makes me sweat.
I need You to break me, I need the release, the control.
I need the aftercare.
That strong, sweet touch.
the reassembling of me.

Counting

He told me to count and then he matched me, pace by pace with His belt.
The smell of leather, the relief of exhale, the sweet jingle of metal on metal as He shifted His weight.
Every connection with my skin sending heat through to my center, every impact making me arc closer to Him.
I hit ten and kept going.
It felt like swimming. Breaking through waves to breathe then down again into blue, into dark.
It felt like love. The sweet glow of praise burning through my skin.
It felt like balance. This pain, this pleasure.

I think my end must be with You.
The focus of ache, the sweetness of relief
dictated by the movement of Your hands,
by the tone of Your voice,
by the heat of Your heart
more and I would incinerate
less would leave me frozen.

Autumn

Warm enough to sleep,
cold enough not to mind

solid this middle ground,
stuck quick in this sand

quiet but for the giveaway,
the thrashing of my telltale heart.

Thoughts of Him move through me, making it easier to breathe.
Imagining his hands on me, warmer than I remembered and soft. And firm.
His hands guiding me gentle to where He wants me to be.
I want Him to tell me where to go.

My mouth moves for Him, hungry.
Curious tongue chasing the flavors of His skin.
I listen for the sounds of His pleasure then smile to myself and move on.

He wasn't entirely absent; standing in the shadows, watching.
Close enough to feel, too far away to touch.

There is hope in this.

It is possible that Sir will be around next weekend.
It is possible that He will never come back at all.

This kind of not knowing is difficult for me to take. This alter-ego works so well for the emotions I don't want to have or deal with in my real life. This alter-ego allows me to love Him in this razor-sharp absolute way that my real heart would never survive.

There is clarity in this.
There is control.

But I have abandonment issues... in general and related specifically to Him. If He returns it will be interesting to see how those issues resolve; whether I fight Him or submit immediately. (Or submit to that voice and act out in other ways).
Whether we have to start all over or find that there has been growth in this vacuum.

There have already been some consequences for me that I didn't expect - the strength of this need for Him and the depth of my reliance on the structure to keep me whole. It's a learning process, and adjustments are necessary and appropriate... but there are mistakes I can't make more than once.

sending secrets to my hidden heart
these miniature
gestures, these bittersweet
illuminations
i freeze in the moment
i forget to breathe
and reflexively i think,

whoa. that's going to hurt when
this ends and he
belongs to someone else

Oh My Mistress...

I am meeting with my Mistress soon... it's a special meeting. Celebratory.
I have been thinking about that a lot lately.

She has said that she would rather treat me like a Princess than punish me.

I say, sometimes Princesses need to be punished. Sometimes we are selfish and single-minded. Sometimes we just want to tempt you down the path of naked and touching and let reality and consequence fall behind.

Princesses want to bite when they kiss you, they want to move their hands under your clothing.

They want to touch you in places that will make your breath catch - with fingers and tongues and silky hair trailing on bare skin.

Bad Princess. Dirty, naughty Princess.

Lost: One Sir

Last seen heading for the Badlands.

Sir responds to: "God," "Sir," and also massage, damsels in distress, Chinese food and cartoon squirrels.

Sir does not respond to: His full name, pouting, pleading, direct questions, anyone else's time tables or rules.

Reward offered.

If found, please tell Him that His pet says "Me-row," and also that she has been very bad and not at all patient waiting for His return.
And that she loves Him.
And that she hopes He feels better soon.

Because it Pleases Him (2)

I have brought it all back...
It should not have gone away in the first place.
It won't go away again.

He is still gone and I am here.
And I am alone.
And I am trying (and failing) to be calm and not anxious.

(Because who am I without Him anyway?
Just some girl).

Just some girl who misses her Sir and needs to just be patient.

To Sir, With Love

That's so cute that He says His "alternate" is available for vanilla meetings.
His "alternate" is about as vanilla as Chunky Monkey.

(I know vanilla. I was married to vanilla. You, Sir, are no vanilla).

But I absolutely respect Sir's need for sabbatical... I don't know what's going on with Him. I have some vague ideas, but He tends to keep His own counsel and I respect that too.
And this pleasure-pain aspect requires a certain mindset. Trying to force that mindset would be false and dangerous.

Here's what I know:

This weird un-relationship has strange and ever-changing boundaries... it is so hard to define or categorize. It's hard to trust something that doesn't have firm edges, but there is nothing at all slippery or unstable about the basic friendship that is the foundation of everything there is between us.

When I have needed Him He has come without hesitation, so now I will wait for Him to need me.

And when He does I will do my best to be what He needs. Part of loving Him this way is patience... and adaptability. He knows that I will be here when He gets back, without demand or question.
I will listen if He needs to talk and I will talk if He needs to laugh.
I will turn out the lights and wrap myself around Him if He needs to sleep.

Oh Sir

Oh Sir, where are You?
Have You tired of our games?
My sins go unpunished-
skin pale and unmarked.

I need the sweetness of You
to bring me out of this blue, the
pain of You to help me find focus.

Pain Slut

I'm working my way up to it anyway...
There is one smacky thing that He used in a punishment that I didn't like AT ALL...
But I might eventually.

Just got "caught" at work putting binder clips on (already) exposed skin. You know, for fun.
(Some people file their nails at work, some self-inflict mild pain).

"Wow, doesn't that hurt?"
Um... yup.
And also, um... nope.
Even this little bit is enough for the endorphins to start.
My body is learning that pain is just a stimulant and in the right intensity and pressure actually feels really (really really) good.

It's not about sex... at least not when I am alone... but I am certainly aroused. It wouldn't take much from Him to push me over the edge.

But this pain is good pain and the adrenaline helps me focus...

Dreams of Him

At night my dreams of Him are fully formed.
Always gentle at first: that stroke of palm, that light breath on my skin. That loving body worship that feels so good... I would purr if I could.
I melt and puddle.
I become pliable.
I move in anticipation of lips, of hands so gentle.

Then rougher, more focused. Wanting me to almost come, almost find release...
But then He says it so soft, "No."
So soft in that voice that could find me in a crowd.
That voice that pushes me closer to orgasm.
I moan.
Then louder, more insistent, "No." Not a request. A command.

Then comes the pain. The falls curling over my back, around my legs. I am wet and wound up tight. I am careful not to come. I breathe deep and take it all in - pleasure pain and sexual tension. Higher and harder and just when I think I can't go any further He stops and it is His hands again on me. Praising me, loving me and finding the center of me for that release.

I pour through His hands, I give myself over completely for those long minutes.
I belong to Him.

My Mistress Responds

You may find me gentle, at first.
You may feel the soft yield of my flesh, so like yours.
You may perceive me as his opposite, his balance.
But he and I are much more alike than you think.
Perhaps much more alike that you want us to be.

I won't be gentle as I grab your hair and force your head between my legs.
I won't be gentle as I urge him, command him, to thrust into you harder, rougher as you obediently swallow all of my juices.
I won't want you to like it, but I know you will.
I won't be gentle as I wait for your tears to come, knowing I could stop it all, but refusing to even consider it.

And at the slightest, most minute transgression, I'll watch him punish you.
When he's done, when he's exhausted and you are very, very sorry,
You may find me gentle again.
Soothing with my hands all that he has opened.
Blessing you with my mouth for all that you have given.

Because it Pleases Him (1)

My love and devotion does have a Mistress... but She is just out of reach. I can talk to Her and laugh with Her... and tease Her with my desires... but I can not touch Her.

And I do want to.
Her softness contrasting with His hardness. Her gentleness with His fury.
I want them both.

I want to take it slow with Her.
I want to taste the delicate skin of Her neck, gently running my tongue over Her throat. I want to whisper my intentions in Her ear.
I want to kiss her, soft and deep and gentle, my hands light over the swell of her breasts.

And all of this wanting leaves me damp and tight, nipples straining through cotton. If I touch myself - find this release - He will not be pleased. There will certainly be punishment...

But not today.

Wanting

I have been challenging Him and deliberately disobeying Him - touching myself when He has told me not to, saying "no" and feeling the blue flash of his response. Lightning too far away to hear the thunder. Safe in the knowledge that there isn't time or privacy for Him to do anything about it. Knowing also that his memory is long and clear.

The anticipation is lovely.

I want Him to come to me in the night. I want to wake with the sudden weight of Him, to be touched by him so soft that I am almost lulled back to sleep. In that quiet, sweet voice I want him to tell me how bad I have been, how much I have displeased him.
And then I want Him to punish me for it. For all of it.
Softly at first, almost a caress. Then I want Him to show me that He means it.

I want the weight and depth of this punishment.
I want him to sweat with the force of it.
I want to be breathless and wordless.
I want to feel the sting of it for days.
I want to take him in my mouth and soothe this anger still.
I want to open myself to him and let him heal me.

Anticipation

I am flushed,
His name on my lips
This little warm desire spreads through me
and swells, this
sudden lack of oxygen this
breathless rush of heat this
need that burns through.

Too bad I'm at work... and too bad He is so busy this week. Even if I do see Him there will be others around. No real punishment, just more promise.
It will be days and days before I am with Him again.
He sends me messages, makes His wishes known.
I confess my sins, my infractions and the tension in me grows tighter with each anticipated smack of punishment, each anticipated reward.
I struggle to steady my hands.
I lose focus.
At night I sleep with the smell of leather, the memory of sweat and sting.

Named and Punished

Sir has named me and I am distracted by the pleasure of this.
All day, His soft voice so deep in my mind: my name over and over.
I was His anyway, but now it is more solid.
Tangible.

And last night my first punishment.
One small infraction - one oversight.
Punishment pain so different from pleasure pain: there is shame in it, and
disappointment.
All I want is to please Him, and to fail him - even slightly, even when I am tired is heartbreaking. All the way home, and for hours I waited for Him to decide it was time. I apologized and He smiled, "That's not going to save you." His voice so soft and sweet that I shivered.
And I was scared. Not scared of Him, but scared that I wouldn't be able to take it. Scared that I would disappoint Him in this, too.
When it came it hurt. It was not loving and sensuous like before.
I knew I deserved it and I knew that this pain would cleanse me, restore me for Him.
I stretched my arms over my head, wrists crossed.
I clenched my jaw, my back tensed and I cried... but I did not move.
I did not beg Him to stop.
I did not even think the safe word...

When it was over He held me and kissed me and I did feel whole and loved and stronger.

He was proud of me.

But then this morning I did use the safe word.

Still sore from last night I rolled away from Him when He switched to something harder...
I rolled back, knowing what I had done and I tried to be strong enough.

I know that the safe word is important. That it is there for me and for Him. That not using it when I need to means He can't trust me... but it still feels like failure. Still feels like disappointment.

Now it hurts to sit. The skin tender and singing when I move. My throat is raw, my arms sore.
But I am named and I am His.

One Thousand Miles

An entire time zone away,
but when it is dark and I am dreaming it is

His hands tangled in my hair
His teeth sharp on my skin
His voice that comforts me and carries me through these long nights.
In those moments when I am just waking I think I smell Him, taste Him.

And then I am awake and He is not here and He is not coming here.

He is at home. He is at work. He is otherwise occupied.
(Does He miss me? Am I in His thoughts at all?)
I get sentimental. My bruises fade. I drink too much. I go to bed.
And it is dark again...

I want pain and sweet and
I want more than I am ready for.

I want to know what He wants...

Trust

It's weird for me. The amount of trust it takes to enter into this kind of relationship... to even consider this kind of relationship. And trust is not something I'm not at all good at. Not absolute trust. Not like this. But I do trust him. (More or less completely). There is a little reserve still... it's still early in this and my trust issues (with Him and in general) have been planted deeply and reinforced. I'm getting there.

I can't explain it really, why I am willing to hand over this amount of control to Him. I would not be able to explore this part of myself with anyone else. And "control" is absolutely the wrong word. It gives the wrong impression. This is necessarily a symbiotic relationship. He can only take what I give Him and I can only take what He gives me.

So what makes Him so special?

I'm not really sure. On the outside He is a perfectly normal guy. A "nice guy" with kids and a job. He is important enough to the people around Him, but there is nothing immediately evident that separates Him from a hundred other nice guys with kids and jobs.

We were so very young when we met, and then we only knew each other peripherally for several years. I remember His eyes though, and the intensity of His gaze. It scared me then. It looked like anger and made me feel like there wasn't enough oxygen in the room.

When He looks at me like that now it doesn't scare me, and it doesn't look like anger, but the oxygen still seems thin.
When He looks at me like that now I can feel the constriction and focus shift to Him.
When He looks at me like that now I want to raise my arms in surrender.
When He looks at me like that now He doesn't even have to touch me.

There is something that pulses under His steadiness. Something that is always present but never exactly clear, if you look for it it disappears like smoke. There is something in Him that understands and speaks to something in me. And I am listening...

Beginning

There are opposing forces in me; two separate but entirely equal impulses: "let go, give in, submit" and "fightfightfight!!"

Insolent, independent, defiant.
Compliant, needy, eager to please.
Him. Only Him.

I want to taunt Him, challenge His resolve. Assert that He can not break me, shouldn't try. I want to set my jaw and breathe the slow, deep breaths of battle lines drawn. I want to fight and resist Him. To punish Him for even trying to break through.
And.
I want to bow my head, lay myself out as offering. I want to plead for mercy. I want to receive Him, to take whatever comes as treasure, as gift, as blessing. I want to be led away from comfort, led from the oxygen that feeds my consciousness, away from the presence of anything but that sweet sting of smack.

But that is challenging Him, too. Taking it, accepting the fury of His love without complaint is asking (demanding) more. Harder. Better. Stronger.

I want to demand "stop" and "more" in the same sharp inhalation of breath.
I want to count these bruises as memento, this proof of life, these love letters as they bloom and fade and are replaced.

He is also a study in contrasts: kind and sweet and gentle, but also unyielding and absolute. Consistent and unpredictable.

He is hard like granite, smooth and icy and unbreakable.
He is pliable and sweet, tender and careful.

His strength is a lush and fragrant valley, abundance and comfort. It is safety and respite. It is calming.
His weakness is barren rock, hot desert. Badlands.

I avoid the Badlands.
My impulse is to set out like an explorer, pack filled with provisions, ready to discover, to tame. That impulse is foolish - I would never make it through that wild.
He would never forgive my trespass.

He will break me. He will push me past breaking.
He will watch as I disappear and then rise again like a Phoenix.