Pick a Dom, Any Dom

As a submissive you are putting your life into a Dominant’s hands, and that can be downright trickyscarydangerousandfuckedup. I was lucky enough to be introduced to BDSM by my first real boyfriend Mike. Throughout the first couple of years of high school I was a pretty good girl. Then Mike came along becoming my best friend, my first Dominant, and eventually the man that stood next to me as I married my husband.

Mike turned me out.

My life has never been the same since meeting him. At the time he had a basic knowledge of BDSM. I was green. The more he showed me, the more I fell in love with him and this lifestyle. We were going strong exploring the BDSM as teenagers.  Then tragedy struck in my life, and while he tried to stay strong for me, we couldn’t make it work anymore as a couple.

We were young and dumb. I still didn’t understand that for me, I wasn’t just “playing a role”. That my submissiveness was a part of who I was, and not something that could simply be turned off when a relationship ended. Cue sub-drop of epic proportions. I can’t even begin to explain how dark that time was in my life. Mike and I remained friends, and he thank goodness suggested that maybe we continue the BDSM side of our relationship. In my head that simply softened the blow of not being together anymore. I didn’t realize that I NEEDED to submit. Which is why, when I was truly no longer in love with Mike I thought I could just stop submitting to him as well. We really were dumb. We started seeing other people, and the D/s stopped for us.

Another disaster, but this time, I couldn’t go back to him and kneel. I was lost. I remember getting on Fetlife and looking for a Dominant. I was going through that nasty nasty thing called sub-frenzy. Except I didn’t know it. I went through Dominant after Dominant giving myself emotional scars along the way. Not knowing what I needed, but simply that I wasn’t getting it.

Enter my dashing mentor. He served a similar purpose as to what ( Insert name here.. I really have to start learning some names) talks about in his Bigger Brother post. He helped me. He recognized my frenzy for what it was. He gave me the Dominance that I needed to be strong. He helped me understand my feelings; helped me understand what I wanted and needed from a Dominant; helped me understand that my thoughts were valid. That being submissive didn’t mean that I had to simply do whatever I was told by any Dominant, but that I had to find the right Dominant for me. For a while I really wanted that to be him. Sidebar:

I remember being in a hotel room with him after he’d provided me with my first anal orgasm. My gosh my body remembers that moment so well. He wanted to push me more. So we went to shower, and that night I ended up having my first and last golden shower. What still touches me about him, is that he didn’t allow me to simply say. I don’t like that lets move it to the hard limit side. He made me explore WHY I didn’t like it. I remember the Ah Ha! moment I had when it finally dawned on me that I do not enjoy feeling truly dirty. I don’t enjoy humiliation. It doesn’t make me feel good about submitting, but it sucks all the joy out of it for me.

It was little and/or big things/conversations like that that enabled me to become a stronger submissive. He let me know it wasn’t selfish or un-sub of me to know and ask for what I wanted. Now… truth be told because of that it took me a little longer to find the right Dominant for me. It was hard work, and there were some bumps along the way. A few relationships that still failed, but even those were more meaningful. My connection with those Doms were strong.

This writing all came about because as I was reading last night I came across a post where the writer relayed a conversation she had with a new submissive. In the conversation the newbie said something along the lines of ‘relationships are two way streets, don’t I get to pick him too’. Then this newbie was told NO. That she was simply to present herself, and if a Dom wanted her, then she would need to respond accordingly. That shattered me, and I politely disagreed. We as submissives are not meat to be picked over  as if meat on the the market. We have every right to choose our Dominants just as they choose us.

(Now, in a sort of Fetlife disclaimer if you are the type of subby to want that meat market style of life then so be it) However, not all of us are meant for that. Just life not all of us are meant to be 24/7 slave. So for those newbies, explore yourself first, and/or find a mentor to help your explore before you go off searching for a Dominant.

Never do you want to be in a position where you simply picking a Dom, any Dom, because your life is in the palm of their hand.

With all that said my experience was my own. I’d like to hear your thoughts on the matter. There should be a comment button somewhere down there… or up there maybe.


Happy Endings

Because I always find awesomeness perusing WordPress, today I found this little nugget of writing wisdom at Ali Whippe. I started going nuts looking for a piece of literature I read last week, but could not for the life of me remember the name of it. So I started rummaging through my professional development bag, and when I found it said AHA!! Giddyly I walked/ran back upstairs to pen this post, and share with you all the work of Margaret Atwood. If you haven’t read the short story Happy Endings you should…. like right now… as soon as you finish reading Tab A, Slot B.


Now, as for Mrs. Atwood’s genius you can read it here

p.s. the true nugget is found after F, but enjoy the ride.


Because of Becca…

I came while bent over my bathroom vanity this morning. I will start at the beginning.

One of the many sacrifices I made with the career change was giving up my weekly massage. It was difficult, but my chiropractor tamed the change in three ways. One. Becca is kind of hot. Two. My insurance pays Becca. Three. Becca massages low.

My masseuse Angie was wonderful, and as massages go, my time with Angie could be described as fairly intimate. I would walk in strip, and Angie would do magical things to my body.

Until Becca my experiences with chiropractors were cold. I saw them post car-wreck, they would put me in room, attach the electro-pads to me, tug, push, make me crack, and send me on my way.

Becca was noticeably different from the first time she pulled my panties down to massage my lower back. I didn’t mind the electro-pads, tugs, pushes, and cracking from Becca because each session ended with my feelings as if I’d enjoyed a ‘half-body massage’ instead of an ‘adjustment’.

Now that I am off for the summer, my morning routine has changed, and I get to enjoy watching Jackson move around as he prepares for this day. This morning we were in a heated debate about Labor Day weekend; I am dreading spending it in Hilton Head with his family. No- with his mother. I digress. Walking out of the bathroom I flippantly declared,”thank god I am going to Becca today, she can work off this tension in my neck.” I couldn’t stop my footsteps fast enough as I felt his hand grab and then wrap around a fist-full of my hair. This is when time seems to slow a bit. My pulse quickens. I am suddenly hyper aware, because I feel the change.

I am not often the bratty type I swear. This morning though, I was irritated. So when he asked if I was going to Becca so she could make me feel good, I looked straight ahead as his grip tightened against my scalp, the thrill sending tingles throughout my body, and I said “she is going to make me feel great”. I knew what I was doing, but to be honest, it was fun. What happened after was even more fun.

As if my hair was a leash Jackson pulled, and I stepped backwards towards him my back flush with his chest. My breathing betraying all attempts to hide my arousal as he lowered his head to rest on my shoulder momentarily before trailing his tongue up past my neck to my ear.

“Does Becca make you feel this?” He inquired in a whisper.

“No Sir.” I responded, barely audible. His left hand circled me, caging me in, and then drifted, agonizingly slowly under my blue teddy, past my mound and directly into my heat. He turned us so that we faced the large vanity mirror.

“Look at you. What about now? Does Becca make you feel like this?” He said harshly in my ear. His fingers curved hitting that perfect spot. My head falling back against his chest, as he released my hair to allow his right hand to circle my clit. Losing proper function of my legs, I reached out with both hands against the vanity to support myself.

“No Sir she doesn’t.” I admitted via half moan, closing my  eyes as my hips began to rock forward against his hand, and backwards against his cock.

“Really, open your eyes, look at yourself. You are humping my hand. Can Becca make you feel this?” He asked again as he withdrew his fingers from inside me. I moaned in protest, and he quickly unsheathed his cock before thrusting into me.

It is always so perfect the way he feels with that first thrust, my body quickly adapting. Throaty, raspy, moans, and pleas rip from my throat as he fucks me. Hard. Deliberate. Punishing. Thrusts.

“When you see Becca today, and she has her hands on you, I want you to remember this.” Each phrase punctuated by another breathtaking thrust inside me.

“Yes Sir.” I yelled silently begging for the release that was coming far too quickly.

“Do you want to come for me?”

“Yes please Sir”

Will Becca ever ask you that?”

I grunted in frustration. “No Sir. Please!” I begged as he intensified his assault on my clit.

“Come with me baby.” And beautiful little white spots burst behind my eyes, as he burst inside of me.

So when I was splayed along the table, and Becca pulled my panties down and out of her way, a soft moan escaped my lips, but I didn’t tell Becca it was all her fault that I sort of

looked like this

Kinky Sex Club

as I came while bent over my bathroom vanity this morning.


Is More than Two Really a Crowd?

One of the best things about writing again is reading again. I have been able to delve into other’s thoughts and feelings, and it has been great thus far. The writer over at Poly Pride… (sorry I should know this writer’s name) wrote “Why are you Polyamorous?” The post really got me thinking.

For an admittedly extremely brief time, I submitted to a woman that was here it is… married to another woman. One of the best parts of our relationship was that I was able to ask questions that I wasn’t able to before.

For example… as a female that quite often finds females sexually attractive I didn’t (and still don’t) understand what she saw in her cross-dressing wife (is that the correct term? someone correct me if I am being politically incorrect. I couldn’t quite wrap my head around finding a woman that looked like a man sexy… really I have a man for that, and he was quite sexy. I digress.

I also tried to understand polyamory. I asked her how it was any different from ‘an open marriage’. She wasn’t able to give me a fulfilling answer. After getting to know her wife, I even asked her, again, no true understanding.

I say all of this because after all of these years a blog post has really made it clear for me. I am far too possessive to be poly. Now, I am all for the occasional play partner with Sir’s permission of course. A play partner is not on the same plane as my Dominant and Husband. I understand that others feel the same way.

I can’t have two of those. I don’t want two of those. I want him to be mine ALL mine, and I want to be his ALL his. I need to own my partners body to feel secure in my relationship.

So yea I am selfish. I want to own and be owned, and if I have it my way this will be the endgame of all romantic relationships.

The best part of all of it, that I have gained some clarity on those that are polyamorous. I salute their selflessness.

On My Hands and Knees

So, I’ve heard of these people that enjoy cleaning. I am not one of them. Today was my version of spring cleaning (round one), and while cleaning, there was some time to ponder and reflect.

This little space of mine has been geared towards my personal choices and the BDSM lifestyle with some random pieces thrown in. Now that I am attempting to make a writing comeback I sort of need a general focus. So while I was on my hands and needs scrubbing the tile floor in the kitchen, and wishing Jackson was home to find me in said wonderfully compromising position,


I figured  lets just keep it the same.

There will be an incredible journey to share with you all as I attempt to re-discover myself. I am truly a bit ashamed of who I am as a submissive right now. I feel as if I have let  husband  and Dominant down. I feel as if I haven’t continued to be the woman and submissive I promised him  way back when all of this happened, and it has to change. When September comes we will celebrate our third wedding anniversary. I think it is time now to work on something fantastic for him.

Let the planning and plotting begin!



“Make Love to My Mind”

“I want you to make love to my mind before you touch my body”

I had no idea what she meant when those 14 words were whispered into my left ear. Up to this point there was only one word to describe the night, stimulating. Laugher was consumed at dinner, sexual tension rose as every ounce of wine kissed our taste buds, and playful flirtation marched alongside every child-like emotion while I walked her to her doorstep. She insisted that I come in a chat for a little. I wasn’t opposed nor hesitant to accept her invitation because I could tell that she wanted me just as bad as I wanted her.

“I want you to make love to my mind before you touch my body”

She uttered those contradicting words for a second time, and now I’m more confused than the first. What the hell does that even mean?…

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The Stall at the End

Last week one of my besties came to visit me. One of the best weekends I have had in a while. Here is a highlight: Of course I had to show her around the great city of Houston. Ikea was high on her list. So we stroll into the restroom before we get going in the superstore. I head down to the handicap stall (there is something about all that space). Unfortunately the last one was occupied. So I mosey into the next to last one. Then as I am sitting on the porcelain throne, I see two pairs of feet. There are TWO people in the next stall. Then I see one of those pairs of feet disappear…. *cue raise of eyebrow*. Then the thump against the stall wall… *cue big eyes*. OMG They are fucking in the next stall (on repeat in my head).

I couldn’t get out of the stall fast enough to tell my friend what was happening. Then I realized how jealous I was of the people in the stall at the end, and how turned on I was. There is something amazing about public fucking.