tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45673196081870441202024-03-19T10:16:19.418+00:00Ski Socks and Flip FlopsThe Thoughts and Feelings of a Kinky Young Londoner.Walking Oxymoronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066271178383175243noreply@blogger.comBlogger60125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567319608187044120.post-57264336199018234182013-02-13T11:06:00.001+00:002013-02-13T11:06:26.218+00:00Big Brother<span style="color: #20124d;">I have recently been in contact with a man who enjoys using true historical articles to base his roleplay scenes on. For me, there is a very important text on which I have based one of my deepest roleplay fantasies. It is not a historical text as such, but reflects the history of an alternate society. I am, of course, talking about my <a href="http://skisocksandflipflops.blogspot.co.uk/2011/01/orwellian-fantasies.html">Orwellian fantasies</a>. I have been thinking about these in much more detail lately.</span><br />
<span style="color: #20124d;"><i><br /></i></span>
<span style="color: #20124d;"><i>"Another, quite different voice, a thin, cultivated voice...struck in. 'And by the way, while we are on the subject, "Here comes a candle to light you to bed, here comes a chopper to chop off your head!"'</i> "</span><br />
<span style="color: #20124d;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #20124d;">That moment of realisation. Of fear. Of acceptance that you have been caught, and that you have no control over what happens next.</span><br />
<span style="color: #20124d;"><br /></span>
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #20124d;">One day, I am given a set of ideals by which a society lives. They read something like the following:</span><br />
<span style="color: #20124d;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #20124d;">Masturbation is highly frowned upon.</span><br />
<span style="color: #20124d;">A good work ethic is of great value.</span><br />
<span style="color: #20124d;">A healthy body is a healthy mind.</span><br />
<span style="color: #20124d;">Wholesome sexual activity is the only way forwards.... and so it goes on.</span><br />
<span style="color: #20124d;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #20124d;">I am then left to interpret the rules myself.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #20124d;">I live by these guidelines as best I can for a length of time. Of course, not knowing exactly what the rules are makes them very difficult to follow. I know that I must have done something wrong somewhere along the line, and I know that, if anyone has found out, that I will be punished for it. But how could anyone have found out?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #20124d;">One evening, I am sitting down and relaxing in front of the TV. Out of nowhere, a voice comes over the speakers: '<i>Here comes a candle to light you to bed, here comes a chopper to chop off your head</i>!' Suddenly, my front door bursts open. A man bursts through my door. Although I cannot see his face, I recognise his uniform. Thought Police. Ungood. FUCK.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #20124d;">I want to run, but I know that there is no point. He is armed, and, if I know anything of the Thought Police, it is that they won't have left anything to chance. I stand frozen on the spot. Unceremoniously, my wrists are cuffed behind my back and I am hooded and bundled into the back of a van. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #20124d;">I wake up. I am in a concrete cell. There is a toilet in the corner, and the rest of the room is empty, aside from a camera in one corner and speakers in another.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #20124d;">Over the speakers, I hear my name. 'Stand up. Turn around. No, the other way. Face down. Arms over your head.'</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #20124d;">The rest, I'm afraid, is private :). Of course, I may share it with a lucky few...</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Walking Oxymoronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066271178383175243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567319608187044120.post-1141630938056100262013-01-13T15:19:00.003+00:002013-01-13T15:19:25.093+00:00Burchill on Transgendered Women<div id="article-body-blocks">
<span style="color: #20124d;">A column from the Guardian (Author: Julie Burchill) this morning (13th Jan 2013). Absolutely appalling. My fiancee is a trans woman, and I would like to make it clear that this does not apply to her. As such, I have taken great offense to what Burchill has written. Further comments later (when I have time!).</span><br />
<br />
<i><span style="color: #20124d;">"The brilliant writer Suzanne Moore and I go back a long way. I
first met her when she was a young single mother living in a council
flat; she took me out to interview me about my novel <em>Ambition</em> (republished by Corvus Books this spring, since you ask) for dear dead <em>City Limits</em>
magazine. "I've got an entertaining budget of £12.50!" she said
proudly. "Sod that, we're having lobster and champagne at Frederick's
and I'm paying," I told her. Half a bottle of Bolly later, she looked at
me with faraway eyes: "Ooo, I could get to <em>like </em>this…" And so she did.</span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="color: #20124d;">"I
have observed her rise to the forefront of this country's great
polemicists with a whole lot of pride – and just a tiny bit of envy. I
am godmother to her three brilliant, beautiful daughters. Though we
differ on certain issues we will have each other's backs until the
sacred cows come home.</span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="color: #20124d;">"With this in mind, I was incredulous to read that my friend was being monstered on <a href="http://www.pinknews.co.uk/2013/01/11/guardian-columnist-suzanne-moore-leaves-twitter-following-transphobic-row/" title="">Twitter</a>,
to the extent that she had quit it, for supposedly picking on a
minority – transsexuals. Though I imagine it to be something akin to
being savaged by a dead sheep, as Denis Healey had it of Geoffrey Howe, I
nevertheless felt indignant that a woman of such style and substance
should be driven from her chosen mode of time-wasting by a bunch of
dicks in chicks' clothing.</span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="color: #20124d;">"To my mind – I have given cool-headed
consideration to the matter – a gaggle of transsexuals telling Suzanne
Moore how to write looks a lot like how I'd imagine the Black and White
Minstrels telling Usain Bolt how to run would look. <em>That</em> rude and ridic.</span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="color: #20124d;">"Here's what happened. In a book of essays called <a href="http://www.newstatesman.com/politics/2013/01/seeing-red-power-female-anger" title=""><em>Red: The Waterstones Anthology</em></a>,
Suzanne contributed a piece about women's anger. She wrote that, among
other things, women were angry about "not having the ideal body shape –
that of a Brazilian transsexual". Rather than join her in decrying the
idea that every broad should aim to look like an oven-ready porn star,
the very vociferous transsexual lobby and their grim groupies picked on
the messenger instead.</span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="color: #20124d;">"I must say that my only experience of the
trans lobby thus far was hearing about the vile way they have persecuted
another of my friends, the veteran women's rights and anti-domestic
violence activist <a href="http://www.pinknews.co.uk/2008/11/07/celebs-split-over-trans-protests-at-stonewall-awards/" title="">Julie Bindel</a>
– picketing events where she is speaking about such minor issues as the
rape of children and the trafficking of women just because she refuses
to accept that their relationship with their phantom limb is the most
pressing problem that women – real and imagined – are facing right now.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: #20124d;">Similarly,
Suzanne's original piece was about the real horror of the bigger
picture – how the savagery of a few old Etonians is having real, ruinous
effects on the lives of the weakest members of our society, many of
whom happen to be women. The reaction of the trans lobby reminded me
very much of those wretched inner-city kids who shoot another inner-city
kid dead in a fast-food shop for not showing them enough "respect".
Ignore the real enemy – they're strong and will need real effort and
organisation to fight. How much easier to lash out at those who are
conveniently close to hand!</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: #20124d;">But they'd rather argue over
semantics. To be fair, after having one's nuts taken off (see what I did
there?) by endless decades in academia, it's all most of them are fit
to do. Educated beyond all common sense and honesty, it was a hoot to
see the screaming mimis accuse Suze of white feminist privilege; it may
have been this that made her finally respond in the subsequent salty
language she employed to answer her Twitter critics: "People can just
fuck off really. Cut their dicks off and be more feminist than me. Good
for them."</span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="color: #20124d;">"She, the other JB and I are part of the minority of
women of working-class origin to make it in what used to be called Fleet
Street and I think this partly contributes to the stand-off with the
trannies. (I know that's a wrong word, but having recently discovered
that their lot describe born women as 'Cis' – sounds like syph, cyst,
cistern; all nasty stuff – they're lucky I'm not calling them shemales.
Or shims.) We know that everything we have we got for ourselves. We have
no family money, no safety net. And we are damned if we are going to be
accused of being privileged by a bunch of bed-wetters in bad wigs.</span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="color: #20124d;">"It's
been noted before that cyberspace, though supposedly all new and shiny,
is plagued by the age-old boredom of men telling women not to talk and
threatening them with all kinds of nastiness if they persist in saying
what they feel.</span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="color: #20124d;">"The trans lobby is now saying that it wasn't so much the initial piece as Suzanne's refusal to <em>apologise</em>
when told to that "made" them drive her from Twitter. Presumably she is
meant to do this in the name of solidarity and the "struggle", though I
find it very hard to imagine this mob struggling with anything apart
from the English language and the concept of free speech.</span></i><br />
<br />
<i><span style="color: #20124d;">"To have your cock cut off and then plead special privileges as women – above natural-born women, who don't <em>know</em>
the meaning of suffering, apparently – is a bit like the old definition
of chutzpah: the boy who killed his parents and then asked the jury for
clemency on the grounds he was an orphan.</span></i><br />
<i><span style="color: #20124d;">Shims, shemales, whatever you're calling yourselves these days – <em>don't</em>
threaten or bully us lowly natural-born women, I warn you. We may not
have as many lovely big swinging Phds as you, but we've experienced a
lifetime of PMT and sexual harassment and many of us are now staring HRT
and the menopause straight in the face – and still not flinching. Trust
me, you ain't seen nothing yet. You <em>really</em> won't like us when we're angry."</span></i><br />
<i>
</i></div>
<i></i><br /><span class="trackable-component component-wrapper eight-col" data-component="microapp: outbrains-component : Outbrains combined component : Outbrain"></span>Walking Oxymoronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066271178383175243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567319608187044120.post-21841090456469385802013-01-10T11:08:00.000+00:002013-01-10T11:08:19.706+00:00Roleplay<span style="color: #20124d;">I have recently been discovering the joys of roleplay with the man that the internet knows as Lord Fawcett. After our <a href="http://skisocksandflipflops.blogspot.co.uk/2012/01/mysterious-disappearance-of-brat.html">first play session</a> back in January, I have been playing with him on a semi-regular basis for the last few months. We have now done a variety of roleplay scenes. I have been a schoolgirl twice, a prisoner once and a pupil at a Victorian reformatory once. I am finding that these characters have allowed me to submit more deeply and feel more fulfilled without having to resort to intense pain or intense violence.</span><br />
<span style="color: #20124d;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #20124d;">Take, for example, my most recent character: Crystal 'Slippery' Rose. Upon discussing what type of roleplay we were going to try next, we came up with the idea of a prison scene. I then came up with the idea of Crystal. This is what I sent to Lord Fawcett: </span><br />
<span style="color: #20124d;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #20124d;"><i>"<b>DOB</b>: 01/05/1994<br /><br />"<b>Age</b>: 18<br /><br />"<b>Height</b>: 5'4''.<br /><br />"<b>Weight</b>: 11st.<br /><br />"<b>Intelligence</b>: MENSA top 2%.<br /><br />"<b>Description</b>:
Redhead. Aptitude for sports (e.g. running away) gives athletic build.
Extremely confident and talented in storytelling.<br /><b><br /></b>"</i>
<i><b>Crime committed</b>: Fraud. Convicted for her part in the 'Great
Botswana diamond robbery', where she used her femininity to get close to
Sparky De Monte, the owner of DeCheers diamond mine. She and her team
stole and exported over £2billion of what they thought were precious
stones. They were apprehended by police whilst trying to dispose of
£2billion pounds worth of carrots. The real diamonds are still missing,
but believed to be in the hands of 'Slippery <span class="il">Rose</span>'.<br />
Also convicted for the Swiss Cheese Mine Incident (insurance fraud).<br /><br />"Sentence: HMP Lowewood."</i></span><br />
<span style="color: #20124d;"><br /></span>
<span style="color: #20124d;">From that point on, all emails were titled 'FAO Crystal Rose', and I started to develop her character further. She allowed me to be arrogant and cocky, without ruining the play by being a brat. She allowed me to give in and accept her punishment. I had a reason for being punished. This pushed away the instinct that I have to blame myself and to subconsciously take 'play' punishments too literally. Most importantly, she gave me a way of experiencing some fantastic play without the danger of projecting the punishment onto my unrelated self confidence issues.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #20124d;">The play itself was truly amazing. Lord Fawcett seems to have worked out exactly how to humiliate me in the way that I like. At one point, he had me running around the garden as he whipped me. I had to wear an incredibly unflattering outfit, and underwent a strict corporal punishment routine. This was all enhanced by the small details - having my belongings placed into a cloth bag and confiscated upon my arrival, for example, or being left alone and chained into my 'cell' between punishments. I was left feeling floaty headed and fulfilled. I sense that there will be a lot more highly detail, pleasurably painful and perfectly humiliating in my future. In fact, I hope to be attending a group school roleplay event in a few weeks time. Maybe I will get around to writing that up in greater detail before it escapes my memory!</span> Walking Oxymoronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066271178383175243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567319608187044120.post-29871561470064370232013-01-03T02:13:00.000+00:002013-01-03T02:13:03.046+00:00A Small Hiatus<span style="color: #20124d;">Although I am continuing to write, much of what I produce is being kept private for the moment for personal reasons. Please do keep popping back though, as I will still write the occasional piece. Hopefully I will be able to mass publish some posts in the near future. Many apologies.</span>Walking Oxymoronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066271178383175243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567319608187044120.post-6302875795001263262012-10-05T00:03:00.001+01:002012-10-05T00:03:32.315+01:00The Change.<span style="color: #20124d;">It has been almost six months exactly since my last blog post, in which I explained why I wanted to give myself a break from kink for a while. It has been a long six months during which I have examined my motivations inside and out, and I believe that I have come out much healthier, happier, and, most importantly, more aware person. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #20124d;">I have gained some valuable knowledge about myself, and the ways in which I used to use kink because I wanted boundaries. As my depression (linked to my upbringing) got worse, my cravings got more and more desperate and I wanted more and more extreme boundaries. Eventually, I managed to convince myself that the only way to express love was through extreme pain and hurt.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #20124d;">I now feel that I am in a much more stable place, and, being more aware of my motives - both positive and negative - I am ready to make a controlled return to my kinky life. I get things from kink that I cannot get from anywhere else. When done correctly, it makes me feel safe and secure. It relaxes me and allows me a place to escape from my everyday life. It makes me feel special. And I have made some very close friends through the kink scene, who I miss terribly.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #20124d;">So, here I am. Making my slow, controlled return. If you see me out, then please say hello/come to catch up. But no spontaneous play. I am going to be much more picky (and hopefully more safe) from now on. </span>Walking Oxymoronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066271178383175243noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567319608187044120.post-15844386894682338182012-04-07T11:58:00.000+01:002012-04-07T11:59:37.387+01:00Kink and Depression<div style="color: #20124d; font-family: inherit;">
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<span style="font-size: small;"><b><span lang="EN-US">Disclaimer: I do not wish to make a
generalised link between BDSM and mental health in this post. Far from it. In
my experience, those who engage in BDSM are far healthier than most. I am
merely recounting my own experiences.</span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #20124d; font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US">For the past five or so years (and arguably
much longer) I have been suffering with chronic depression. My condition has
deteriorated markedly over the past few months, and I have consequently spent
four weeks in a psychiatric hospital going through some pretty intense therapy.
This therapy has led me to put every aspect of my life story under scrutiny,
and, from this, I have identified some major changes that I need to make if I
wish to be happy. The first, and by far the easiest, is to withdraw totally from
the fetish scene. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #20124d; font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #20124d; font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US">There are several reasons for this.
Firstly, and most importantly, is that I need to learn to love myself. One of
the damaging behavioral patterns that I have identified is that I define my
identity by the success of my relationships with others. More specifically, I
do not value myself as a person unless I am having a positive influence on
another. I quite literally give up my sense of self for those I love. One of
the many ways in which I validate this is through sexual submission. I need to
recognise that it is not okay for me to put myself through what, in the past,
has been significant emotional and physical hurt to make another person
slightly happier with their lot. Until I have learnt this lesson, I think that
it is wise for me to avoid situations that mimic this pattern. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #20124d; font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #20124d; font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US">In return for this giving of myself, I
expect others to do similar for me. When I hear the words ‘I love you’, or even
‘I like you’, I hear ‘I will do anything within my power to protect you from
the evils of the world.’ In truth, this is what I desperately want. For various
reasons, my inner child has not been given the chance to develop and is
essentially looking to be ‘re-parented’. However, as an adult, it is
unrealistic to expect anyone to do this for me. Therein lies my second lesson:
I need to stop putting my inner child into emotionally dangerous situations by
allowing others too much access to her vulnerabilities and her desperate need
for affection. I often struggle to see the difference between being dominated
and being looked after, and I therefore need to unravel my adult’s feelings
from my child’s feelings before I continue.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #20124d; font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #20124d; font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US">Finally, I have been forced to analyse
which things in my life make me feel good and are therefore of high importance.
Sexually, this means accepting that I am actually scared of sex. My inner child
clings to the sense of being wanted that being fucked brings. However, I am
usually left feeling empty and unloved – and I use the excuse of ‘subdrop’ to
validate this feeling. I don’t want this any more. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #20124d; font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US">I cannot make all of these changes
overnight. It is going to take me a long time, and I have to be prepared to
take baby steps. Re-reading this blogpost fills me with a horrible sense of
dread. My need for sex as validation of my self worth, in particular, is
something that I don’t fully understand and that is going to take a lot of
re-wiring. But today, I am taking the first steps by a) writing this post and
b) deleting my Twitter account. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #20124d; font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US">Twitter is an engine for the social fetish
scene. It is also a place on which a giant popularity contest is played out. It
is where the ‘cool kids’ announce which party they are at and how outlandish it
is. It is a place that people turn to for support when they are struggling and,
for me, it is a place to which I turn for popular validation of my feelings and
actions. I should not need this validation to quite the extent that I do. So it
is time to kick the habit.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #20124d; font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US">I have some plans for play in place in the
coming months which I do not intend to change – baby steps, remember – and I
expect that those involved with this will understand my desire to carry them
through, but also that I need to put some emotional barriers in place before I
do. I do not intend to stop playing with Lilith if I get the chance, since, in
terms of both emotional connection and psychological awareness, she represents
a very safe space. I may well reinstate my Twitter account and return to the
scene within a few weeks. I may disappear for much longer. Those who are
important will know where to find me, and will be there whether I am involved
in the fetish scene or not.</span></span></div>Walking Oxymoronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066271178383175243noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567319608187044120.post-51288715935192767992012-02-27T17:34:00.001+00:002012-02-27T17:38:37.248+00:00D/S and Love: Why I No Longer Wear My Collar<div style="color: #20124d; font-family: inherit;">
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<span style="font-size: small;">I have recently
returned from a magical week in Austria with Lilith. The holiday<span lang="EN-US"> turned out to be a bit of a turning point in my kink journey (in
more ways than one – see forthcoming post entitled ‘was I raped by a hot
Austrian masseur’), and indeed in my relationship with Lilith. In short, I am
no longer her submissive. I have removed my collar and am a free willed kinkster
once again.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US">This does not mean that we no longer wish
to be together – far from it. Rather, it means that we have come to a
realisation that we should have come to a long time ago – that Lilith does not
really want to be on top, and that I don’t really want her role in my life to
be as the dominant. When we fell in love, it was not because of anything kinky
(although, admittedly, it was kink that threw us together in the first place).
She is, and always has been, my adventure buddy, life companion, security
blanket and closest friend first and my dominant second. I want to take care of
her as much as she does me, and we are truly both equals in the relationship.
We both have our own lives, our own universes, and they have a symbiotic
relationship. They are not in competition, and one does not need to dominate
the other. Being in such a relationship is somewhat new to me, and anyone who
knows Lilith will realise that it isn’t exactly familiar, comfortable territory
for her either. But it is infinitely better than any other kink-based
relationship that I’ve ever been in. It somehow feels more substantial, more
homely, more real.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: inherit;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US">Of course, we are both still kinky people
and our kinky desires have not disappeared. But by finally admitting to each
other that we do not fulfill those roles in each others’ lives, we are now able
to explore fully without feeling tied to the other by guilt. Through admitting
the truth, I feel that a huge burden has been lifted. I had been struggling to
force myself into a submissive role when I could see that she didn’t really
want to give back as the dominant. Now, I don’t need to. We can go off and play
as two submissive girls, both together and separately.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US">This does somewhat change my answer to the
question ‘what are you looking for?’ I truly have come full circle, and am
looking for something that I had when I first started exploring six years ago.
I want someone/several people with whom I can have regular, no-strings-attached
play. I do not want to be forced to submit through pain or force, but rather to
choose to submit. I want someone who understands that my submission will always
be separate to my loving relationship (although I do understand that, in order
to get what I crave, the relationship cannot be completely emotionally
detached). I want to be able to go somewhere for a couple of sessions a month
where I can totally lose myself in that kind of submission without feeling the
need to build the relationship any further than that of friends (or even, dare
I say it, of dom/sub). A big ask, perhaps, but I don’t think it is impossible.
I have come across several dominants that would like the same thing from a
submissive. Sadly, with these people, the timing has never been right. But there must be more out there. I
just need to find them.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US">So what about my play with Lilith? She is
still a sadist, and I still a masochist, and we fit well in that respect. I am
hoping for many happy hours spent together in our dungeon in the future, and I
have a big list of things that I would still like to do with her. But this will
be as, when and if we both feel like it. And it will be nothing more than play
that turns us both on. Neither of us will be forced into roles that do not fit.
Sexually, I am more turned on by her now than ever before. Now that I know that
I am not bound by my submissive role, I somehow feel that I am entitled to wish
to ravish her sometimes. I am finding that I am getting the urge to play with
her body - to lick, stroke, suck and fuck - more often than ever before. I want
her to lay back and enjoy it, and, without the unwritten expectation of
dominance from me, I hope that she will be able to. I wish to turn her on
sexually in ways that neither of us are familiar with, and for her to enjoy the
journey. I also feel more able to initiate, and less rejected when I get turned
down due to work/fatigue/generally not being in the mood.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span lang="EN-US">I will still refer to myself as ‘owned’ and
as her ‘little girl’. I feel that I am. But I also think of myself as an owner,
a mother, and, most importantly, a spouse. As a submissive – and by this I mean
a person who wishes to give up control of their body and mind occasionally - I
am now free to see what more the big bad world has to offer. So bring it ;) </span></span></div>Walking Oxymoronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066271178383175243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567319608187044120.post-59722195454675883122012-02-13T16:34:00.000+00:002012-02-13T16:35:20.499+00:00Self Domination<div style="color: #20124d;">
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: small;">I often refer to myself as someone who
‘self-dominates’. I think that this is something that most driven, ambitious
people must do to some extent, but am unsure as to exactly how such people go
about this. I create imaginary characters that act as my dominant in various
situations. These change over time, with some coming out more often than others
at various stages in my life, but they have always been there. I have three
primary inner dominants:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><u><b><span lang="EN-US">1. Nanny</span></b></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: small;">My nanny was the first character that I
created. I think that she has been with me since I was around 4 or 5 years old
– around the same time that I started tying myself up. She is a strict Mary
Poppins. She looks after my basic needs. She makes sure that I get to bed on
time, that I stay in my bed and relax (of course, sometimes she ties me down),
that I eat all of my dinner and that I take my medicines. She is also well
versed in all medical maladies, to which she usually takes a ‘stop your
complaining, you will be fine’ approach. She believes that there is very little that cannot be cured
with a brisk walk in the cold. She
is a very loving character, though she sets very rigid boundaries. Her primary
form of punishment is disappointment, though she will occasionally withdraw
treats too.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><u><b><span lang="EN-US">2. The Schoolmaster</span></b></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: small;">The Schoolmaster is responsible for
ensuring my continued success at work. He does not have a nice side – like my
other inner dominants, he allows Nanny to issue rewards. He is a fan of
micro-management and rigid structure, and often sets me tasks (such as ‘finish
writing this paragraph’) with time windows as short as 10 minutes. His favorite threats are to tie me to
the desk until I finish, to withdraw internet access, and to make me work
longer hours or give me a ‘detention’ if I do not do as well as I should.
Sometimes, if he feels that harsher treatment is necessary, he refers me to The
Sergeant for punishment.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><u><b><span lang="EN-US">3. The Sergeant </span></b></u></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: small;">The Sergeant takes care of my physical
fitness, and is responsible for dishing out harsh punishments: The other
characters tend to refer to him for severe offenses. He is a sadist, and loves
to dish out a beasting. As he does so, he is constantly shouting encouragement
in my ear and reminding me of the fact that he will make me repeat the exercise
if I fail to complete it. Of course, this very rarely happens because he knows
my limits and how to push them just the right amount. Once I have finished the
exercise, he rarely offers any congratulations. He always expects me to finish,
regardless of how much it hurts. If I am having a bad day, then he will refer
me to Nanny.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: small;">There are a couple of other characters that
come out every so often, including The Dietician, The Head Doctor and The
Housemistress, however they are less well defined and their presence is more
fleeting than the other characters. They all, however, help me to manage my
life and I couldn’t be without them. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: small;">At some points during my life, the people
with whom I have been in a relationship with have tried to take on some of the
roles of these characters. However, the characters have always remained with
me. I would like to integrate them with my submission, but, given how well my
internal dominants know me, it is incredibly difficult to externalize them. Instead,
the character takes on the voice of the person to whom I am submitting. Lilith,
for example, makes a particularly good Schoolmaster and he often takes on her
voice. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: small;">So, there we go. I have admitted it – I am
a fully-grown adult with imaginary friends who regularly discipline me. I hear voices in my head. But I don’t
think there is any need to call the men in white coats just yet (well, there
is, but that is for totally different reasons). It is just my way of talking
myself through life. A way in which I am able to dominate myself. And a pretty
successful one thus far I think.</span></div>Walking Oxymoronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066271178383175243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567319608187044120.post-17274217515607129062012-02-12T23:55:00.000+00:002012-02-12T23:58:02.027+00:00How Do You Create Submission?<style>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: small;">If you were directed here from my twitter feed, where I entitled this post ‘I am no longer a masochist’, I’m afraid I was lying. I am still a masochist, in that I still get <a href="http://skisocksandflipflops.blogspot.com/2011/01/masochism-part-2.html">these</a> kinds of feelings from pain. However, my cravings for heavy pain/fear/other extreme play have all but disappeared.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: small;"> </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: small;">They have been replaced by a very strong craving for a very specific feeling – that of submission. Okay, so I have been craving that feeling all along, but I think I have finally put my finger on exactly what I mean by that. I want to be able to lose myself through doing exactly what I am asked without thought. I want to be what some people call a ‘twue sub’. </span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: small;"> </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: small;">I can explain this far more clearly through example. When I first started exploring, I played regularly with a very competent dominant. There was one incident in which I made her a cup of tea with milk that had gone off. She looked at me and, with an incredibly intense tone of calm, she told me that if I expected her to drink it, it was only fair that I should drink it too. She instructed me to go to the kitchen and pour myself a half-pint sized glass of milk. I hate the taste of milk at the best of times, and sour milk is nauseating. But, without even thinking about it, I raised the glass to my lips. She stopped me just before the milk hit my tongue. I was in such a deeply submissive place that my dislike of milk was totally irrelevant. In another incident, I was playing with her and another of her submissive partners. I was desperate for a wee, and she told me that I had to hold it in until we had got dinner. She then sent the other girl and I to pick up a take-away. The girl was incredibly surprised when I didn’t go to the loo in the restaurant. I was really bursting, but the thought hadn’t occurred to me to do that. I had just accepted the instruction. I did not need to think about it, just to take it in and accept it.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: small;"> </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: small;">As yet, I’m not sure what it is that gets me to that place, but I suspect that there are two key things. Firstly, a calm, gentle yet authoritative approach by the dominant. I don’t think that pain is the key. Of course, pain play can be part of the entire scene, but I am starting to believe that the use of pain and fear as a mechanism by which to make me feel submissive actually has the opposite effect and makes me angry. Secondly, a <a href="http://skisocksandflipflops.blogspot.com/2012/01/mysterious-disappearance-of-brat.html">protocol</a> based approach with incredibly clear instructions that leave very little open to interpretation. Such as ‘go and fetch a half pint glass of water and return to the position that you are currently in.’ Being left to work out what is expected of me when I am in that submissive state risks pulling me straight back out of it. There have been two occasions of late, with two separate people, when I have had a glimpse of the deeply submissive feeling, and both had these things in common.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: small;"> </span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: small;">So what stops the ‘rules’ being broken? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Nothing aside from my desire to be good. To not break the magic. To be the submissive. Of course there still have to be enforced boundaries, such as those laid out in both the gone-off-milk incident and the protocol play I have previously written about. But I don’t want to push these boundaries. I want to embrace them. I no longer wish to resist. It does not lead to the happy place. </span></div>Walking Oxymoronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066271178383175243noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567319608187044120.post-28822932169354992012-01-31T20:12:00.001+00:002012-01-31T20:12:35.991+00:00Kinky Wish List 2012<style>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Last time I reviewed my kink desires was back in <a href="http://skisocksandflipflops.blogspot.com/2010/11/kinky-wishlist.html">2010</a>. And now, having settled into a stable relationship, I am starting to think again about exactly what I want to try from this point forwards. It is interesting to note just how many of the things on my last list have now been 'ticked off', and how much more scope for exploration I still feel that there is in every single one of them. However, the further that I delve
into the world of kink, the more opportunity that I find out there. So, here it
is - my kinky wishlist for 2012 - built from the foundations of my previous list and the fun that followed its publication. There is, of course, a not-very-subtle tone of
suggestion in this post – readers, please get in touch!</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin: 0.1pt 0cm 0.1pt 36pt; text-indent: -18pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span>1.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span>A scene in which I can
submit alongside Lilith, without her needing to take a dominant role. There are
some very specific requirements for this scene. Most notably, I would like to
feel that I can do nothing to prevent what is happening to her, whilst being
kept masterfully occupied with my own torture/pleasure.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span>2.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span>To explore heavy <a href="http://skisocksandflipflops.blogspot.com/2012/01/mysterious-disappearance-of-brat.html">protocol play</a> further. To engage in play that I truly believe is not for my pleasure – I
am a mere tool in a game. </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span>3.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span>Roleplay. So far, this is
something that I have only dabbled in. However, it featured very heavily in the
fantasies of my youth and I would like to create some fairly in-depth play
based around certain characters that have always formed the basis of my ability
to self-dominate. Schoolgirl, prisoner, patient, child with a nanny, trainee
soldier being beasted, kidnap victim… The list is many and varied. However, I
would particularly like to explore the role of <a href="http://skisocksandflipflops.blogspot.com/2012/01/tommy-and-his-manhood.html">Tommy</a> further.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span>4.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span>Being a big kid. I would
like to explore simply <a href="http://skisocksandflipflops.blogspot.com/2011/09/more-on-being-little.html">being little</a>. Making dens, building fires, playing games,
dressing up. I would like to be able to feel a little less inhibited sometimes.</span></span></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin: 0.1pt 0cm 0.1pt 36pt; text-indent: -18pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span>5.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span>To incorporate a little more
discipline into my play. I enjoy being disciplined – I enjoy the feelings of
safety that boundaries give me. However, I first need to find a set of
punishments that work! I suspect that this is intrinsically linked to my
mindset during play though, and may be linked to #2.</span></span></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin: 0.1pt 0cm 0.1pt 36pt; text-indent: -18pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span>6.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span>To be a party piece.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span>7.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span>To indulge in much more wet
and messy play. I have discovered that I have a BIG fetish for this, in all of
its most disgusting forms. I would particularly like to explore this in
humiliating contexts.</span></span></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin: 0.1pt 0cm 0.1pt 36pt; text-indent: -18pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span>8.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span>To find out how to cry
through humiliation. I desperately crave humiliation, but have very little
shame. This is slightly problematic, but I remain faithful that there must be
something that will work. I just need to explore some more.</span></span></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin: 0.1pt 0cm 0.1pt 36pt; text-indent: -18pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span>9.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span>To indulge in more medical
play. I do not do anywhere near enough of it.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span>10.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span>To play outside more often.
I am not sure why, but outdoor play is always more intense and reaches a deeper
place within me. </span></span></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin: 0.1pt 0cm 0.1pt 36pt; text-indent: -18pt;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span>11.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span>To get tied up more often. I
miss the feeling of rope wrapped tightly around my flesh.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span>12.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span>To further explore the idea
of being a <a href="http://skisocksandflipflops.blogspot.com/2012/01/tommy-and-his-manhood.html">submissive with a cock</a>.</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span>13.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span>To explore all of the small,
subtle things that turn me on and the variety of ways in which they can be
used. A hand on my throat, a gentle stroke of a hand between my legs whilst
wearing lacey knickers, a fist in my hair…</span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span><span>14.<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span>To make love to Lilith more
often. To explore my deep, carnal urge to be inside of her. To belong totally
to her, as her equal as well as her submissive. </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span> </span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>I think that most of this
list can be summarised by one simple desire: I wish to find new ways of letting
go and losing myself in play. Ways of convincing my brain to just accept what
is happening, without putting up any defensive barriers. To return to my extremely deeply
submissive roots. </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span>Any takers?</span></span></div>
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<br /></div>Walking Oxymoronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066271178383175243noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567319608187044120.post-26933452464282440342012-01-29T23:20:00.000+00:002012-01-29T23:23:18.724+00:00The Mysterious Disappearance of The Brat<style>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Approximately this time last
year, I was writing a lot about my quest for submission. I wanted to be able to
submit naturally to someone, without feeling that I had to be a brat. Much of
this desire was based upon a play relationship that I had during my first
explorations in kink back in 2009. This relationship was based largely upon
protocol and rules. I have never quite been able to work out why this worked so
well back then. Why was I so compliant? Why did I have to little desire to push
the boundaries in the excessive way that I do now? I was, as many like to call
it, the 'uber-sub'. I was well trained, obedient and proud to be that way.</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Of late, I have been
thinking a lot about those first few months. About how such a simple set of
well enforced rules made me feel so submissive. About just how deep a place
that form of submission touched. And I have been wanting to go back to my roots
and try it again. The problem is, it is very difficult to find someone who is
capable of consistently dishing out the regimented, strict routine that I was
so lucky to find in those first months.</span></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">It was with some
trepidation, therefore, that I sent an email to someone with whom I have been
playing agreeing to do some protocol based play. However, when I received a
reply asking me to bring some high heeled shoes suitable for wearing naked, my
curiosity and anticipation won me over. </span></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">So, there I was, sat on a
busy tube train, attempting as best as I could to follow instructions by
masturbating unnoticed, my brain creating all sorts of ideas about what may
happen when I stepped through the door to his house. What did happen was all
very civilised – a glass of wine and cuddles. After 15 minutes or so, he looked
at me and asked me to strip as he watched. Usually, I don’t feel uncomfortable
doing this, but I did feel very slightly coy since it was so sudden and so out
of context. One minute I was sitting drinking wine, the next I was naked (save
for my high heels) and kneeling at his feet.</span></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">I remained in this position
as he – extremely calmly but with an unquestionable air of authority –
explained that he was going to teach me to submit. That everything that I did
was going to be for no other reason than because He asked it. And that my
enjoyment was going to be found simply through letting go, forgetting about
myself and focussing solely on him. I was entitled to expressing only pain,
want/desire and pleasure. All of my other thoughts and emotions were to be
inconsequential. In order to help me feel this, he placed a play collar around
my neck and instructed me that, whilst I was wearing it, I was to keep my eyes
downcast at all times. A sudden twist of my nipples acted to demonstrate how I
would be reminded of that rule should I forget.</span></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">To make his point absolutely
clear, he quickly led me upstairs and strapped me over a bench. I was
pleasantly taken aback by how well he had restrained me – and how helpless I
therefore was to his ministrations. He didn’t go gently on me, but he did
masterfully give me moments to catch my breath thus allowing me to take some
quite intense pain without feeling too much pleasure from it. This was a
demonstration of punishment and the power contained within it, and it very
definitely worked. I didn’t have any space left in my overwhelmed brain to
contemplate disobedience.</span></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Back downstairs, he ran me
through some basic positions: 3 on my knees, 3 standing, 2 squatting (including
the ‘slaves kiss’, which turned out to be rather painful) and 3 lying down.
Then a further three forms of movement. I was expected to commit them all,
along with their names, to memory in a very short space of time. If I got
something wrong, even the tiniest detail, then there would be a sudden burst of
pain. One of the forms of movement proved particularly difficult for me –
mainly because it made me feel ridiculous – and he therefore took great joy in
making me repeat it over and over until I got it perfect.</span></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">When he was satisfied that I
knew all of the positions, he said that I deserved a break. He instructed me to
go and get a bottle of wine and a glass jug out of the fridge. Suddenly, I
realised that this was the real test. A test of just how deeply I had fallen
into the submissive mindframe. I poured him a glass of wine first, before
pouring some of the contents of the jug of piss into my glass. Then he stopped
me – his glass was fuller than mine. So I topped mine up. And I drank it. The
whole thing. I have to admit that this may have been due to the promise that
the nipple clamps would be removed once we had finished drinking, but he kept
filling me up again until he had finished his wine. I think I ended up drinking
three full glasses. But not once did the thought of disobeying cross my mind. I
had really embraced the fact that I was doing it for him – it was not my place
to think, just to do. And I really did get huge satisfaction from ‘just doing’ –
I didn’t need to worry about his reactions, I could let go of my inhibitions.</span></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">I was thoroughly rewarded
for my good work with a very hard beating and fucking (I have discovered that
combining the two is a recipe for instant subspace). But, if I am honest, I didn’t
really need the reward. I haven’t felt that submissive feeling for a very long
time, and it was incredibly intense, satisfying and special. I think that it is
time for me to let go of my brat and just let things happen. Just accept. Let
myself get to that happy, uninhibited space without fear. With the right kind of constant, consistent mental stimulation (I think that that is the key), it can happen.</span></div>Walking Oxymoronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066271178383175243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567319608187044120.post-39254348451864991952012-01-26T12:44:00.001+00:002012-01-27T11:38:55.934+00:00Tommy (And His Manhood)<style>
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<div style="color: #20124d; margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">What with it being a New
Year, I have been putting a lot of thought recently into how my kinks have
evolved over time, and what kinds of sticky scenarios I hope to find myself in
over the next few months. I am sure that I will post the customary list in due
course, but for now I want to focus on one very specific one - formerly
referred to as 'little one'.</span></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">I have decided that my
'little one' is a boy. At least, that is what he wants everyone to think. He
behaves like a boy, dresses like a boy, and refers to himself as 'him', but is
missing one important part of his anatomy. He is only eight, so he doesn't
really find that this bothers him too much. He is called Tommy (bonus points to
anyone who can work out why). I have been craving intense humiliation as part
of my play for a long time now, and I think that, through roleplay as Tommy, I
may finally be able to find it. At this point I think that, as a disclaimer, I
should highlight that I am talking about <b>roleplay
</b>between consenting adults.</span></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">As Tommy, I could use forced
feminisation as a form of humiliation. Tommy HATES dresses, especially pink
frilly ones, and being made to dress as a girl would mortify him. Particularly
the fact that his body would reveal that he is secretly enjoying it. And, of
course, someone else discovering how much his body is enjoying it would be even
more mortifying because he doesn’t have the anatomy that one would expect of a
boy. Tommy would therefore never tell anyone anything about what may happen,
and there are all sorts of naughty possibilities…</span></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Recently, Lilith and I
created a scene in which my inner little girl discovered her male tendencies.
Rather than taking the parental role, Lilith became my older brother who I
walked in on whilst he was trying on female underwear. We made it into a very
innocent game of dress-up. I helped my brother to become a girl, and he helped
me to become a boy. I found this process of transformation hugely exciting. </span></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The thing that surprised me
most was my reaction when the time came to give me a cock. We used a realistic
looking strap-on, which I wore underneath my shorts. This, plus the way in
which my boobs were strapped to my chest, made me fall very deeply into the
role of Tommy.</span></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">The scene then progressed
into something more sexual, and I consequently withdrew from being a young
Tommy and reverted to being my submissive self. However, I still really enjoyed
the feeling of the strap-on. People often associate strap-ons with dominance,
however I found that, whilst playing with Lilith, the opposite was true. I was
using it to give her pleasure, whilst at the same time engaging in my
gender-bending fantasies. For a long time, I have felt an urge to truly ‘make
love’ to her – to be inside her – and this may be the way forward. </span></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Of course, nothing works
perfectly the first time, and we did struggle slightly with the power dynamics
within the scene. Grown up Tommy would very much like to explore the sexual
side of the play more. In fact, I’m not even sure that that is Tommy – I think
that may need resolving. Regardless, I would like to be a submissive with a
cock sometimes. </span></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">However, the most pertinent
conclusion that I came to following that scene was that I would like to enter
far more deeply into the role of Tommy as a little boy. A boisterous little boy
who can go and make dens and dig holes and collect frogspawn and stick insects –
who can fully immerse himself into innocent childhood and forget about the
adult world before coming home to his Mummy for cuddles and love. But also a
little boy with a pretend cock who is horribly abused by his very own ‘wicked
Uncle Ernie’ for being such. </span></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin: 0.1pt 0cm;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Here’s to a gender confused
2012!</span></div>
<br />
<br />Walking Oxymoronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066271178383175243noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567319608187044120.post-77412752627620611122011-12-23T22:23:00.001+00:002011-12-23T22:24:07.168+00:00Fantasy: Tie and Tease<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I am naked. Gently, she takes me in her
arms. She holds me close, exploring my body. She starts with my hair,
gently stroking it, Then my face, holding my cheeks and looking
directly into my eyes, telling me that I am beautiful. Then her hands
work slowly over my body, stroking, teasing, leaving me with
goosebumps everywhere she touches. She intentionally stays well away
from those parts of my anatomy that I am most desperate for her to
touch.
</div>
<div style="color: #20124d;">
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<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Her hands move back up to my face
again, and she lowers a blindfold over my eyes. Gently, her hands
work their way down to my arms, and she slowly takes my wrists and
ties them behind my back. She takes me by the hand and leads me into
the unknown. I can feel that we have entered another room. It is
colder, and the floor is not carpeted like the last. Suddenly, she
pushes me backwards and I hit what feels like a soft, warm, cosy
hammock. She maintains body contact, stroking my skin with one hand
whilst she deftly moves around me, restraining all of my limbs until
I am suspended and unable to move. My legs are wide open, and my head
is held in place by my hair, which is tied into the swing. My hands
are held high above my head, comfortable but out of the way. My head
is fixed in such a way that I cannot hold avoid her glare as she
removes the blindfold and looks me in the eyes: 'You know, you really
are beautiful. I adore you. I want to give you something. Hold
still'. She smirks. Of course I am going to hold still, what other
choice do I have?</div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She carefully places the blindfold back
over my eyes again. Then earplugs, and a ring gag. Leather mitts over
my hands. A large vibrating dildo in my pussy. A smaller one in my
arse. She briefly lifts the blindfold up. Her eyes have a mischievous
twinkle, and she holds the poppers up to my face. I lip read as she
waves and says 'goodnight, baby', before replacing the blindfold and
encasing my whole head in a gas mask.
</div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Shit. I have no idea where she is. My
mind is clouded by waves of pleasure from what seems like constantly
changing vibrations inside me. I suspect that there is something
being fed through the gas mask, which is also making me light headed.
I cannot focus on anything except for the overwhelming want for
sexual contact of some kind. Desperate, desperate want. And there is
nothing that I can do about it. I have no concept of time passing,
but it feels like forever. I just want to be touched. I want to cry
and shout because I am so desperate, but the occasional cloudy
headedness is preventing even that.
</div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Suddenly, my bonds are released. My
legs are still held wide open, and my arms are still held up, but my
body has hit a stone cold floor. A blow hits my side – it feels
like it is from a boot. Then another. And another. Then out comes the
flogger. It rains down on my flesh, focussing between my legs. It
hurts. It really hurts. The continual buzzing inside me and the
light-headedness make it difficult to fight back. I can't hear or see
anything. I can't speak. I can't scream.</div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Out of nowhere, my mask is ripped off.
My earplugs are torn off. A plastic cock is strapped in place through
the ring gag. 'You stupid girl. You are so easy. Are you turned on?'</div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I can't speak through the gag. Even if
I could, I am not sure that I could formulate words.</div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
A slap across the face nearly brings me
to tears. 'Are you turned on?'
</div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I grunt in response. It is the best
that I can do. Three slaps across the face.</div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Look at you. Your legs are wide open.
I can see everything. The wetness is everywhere. You are open to
abuse. There you are, lying back like a queen, expecting to be
pleasured.' She smears fluid across my face. Then, just to make the
point, she spits on me. Then she hits me once, VERY hard, with the
flogger, between my open legs.
</div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'How desperate are you?'</div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I still can't answer. Another thwack
with the flogger.</div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I asked you a question. How desperate
are you?'</div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I do my best to beg. It comes out as a
whimper.</div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I will take that lack of an answer to
mean that you aren't. That you are such a slut that you spend your
entire life this wet, just waiting to serve cock. That your shaking
and back arching are not symptomatic in the slightest of you being
desperate for me to hold this (she holds up the magic wand) against
your clit and give you the most powerful orgasm of your life. No?
Nothing to say at all?'</div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
I let out a desperate wimper.</div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'I see. Well, seeing as you are
incapable of giving me any clue as to what you might want, I guess I
will just have to do what I want. What do you think I want?'</div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Now I am really scared.</div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'Hmmm. Let me think.' She starts pacing
around the room, casting her eyes over various implements. She picks
up a big kitchen knife, and looks it over. Then a scalpel. Then the
crop. Eventually, she makes her decision. She picks up two sets of
clover clamps, and attached one to each nipple and one to each of my
labia. She pulls a latex glove over both of her hands. Then she
starts to lube them up.</div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
'There you are, lying back all
comfortable, expecting me to pleasure you. Fine then, I will.' She
balls her hands into fists. 'These are going in you. Both of them. At
once.</div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
She puts the mask back on. Suddenly,
the cock in my mouth increases in size. I hadn't realised that it was
inflatable. Now I am practically gagging on it, and I can't breathe
through my mouth at all. She covers my face with a shirt – the
unmistakable smell of poppers. 'That's right. You lie there, all
incapacitated. Nothing you can do. No whimpering, no screaming. And
if you have an orgasm from this, then that flogger will bite into
your clit so hard that you won't be able to move for a week. This is
not for you. I want to see you suffer.'</div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Starting with my pussy, she works her
hand inside me. It feels amazing. My head is still all floaty, and I
can't quite get enough air to be able to cope with the sensations. I
begin to sob. She is relentless, pulling out only to allow her other
hand into my arse. She keeps going. And going. And going. It hurts.
It really hurts. I want to cum, but I know that I can't. Not without that stimulation on my clit. Or without her permission. I am in floods of tears.</div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #20124d; margin-bottom: 0cm;">
Eventually, she has had enough.
Unceremoniously, she unties me and leaves me in a heap on the floor.
She throws the magic wand and he dildos at me. She grabs the chain
between my nipples (OUCH) and pulls me up so that my face is close to
hers. 'You do not stop wanking until I get back. I hope it hurts. The
clamps stay on. I don't expect to hear anything from you. I don't
really want to see your face right now.' She spits in my face, puts
the earplugs and blindfold back on, and leaves me on the cold stone
floor, legs still bound apart like a whore, unloved, silently, painfully
masturbating in my pool of blood, sweat and tears.</div>Walking Oxymoronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066271178383175243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567319608187044120.post-10744645641546926602011-11-27T17:29:00.001+00:002011-11-27T17:47:46.324+00:00The Vanilla Dominatrix<div style="color: #20124d;">
I originally intended to post this as a response to the comment of ourchangingviews on my last blog, but I feel that it is much better as an entry in its own right.</div>
<div style="color: #20124d;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #20124d;">
Her comment was as follows:</div>
<div style="color: #20124d;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #20124d;">
<i>'I'm interested that you say you don't want a 24/7 relationship and yet
you feel owned all the time. To me that is what 24/7 is: submission that
may be called upon at any moment, although the level and protocol is
dependent on the relationship.'</i></div>
<div style="color: #20124d;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #20124d;">
This is an interesting concept, because it is one which I think blurs the lines between a vanilla relationship and a d/s one. I can explain this through example.</div>
<div style="color: #20124d;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #20124d;">
Of late, I have been working very hard. Harder than I probably should. I was due to go away to work this weekend, and have been getting myself very stressed about it. By the end of last week, I was so stressed that I suddenly burst into tears on one occasion. When Lilith sat me down and asked me what was going on, it became clear to her that my working patterns were becoming too much for me. She suggested that I take the weekend off, but I was incredibly reluctant too because I felt that the work was important and needed doing. I consulted a friend, and she annoyingly agreed with Lilith. I was still reluctant, so Lilith put on her dominant shoes and told me on no uncertain terms that I was not to go this weekend, and that she would help me to talk to the people concerned so that I could get out of it. She has never done anything like this before, and we have spoken about the level of control that it is appropriate for her to have over 'my' life as a separate thing to 'our' life. However, in this instance, she was acting for the sake of my health. I suspect that any vanilla partner would have done the same if they were watching their loved one slowly self destruct, and I am extremely grateful to her for doing it. Was this act of domination made easier because of the dynamics of our relationship? I suspect so. Do I see it as an act of domination in the context of this blog? No, I don't think I do.</div>Walking Oxymoronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066271178383175243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567319608187044120.post-42246107768126454992011-11-17T20:33:00.001+00:002011-11-17T21:11:42.908+00:00Equality and Submission<div style="color: #20124d;">
My last post was all about the way in which I am struggling to fulfill some of my sexual needs. This post is somewhat contradictory, since it surrounds the small gestures that ensure that my submissive needs are met on a day to day basis. Regardless of whatever else is going on, it is important to me that I feel submissive and owned. </div>
<div style="color: #20124d;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #20124d;">
It is important to clarify at this point exactly what I mean when I say that I wish to feel 'submissive and owned.' Unlike some, I do not want a 24/7 power exchange dynamic. I love those intimate moments where I am able to let Lilith curl up and be a little girl in my lap just as much as I love being cared for and looked after. I often secretly refer to her as 'mine', since, as much as I feel that I want her to share in and contribute to my life, I would like to share hers too. I even go so far as putting a necklace around her neck to symbolise this. This equality, however, does not preclude my belonging to her in a d/s context at all times. She is naturally the dominant one, and it is therefore she who makes the rules. Its difficult to describe how this works, since it happens naturally - we don't have a rigid set of protocols (more on rules and protocols coming soon). However, we both know that I am hers.</div>
<div style="color: #20124d;">
<br /></div>
<span style="color: #20124d;">In the absence of strict protocol, there are some subtle gestures that we use to reinforce the sense of ownership and belonging. Perhaps the most outwardly obvious is my collar - I have recently obtained a beautiful steel necklace which locks around my neck, and which I wear nearly all of the time. It is the smaller gestures, however, that have the greatest impact. A stare directed straight through me, to which my response is to lower my eyes. A tiny tug on, or stroke of, my collar. The phrase 'good girl', or 'I'm proud'. The unwritten expectation of a morning cup of tea. The statement 'well, be better' when I have done something wrong. With the exception of the collar, none of these things are particularly premeditated, but, small as they are, these gestures maintain my submissiveness through the driest of any dry spell. </span><br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />Walking Oxymoronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066271178383175243noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567319608187044120.post-60155184788589113382011-11-12T00:13:00.001+00:002011-11-12T00:38:56.927+00:00The Dry Patch<div style="color: #20124d;">
Everyone has them. I am sure. Regardless of how much kinky shit a person gets up to, I am sure that everyone goes through patches where they just can't get it right. And I am also pretty sure that it is not through lack of trying - in my case it is definitely not. Which makes it all the more frustrating.</div>
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I feel like I am not getting satisfaction out of play at the moment. I am getting play, but it just isn't right. Things just aren't as mind-blowing as I know they can be. Its not that the play isn't as intense, or that I'm not trying new things, I just don't seem to be able to get myself into the right mindset to be able to relax into the experiences. Perhaps it is because I am suddenly feeling settled and secure and therefore don't feel the need to 'push the boat out', so to speak, in terms of making the effort. This is certainly true of my social life (which I also feel some regret about neglecting). This explains the large blank spot in my blog - I am seriously lacking material!</div>
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So what is the solution? I'm not sure. When this has happened in the past, I have just ridden the storm. But this has been going on for months now, and it is getting ridiculous. I am getting incredibly frustrated, and I end up getting angry with myself. Any ideas people?</div>
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<br />Walking Oxymoronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066271178383175243noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567319608187044120.post-75652494742190315602011-10-12T12:14:00.002+01:002011-10-12T12:22:05.940+01:00The Strength of the Submissive<style>
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<span style="font-size: small;">On the BDSM scene, it
is not uncommon to hear submissives referred to as having incredible strength
for their ability to trust their dominant and allow them to take charge of what
is essentially, in some cases, their life. However, it seems that, when it comes
to ‘vanilla’ life, being submissive is seen as a weak personality trait. Many
people strive to be the alpha, to be in direct control of any situation that
may get thrown their way. Even within the scene, most submissives that I have
come across pride themselves on their dominant personalities within everyday
life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I do not agree with
this. I strongly believe that it takes even more strength to be submissive in a
vanilla context than within the more clear-cut roles of BDSM
play/relationships. To be able to take on the ideas of others, to realise that
they may have equal or greater potential than your own, to embrace them and to
take the hits when they are wrong, all whilst maintaining your own integrity
and self belief, takes a great deal of inner strength. To do this in the face
of someone with whom you have a strong emotional connection can sometimes
require even more resilience.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">To explain this more
fully, I have a couple of examples. The first comes from my Mum, who, in my
eyes, is one of the strongest people I have come across. I am very lucky to
have parents who, after 30 years of marriage, are still head over heels for
each other. However, I think that I can attribute a lot of this to Mum’s
approach. As a blind artist with a limited ability to read the emotions of
others, Dad can be extremely demanding. There have been many occasions when I
have watched Mum go to help him do something really simple, like cook dinner or
help with his medication, and he has ended up angry and frustrated because
something wasn’t done quite right. Rather than confront him while he is angry,
making him stubborn and compounding the situation, Mum puts down whatever she
is doing (she usually has a VERY long list), and simply tries again to get it
right. Then, when he has calmed down, she talks to him about what has happened
and conveys her feelings. I know that it is incredibly difficult for her to do
this at times, and I am not saying that it is a technique that always succeeds,
but I admire her hugely for being able to put his needs first in such a way.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The second example is
more personal. Of late, I have been living in a household with two people who
are essentially both trying to be ‘alpha’ (this may be a bone of contention to
both of them when they read it, partly because the truth in this statement is
debatable at times). I get on extremely well with them both, but often find
myself caught in the middle of the struggle to be on top. I am trying to let
them both work it out between themselves, sitting back and listening both to
their arguments and the times when they are really getting on well, trying to
give them the space that they need to work it out. I know that my role will
fall into a slot that will be defined by how their relationship works out, and
I need to let them work that out for themselves. In a sense, my fate is in
their hands. I often have a strong urge to protect one or other of them from
arguments that I can see coming a mile off, but I know that to do so would be
damaging to them, which would, in turn, be damaging to my relationships with
them both. It is not that I don’t air my feelings and opinions, but, like my
Mum, I wait. Sometimes the wait is long, but I feel that it is worth it.
Inside, I know that I have taken care of myself and ensured that my needs are
met eventually, and that I don’t have to feel that I have in some way backed
down. Equally, I have done my best to ensure that their needs have also been
met.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">It is all very well
and good feeling strong inside. But I am increasingly getting the impression
that people on the outside view me as weak willed, and this is making me start
to question myself. Is it okay to be viewed as weak when you feel strong
inside? Would accepting their opinion make me weak merely by removing my inner
unquestioning strength? How far is too far when it comes to putting myself in
the firing line, albeit temporarily? Does submission really equal strength, or
is it just an excuse? </span></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Fundamentally, I
believe that since I am making a conscious decision to take this submissive
approach, I am not weak willed. It is when I feel forced into taking such a
stance (which has happened to me in the past) that submission becomes a
weakness. Like many things, this is basically an extension of my kinky life –
it is easy to sit back and let someone beat the shit out of you, but to choose
to hand over that power to them to do whatever they will takes a huge amount of
courage, self worth, personal integrity. Herein lies the strength of the
submissive.</span><span style="text-transform: uppercase;"></span></div>Walking Oxymoronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066271178383175243noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567319608187044120.post-8262261070095290942011-09-16T23:15:00.004+01:002011-09-23T11:55:17.131+01:00More on Being Little<div style="color: #20124d;">
More and more, I am finding that I want to regress into my newly discovered childish state. However, this is becoming less and less linked to sex/BDSM play. Instead, I find that I slip into this state when relaxed - it is a way of enabling me not to have to think or worry about any of the boring grown up stuff. A slightly unconventional form of stress relief, but one that I am keen to explore further.</div>
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A few weeks ago, I had a friend 'over to play'. That is exactly what we did. We simply let our inner children out. We coloured in, Mummy cooked us chicken nuggets and alphabetti spagetti and helped us to make chocolate brownies, and we make a den. Then we both curled up in Mummy's arms with our dummies and watched a film. The next day, I felt relaxed, recharged and ready for anything. </div>
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Having allowed myself to do this once, I now feel able to let myself slip into little girl mode more often. In the past, I have felt guilty about landing all of the responsible stuff onto others and have stopped myself from regressing. However, I am now learning that, when the time is right, I don't need to feel guilty about it. I also am starting to worry less about having a responsible figure around. I am realising that it is okay to curl up on Lilith's lap and suck my thumb when she just wants to relax and watch TV. I don't need Mummy around to be little. In fact, recently, she and I were curled up by the fire on a blanket. As I regressed, I started sucking my thumb and realised that, in that moment, I would really like her join me in her little state. I have to admit, this confused me slightly as I definitely do not want to surrender my place as her little girl. But maybe, just maybe, we can work out how to do both?</div>
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<div style="color: #20124d;">
Using roleplay in this manner (i.e. not in a sexual capacity) is something that never really occurred to me before. Indeed, I have come across very few people on the kink scene who openly broadcast that they do this kind of thing. But I hope that it can, and will, play a very valuable part of my everyday life from now on. There are not many people who are lucky enough to have found a way of excluding all thoughts of responsibility from their mind completely for an hour or two. </div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;">There is a secondary motive behind all of this. One that negates all that I have said above. If I can learn to slip into a genuinely innocent childlike state, it will make the virgin sacrifice scene all the more fun ;)</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #20124d;">***AN ADDITION***</span><br />
<span style="color: #20124d;"> </span><br />
<span style="color: #20124d;">Now that I think about it, I am not sure that I am a little girl. I was either a little boy or very tomboyish. Cue forthcoming post on genderbending ageplay...</span>Walking Oxymoronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066271178383175243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567319608187044120.post-52545491793295067952011-09-16T22:45:00.000+01:002011-09-16T22:45:05.182+01:00West Of The Moon, East Of The Sun<div style="color: #20124d;">
<i>The road goes ever on and on,</i></div>
<div style="color: #20124d;">
<i>Down from the door where it began.</i></div>
<div style="color: #20124d;">
<i>Now far ahead the road has gone</i></div>
<div style="color: #20124d;">
<i>And I must follow if I can...</i></div>
<div style="color: #20124d;">
<i> Pursuing it with eager feet until it joins some larger way,</i></div>
<div style="color: #20124d;">
<i>And whither then? I cannot say.</i></div>
<div style="color: #20124d;">
<i>Still 'round the corner there may wait</i></div>
<div style="color: #20124d;">
<i>A new road or a secret gate;</i></div>
<div style="color: #20124d;">
<i>And though I oft' have passed them by,</i></div>
<div style="color: #20124d;">
<i>A day will come at last when I</i></div>
<div style="color: #20124d;">
<i>Shall take the hidden paths that run</i></div>
<div style="color: #20124d;">
<i>West of the moon, east of the sun.</i></div>
<div style="color: #20124d;">
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<div style="color: #20124d;">
<b><i>J.R Tolkein.</i></b></div>
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<span style="color: #20124d;">It is now. A new feeling of security allows a new start. I am far more than I am allowing myself to be. Time to explore...</span>Walking Oxymoronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066271178383175243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567319608187044120.post-62935502460504825892011-07-16T15:36:00.000+01:002011-07-16T15:36:07.252+01:00Ultraviolence<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;">'Ultraviolence' is a term that seems to be banded about with increasing frequency within the scene. I have heard people say that it is becoming the 'fashionable' way to play - and not always without distain. More often than not, when ultraviolence is mentioned, my name is soon to follow. I do enjoy pain, and I love the fear and adrenaline that is associated with a vicious, bare-knuckled beating. Lilith plays on this, often appearing slightly maniacal. Very Clockwork Orange. I have never referred to the way I play as ultraviolence myself. I feel that this description is a little narrow, and creates the impression of a one way interaction wherein the victim is helpless and weak, unable to contribute to the way in which the scene plays out. However, that is an aside. What is important here is that when people see Lilith and I play, quiet at one moment and teeth, fists, sticks, tears and blood flying at the next, it would not be unreasonable for them to compare it to 'the old UV'.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;"><br />
</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;">Following a recent event at which Lilith and I played, an observer (not formerly known to us) posted a </span><a href="http://fetlife.com/users/820036/posts/642430"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;">blog</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;"> on our play. They raised some interesting questions around our style of play, including: How did I, as the submissive, know that I wasn't being abused? How could she, as an observer, know whether it was OK and whether I was enjoying it or not? Is UV appropriate within a public play space? The blog became quite widely read, and both Lilith and I posted our own responses to it. Rarely for such forums, it turned into a well balanced, informative debate. The organisers of the event therefore decided to invite Lilith and I to talk at a public forum on the topic of ultraviolence and public play, and to answer for ourselves some of the questions that were raised in the forum. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;">The first thing that became obvious to me (and that I have suspected for a while) is that, as a 'hardcore masochist', I am a surprisingly rare breed. I have described the feelings that I get from <a href="http://skisocksandflipflops.blogspot.com/2010/11/pain.html">pain</a> before; the way it spreads across my entire body, rendering me incapable of thinking about anything else, hitting in waves that can sometimes be akin to orgasm. As I explained this, there were a few people nodding along and understanding. But there were far more who seemed not to understand how I could compare pain and pleasure this directly. In fact, it seemed that the level of pain that I had taken was one of the more controversial aspects of the play that was in question. This surprised me. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;">The exhibitionism side of the play seemed much more widely understood by the crowd. Again, this surprised me. Until that point, I thought that I had encountered far more masochists than exhibitionists. The idea that the maniacal grin could excite me and add to the scene, although clearly not some peoples' 'thing', was accepted without much question.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;">The topic of abuse got people talking, particularly the question 'how do we, as a collective, define abuse?' It seemed that, having heard Lilith and I speak, people were ready to accept (and even to defend) the fact that, however abusive our play looks, it is actually a very precious part of a loving relationship. We also both pointed out that we both have experience of abusive relationships which, from the outside, probably looked very loving and caring. As an outsider, it is incredibly difficult to tell how a relationship works just by watching play. So what should one do if one suspects that the play that they are witnessing is abusive? The general consensus was that one should leave the players alone but talk to the DMs, who can then make a judgement based upon how well they know the players concerned. On one hand, I agree. I would be incredibly annoyed if someone tried to interrupt my play without good cause and without getting their facts straight first. I also feel that people should be trusted to look out for themselves - everyone has a brain that they are perfectly capable of using. On the other side, I know how easy it is to be manipulated. I wish that someone could have told me just how abusive my ex was when I was with him. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;">One of the best things about the debate was the support that I felt we had from a wide range of people, regardless of whether or not they felt that 'our kink was their kink' or not. In general, people felt that, if they were to see us playing again, they would feel at ease that we were able to play in a public space, with all of the extra safety nets that that affords should something go wrong. Many said that they would probably leave the room, but others said that they couldn't wait to watch us play later in the evening. Which we did, with great gusto :)</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #20124d;">A job well done by the kink community methinks. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><br />
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</div>Walking Oxymoronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066271178383175243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567319608187044120.post-87161078295627406642011-07-08T00:10:00.000+01:002011-07-08T00:10:28.711+01:00Discipline and Punishment<span style="color: #073763;">As part of my growing exploration of my inner submissive, I have recently realised that one of the things that I really crave from a dominant is discipline. I am quite competent at self disciplining, allowing myself treats when I have done something that I am proud of and getting incredibly angry with myself and making myself feel guilty when I don't. But the problem with self disciplining is that, when I am having a bad day or feeling lazy, it doesn't work. I am good at talking myself out of things and making excuses. I then get annoyed with myself, which makes me feel awful and creates a Catch 22 situation. So, a few weeks ago, I asked Lilith whether she would start to take on some small parts of my inner disciplinarian. I knew that I would probably try to bend the rules, finding where there can be wriggle room, but I also hoped that, with her in charge, the wriggle room would be limited and I wouldn't get away with my usual excuse-making tricks.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #073763;">This isn't the first time that I have tried to do this with a partner. In the past, it has never worked. The rules have always been established on their terms, and I have rapidly grown to resent them. Consequently, I did everything I could to rebel against them, and always succeeded. The punishments that were delivered didn't phase me at all, and acted more as an encouragement than a deterrent. I really enjoyed being punished, be that physically or emotionally. It made me feel powerful - punishment was a signal that I had executed a successful rebellion. Although I was hoping that the same wouldn't apply this time, I was expecting it all to fall flat again.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #073763;">Unlike previous attempts, all of my rules are set by myself following discussion with Lilith. They are pretty simple, and based around my life goals. I must ask permission before eating sweets or chocolate and do some form of exersize at least 3 times a week. Because these simple things are a) achievable and b) things that will directly benefit myself, I actually want to follow them. The first few weeks therefore went very well. But, as always, I eventually got to the point where I needed to test the boundaries and regain control through rebellion. So I sent a message saying that I wasn't going out for a run. Then, later, another requesting biscuits. The response was that I could only have biscuits if I had been for a run. I kept pushing, but Lilith stuck her ground and eventually I just ate them anyway, despite having not persuaded her to say yes. Quite a small thing, but rather significant in terms of shattering the dynamic of the relationship.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #073763;">The reaction was strong, and pretty much what I expected. A restriction on communication (I was ignored for a period of about 12 hours) and a rather too large number of strokes with a strop (I HATE belts and strops with a passion, and not in the good way). In the past, I would have shrugged a punishment like this off easily, and I was expecting to do the same here. But it really got to me. I felt annoyed that I had broken our agreement, and I could feel that she was genuinely angry, which I really don't like. She was using the fact that my punishment was also impacting on her against me, and it worked. She asked me to try to stop myself floating off into masochistic space as she beat me, but rather to stay in the room and experience the pain as pain. In the past I would have ignored this, but in this case I really wanted to make right and tried incredibly hard to do this. I wasn't 100% successful, but that is not the point. I really genuinely wanted to show that I was accepting the punishment as punishment. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #073763;">It would be a lie to say that I didn't enjoy the process. Not only did I enjoy the imposition of rules and boundaries, but I also enjoyed the emotional masochism. I am still not convinced that this will continue to act as a deterrent for a long period of time, because I know that I have the ability to enjoy it if I want to. However, I have also seen the other side - the much more effective, unpleasant side. I can now choose how this will go forward. Either I can take the whole thing as I have done before, do as I like and enjoy the punishments, which will ultimately ruin the dynamic that we have worked hard to create. Or I can do as I have already started to do. I recognise that I do not need to rebel because it doesn't benefit me. I know that I can't talk my way out of my rules, and I don't want to. And I know that punishment CAN be unpleasant, and that, by accepting it as genuine punishment rather than a reward, I can experience it in a way that I do not enjoy. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #073763;">It frustrates me that I have to make this decision, but I think that it is unavoidable. Like anything in ds, if I wish for something to happen then I must consent to it. In this case, if I wish to experience discipline I must allow myself to be moulded by rules and punishments rather than to see them as a challenge to be beaten. I am rather worried that I won't be able to do it and will slip back into my old ways. But I know that I don't want to. And that I will want to be reminded of this blog and disciplined appropriately if I do!</span> Walking Oxymoronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066271178383175243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567319608187044120.post-54223284491704072802011-06-22T23:18:00.001+01:002011-06-22T23:25:02.224+01:00Loving the Dark Side<span style="color: #20124d;">I am not a fan of organised religion (now there is a sentence that I never thought I would use to begin a kinky blogpost!). I find it forced and unnatural, and see it ultimately as a way in which those with power can control a population by manipulating their individual morals and beliefs. I do, however, believe that formal ritual can, and should, be used as a means of individual expression. I believe in myself and my ability to shape my own life, and I know that I can draw powerful emotions from things that are often viewed as spiritual. I think that I have already hinted at this slightly in a recent blog about </span><a href="http://skisocksandflipflops.blogspot.com/2011/05/bleed-me.html"><span style="color: #20124d;">nature and play</span></a><span style="color: #20124d;">. During my teens, I spent a lot of time developing some personal rituals. I seem to have stopped doing this now that I am older, but I miss them. They allowed me space and time for relaxation and self evaluation.</span><br />
<span style="color: #20124d;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: #20124d;">Within play, Lilith and I have been slowly incorporating some small rituals. They are all things that I have initiated and that feel natural to me, such as kneeling as my collar is put around my neck or being fed bacon and eggs on a Sunday morning. Like my teenage woodland fires and tree carvings, they relax me and make me feel secure in myself. Furthermore, they also cement the feeling of being owned that has been growing within me. I like my rituals.</span><br />
<span style="color: #20124d;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="color: #20124d;">Now, I am going to change tack a little here, but bear with me. If you are lucky, this may all make sense by the end. Understanding each other is a hugely important part of play. A scene during which I am put through hell and back is fun, and very hot, but a much simpler scene in which I can feel a subconcious exchange of thoughts and emotions is infinitely better in every way. When play works like this, it feels like a dance with power, where subtle changes in the eyes and well constructed sentences can totally alter the movements and the tone of the scene. Earlier this week, I stormed into Lilith's house in a foul mood after a long day at work. She knew that I needed to release some pent up aggression, and, simply by firmly grabbing my wrist, communicated that it was OK to do so. We wrestled, stopping every so often to stare at each other and try to work out the next move. By looking at me, she could tell that I hadn't let everything out yet and held me down, waiting for me to release some more anger. Very few words were said to each other throughout, but by subtle wording and small changes in body language, we were able to read each other and create an intense power exchange.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #20124d;">To summarise: I like rituals. I like play that engages my mind. I like to understand how my partner works and use this knowledge within play. All of these things enable me to feel a deep connection to both myself and my partner, which makes for a much more intense experience both physically and emotionally.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #20124d;">Thats the preamble over with. Time to get to the point. <strong>Last night was midsummer's night. It seemed an appropriate time for a ritualistic scene - one that bought together all of the above parameters to create something rather special. I was to be a virgin, sacrificed to Lilith's inner demon. </strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><strong>I was in little girl mode. Unmarked and pristine, wearing a long white flowing dress, I was led into the woods at sunset. I was happily skipping along, my inner child finding wonder in everything. I was led to a perfect circle of trees within a clearing (the location held a special resonance as it was somewhere that Lilith associated with her childhood). I was allowed to explore my surroundings, letting all of my childhood wonder come out... </strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: #20124d;"><strong>Mummy had been looking after me and making me feel very special all night. She showed me a special tree, which she had chalked her symbol onto. It had a thick trunk and was growing level to the ground, so she showed me how good it was for lying on. Then she said that she needed my help with a ritual, one that would help her to feel better, and that she needed to secure me to the tree so that I didn't fall off. She strapped me down so that I was lying with my belly on the tree trunk and it was really comfortable. Then she told me that she was going to have to go away for a bit while she went to get someone, and I got scared. She started talking to the trees and the sky, saying big long words that I didn't understand but that sounded very pretty. She said something about letting her demon come out and giving it what it wanted, and about giving me to it to 'sate' it (I didn't really get what that bit meant). I liked that she thought that I was important enough to give to someone, but it was still scary because I didn't know them. Then she disappeared suddenly behind me. When she came back, she had a different, scary voice and big scary eyes. I think she had turned into a scary evil man, because he started ripping the flesh off of my back. It really really hurt. He pulled it using sharp nails and teeth, and scratched it with a sharp rock. He said that he wanted my blood, and he showed me his finger with blood dripping down it. That was really scary because I felt like there was lots of blood all over my back. He wiped it on my face as well, and I couldn't stop him. Then, he pulled my skirt right up, and my pretty white dress got covered in blood. He didn't seem to care. He pushed something hard inside me between my legs. It felt good, but I didn't like him there because I knew he wasn't supposed to be there. I think I started crying. He told me that his evil seed had got inside my mummy and now he was going to put it in me as well. Then he took the hard thing out and put it back in my bottom. It really really hurt. I screamed and cried and it felt nasty. He was pushing the thing into me really fast and really hard and he was ripping my back with his nails at the same time. Then, suddenly, he said that he had got what he wanted and he collapsed onto my back. I felt like I had been left on my own, but Mummy came back for me. She hugged me and told me that he had gone now and wasn't coming back, and that she was proud of me. She took me off of the tree and carried me away to sit in her lap. I felt really happy because I had done it for her, but I am still scared of the bad man and I was shaking for a long time.</strong></span><br />
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<span style="color: #20124d;">I have written in such a childlike manner because that is how it felt at the time. I was able to lose myself totally in the role play of the ritual. Which is how it was presented to me. However, through a subtle piece of subliminal communication, we both knew that it wasn't 100% roleplay - everybody has their inner 'demons', and this was about releasing them. For me, innocence equates with vulnerability, and making myself vulnerable is a very difficult thing for me to do. I was very visibly giving myself to her by conciously making myself so fragile, and, in doing so, was fighting some of my own 'demons'. The ritual itself was about acknowledging some of the 'demons' that Lilith has within her, allowing her to connect with them and start to understand them. By giving myself to her for the ritual, I was able to show her that they are an accepted part of her and that they don't change the way I think of her. We managed to create something that was, on the surface, a bit of fun roleplay, but that allowed us to get in touch with our inner selves and each other. It was not only a wonderful, and very real, power exchange, but also a perfect ritual of self expression for a midsummer's night.</span>Walking Oxymoronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066271178383175243noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567319608187044120.post-14195564552746526322011-06-13T22:44:00.000+01:002011-06-13T22:44:55.682+01:00Submission and Dependence<span style="color: #20124d;">I know that I have been blogging a lot around the theme of submission and ownership recently, but it is something that has, somewhat unexpectedly, been playing on my mind over the past few months. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #20124d;">The feeling of being owned is one that I crave and always have done. I have always distanced myself from responsibility for my own actions. When I was little, I would create imaginary characters who would look after me, discipline me, give me boundaries and make sure that I did the things that were best for me. I have now absorbed those characters into my own psychie, but they are still very much present. They make sure that I am happy, content and moving in the right direction in life, and they correct me when I'm not. If I am feeling down or tired, this ability is hindered and I start to feel lost and unmotivated in the absence of my self-set boundaries. So I do my best to maintain them as much as possible.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #20124d;">It is very rare that I feel able to 'submit' to a person, rather than just 'bottom'. For me, a major component of the submissive feeling that I crave is being able to hand over my own internal 'dominant' to someone else. This is a very dangerous thing to do, since my ability to self-manage in this way defines who I am in many ways. Once someone else has access to this, I become extremely vulnerable. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #20124d;">Even more problematic is the fact that it is just not possible for someone to fulfill the same role as do myself. They would need to know what I am doing and how I am feeling 24-7, and to micro-manage it. However, in order to fulfill my needs, I need to alow someone else to take the role of my self-regulator at least some of the time, for some aspects of my life. This means that I stop controlling myself so much, and the boundaries that I need to feel actually slacken. This is a particular problem when I am alone and tired, as this is when I need the boundaries the most. Without them, I feel lost, small, and my self confidence falls. I therefore become very clingy towards the dominant, whom I know is able to re-impose those boundaries. I have to control this clinginess because it is enough to drive anyone nuts, and therefore have a tendancy to isolate myself and become very introverted. This is also a mode of self-preservation - the idea of being that dependent on another to pick me up and reinstate the boundaries that I need is a) not clever and b) really scary.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #20124d;">What I really want is to have someone understand all of the little idiosyncracies within my mind - the ways in which I dominate myself from within, when and how I am strict with myself and how I motivate myself - and use them to form their own set of boundaries which will allow me to develop in a protected environment. Without the aid of telepathy and a person who is capable of doing this yet has no life of their own, this is impossible. I therefore need to find a balance between my own inner dominant and my external one; one that doesn't make me want to go and hibernate when I have had a tiring day. This is a problem that I have been trying to solve for around 5 years now, and it seems that the closer I get to finding what I want from someone else, the further I get from being able to balance that with my need for endless control. </span><br />
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<span style="color: #20124d;">I strongly suspect that this is a relatively uncommon problem, and I know that it is not easily rectified. I also suspect that, for those who don't know me well, this post made very little sense. But I would be very interested to hear from anyone who does empathise, and am very open to suggestions for dealing with this.</span> Walking Oxymoronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066271178383175243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567319608187044120.post-26018793432303913462011-06-06T21:30:00.001+01:002011-06-06T21:30:38.037+01:00'The Edge'<span style="color: #20124d;">I'm hanging over 'The Edge', suspended by a climbing rope. My hand is over the carabina - a few last bits of myself holding onto the security of my cave on the hill. I'm getting closer and closer to letting go and allowing someone else to hold the rope secure. I know that they can let the rope slack at will. I'm terrified. But so SO full of want.</span>Walking Oxymoronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066271178383175243noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4567319608187044120.post-51702133059512376702011-05-23T20:30:00.001+01:002011-05-23T20:31:58.212+01:00Bleed Me.<em><span style="color: #073763;">I seem to have a bit of a thing for nature at the moment. Outdoor fucking in the rain, being drowned in waterfalls, mud wrestling, rope bondage in flower meadows. I find the natural world incredibly empowering, and I think that it makes the perfect juxtaposition to my rapidly developing submissive self. I also love the 'back to basics' feeling that being outdoors gives me - It makes me very carnal and incredibly highly sexed. The simplicity of it helps me to let go, because I have nothing to worry about. Unlike the man - made world, nature doesn't judge. I don't feel separate from it. I can immerse myself in it, give into my senses and not think; I can just <strong>be</strong>. And my being me, stripped down to my gut feelings, totally lacking inhibitions and overwhelmingly empowered by being able to feel such, I am able to let go of myself completely. The writing that follows relates to these feelings. I am not going to call it a fantasy (although it is, as yet, completely fictitious) because the concept is far more special to me than wank fodder. It is deeply personal, and I apologise to anyone who should happen to read it in advance for ruining the wank fodder by loading it with my emotions!</span></em><br />
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<span style="color: #073763;">As my clothes are stripped from me, I agree that I will surrender control of myself until the point at which they are returned to me. With this, I am washed and redressed, prevented from taking any active role in my preparation for the evening. I am put into a beautiful long white dress, floaty and lacey, that makes me feel elegant, powerful and at one with the world - like a Grecian goddess. A complete juxtaposition to what I believe may be about to happen to me. I remain barefoot, but a white silk blindfold is carefully placed across my eyes. I am then led outside by the hand.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #073763;">It is a warm night, and the rain doesn't feel too cold against my face. In fact, it is the kind of warm rain that makes me feel powerful, full of awe for the natural world. I can see the bright shine of the moon through the blindfold, but am unable to make out much of where I am with my eyes. I can, however, piece together most of the setting. Beneath my feet, I feel long, wet grass. I can hear the gushing of a waterfall nearby. I can smell the way that the air is loaded with the power of an oncoming storm.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;">Suddenly, we stop walking. An instruction is whispered gently into my ear: 'Lean backwards, I'll support you'. I am lowered down so that I am lying against a cold, wet rock. It is surprisingly comfortable. My arms are lifted above my head and fixed in place with some cold metal manicles that are attached to the rock. My feet are fixed likewise, and I find that my body is stretched over the rock in such a way that I cannot move. The blindfold is removed, and the rain hits my eyes. The water on my face accentuates the inner feeling of power that is growing within me.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;">As my eyes adjust to the dark, I can make out the shapes of a circle of stunningly beautiful people surrounding me, dressed up in fantastical outfits. Although I recognise their faces and the sound of their laughter, I feel distant from them, empowered by something beyond their attention. Standing over me, she is absolutely stunning. Although the glint in her eyes expresses her absolute power, the grin that spreads across her face reveals her hidden loving side. And with that, I break into a grin too. Slowly, gently, she leans into my body and starts stroking it, never breaking eye contact with me. I shiver every time she makes contact with my skin.</span><br />
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<span style="color: #073763;">When she knows that I was really sensitive to her touch, she pulls out a beautifully crafted flogger, made of heavy purple suede with a carved wooden handle. The wetness of my skin adds a slight sting to the thud of the first impact, and I instantly relax into the pain. She mixes a rhythmic beating with gentle strokes from her fingers, maintaining eye contact, watching as I slowly get high from the sensations. When she is satisfied that I have reached a state of deep euphoria, she steps back and deftly unmanicles my hands and feet. I do not move them, but stare, transfixed, as she pulls out a scalpel. I know what is coming, but, for once, I have no idea how it will feel. She strokes my hair, and then sets to work. I lay back, exposing my face and neck to the rain, relaxing and enjoying the sensation of the warm blood running down my leg and staining my dress. As my blood mixes with the rain, she licks a small bit of it and, with the metallic taste still on her tongue, deeply kisses me.</span><br />
<span style="color: #073763;">The people surrounding me are now closer, naked, and having sex on the floor around me. I am high and my head is floating as my girl spreads my legs and fucks me. She has my blood, and now she needs to claim my cum. She fucks me harder and harder, pushing me deeper and deeper into my floaty state. As I cum, she wraps her hand around my throat and whispers one word in my ear: 'Mine'. I am still drifting in my post orgasmic state as she lifts me down from the rock and, together, we entwine ourselves into the ongoing orgy.</span>Walking Oxymoronhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06066271178383175243noreply@blogger.com0