On: The words we use…

i’ve been thinking about the words we use in an overarching sense but also just one word.  One single word that carries a lot of weight, a lot of meaning: Daddy.

In private, i am most likely to call her Daddy.  And it’s not because we primarily have a Daddy/girl relationship, because we don’t.  Neither of us want that, it wouldn’t suit us.

What does it mean that i call this woman “Daddy”?

Well….it’s a lot of things.

First, it speaks to my inner child, the part of me that is most vulnerable and sensitive.  And also the most playful and irreverent.  We each have a tendency to be rigid with ourselves and each other and we each work in our own ways to not let this happen.  It keeps her from being bored, which is what i think would occur pretty fast for her if we both succumbed to a rigid life together. 

It is important that i help keep things playful because we both value being silly and the woman that is me is not especially prone to being silly. 

So, calling her Daddy for one thing denotes that i trust her with the most fragile, vulnerable, sensitive parts of my being.  It also means that i am not afraid to inject humor into most situations and consider this to be a vital form of service to her and to the relationship, even if she would prefer at times that i not make us both giggle when we are supposed to be sleeping. 

What else does it mean?

Well, it is also the part of me that is comfortable asking for what i want directly and without carefully weighing it out into a logical decision tree first.  It is simple and bare.  It is the part of me still aware of my woman-child powers to seduce without intention or apology. 

You see, i am a woman-child.  i likely always will be, having no true desire- and perhaps no full ability- to be entirely grown.  This is a part of why i need a strong hand and guidance.  There are also a ton of things that i just never learned along the way of life, having no real family to speak of, and i have to fight my most basic desires to submit against the way i was raised in my nuclear family (a hedonistic clan which taught me to rebel against everything except the matriarch). 

Now that i have said a bit about what this is….let me clarify what this is not:

It’s not about role-play.

It’s not about age-play.

It’s not an excuse for me to behave in ways that are not becoming.

It’s not about me not having accountability.

i’m not judging those things or how they work for other people.  i just know that it doesn’t work for me and would not work for us.

If anything, i have to be more fully present at times and more self-aware because a sharp word can suddenly make me want to burst into tears.  This is strange to me, having spent a lifetime with a protective barrier.  Also, i decided very young and early on that ego is a disservice to an M/s relationship because it hinders me taking criticism well and i am highly goal and task-oriented.  The task being done well matters much more to me than how i might be feeling at any given moment.  In other words, i am a slave first and foremost.  As such, i’m focused and am able to hear that i did not do something perfectly without personalizing it. 

But my inner child?  Hmmm.  Well….she might lead with her id but the ego is still intact.  And because i mean no harm and my intentions are to be pleasing, it can feel like a backhand to my inner child’s soul to hear that i’ve done something wrong. 

 Last week, in a crowded restaurant, Sir Raven noted how distracted i was getting in the noise and the strange lighting of the place and firmly said, “focus.”  Not two seconds later, a sound which i could not identify sounded close to my face and i turned away again.  When she quietly reprimanded me, i felt awash in shame, having given her a message that is entirely not intentional.  It seems like a simple enough thing to obey a directive to focus, even if it was in a crowded, unfamiliar place where i couldn’t see anything.  It shouldn’t matter and i know that.  If i had not been in a vulnerable place inside of myself right then, i could have apologized and hopefully moved on.  But no.  i had to ask to go outside for a moment, because i felt near tears.  i was not upset at the reproach but at a horrible message i had sent with my inattention. 

When i do something wrong, there is a coldness in her energy.  It feels like a sudden blast of icy wind, that takes your breath away, stops your thoughts in its tracks.  As much as i detest the fire heat and sound of the strap, i would prefer that to the distance that can rise up in the wake of the icy air.  It doesn’t happen often and the main cause is that i have mentally wandered off too far for too long. 

The sting of knowing that i did not obey a clear directive and left her feeling that i was not paying attention to her was horrible.  Several minutes passed and i quietly said i understood the message she got and why she was angry and just sat there with it….as my inner child dueled it out with my inner slave.  i wanted to cry and ask her to make me cry at the same time….and i am emphatically not a person who cries often or well. 

When she finally reached her hand out and took mine across the table, i felt just bliss.  There is nothing in the world like her hands. 

The rest of the night was sensational, including her mocking question in my ear as she used me in public, “Are you going to beg, no Daddy, please no…?”  i replied by arching into her cane, like a wanton whore, a primal beast.  Starving.  And just like that, in another crowded room full of sounds and distractions, i was intently focused on her. 

There was nothing else.

There is a Mayan parable: Beyond woman, hidden in woman, resides child hidden in child, resides zero. 

In Mayan principle, zero represents something whole and useful.  A cup may be hollow, but the hollow space is the useful part.

She proved, once again, that she can restore my focus at will.

She took me down to zero.

Her hands in my hair, dragging me back up on the table, laying her whip down on my back to ruthlessly cane my body full of needles, demanding, “don’t let my whip fall” and i moaned and arched and knew nothing in this world besides the urgent need of her pain.  The urgent need to both bleed for her and let my soul bleed into her, no barriers between us.  Nothing but the exquisite pain, asked and answered.

You see, this was not a Daddy spanking a girl.

This was a Master using her slave.  Dragging her down to zero.   

No words needed.

 

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On: CNC

i have long been interested in what CNC looks like in a variety of relationships and environments.  For me, it is the heart and soul of my relationship.  From my perspective, i am given a lot of freedom.  i don’t have to text permission to go to the grocery store or the laundry mat, for example.  i think there are two reasons for this:

1. Sir Raven would find this daunting, to say the least. 

2.  i think, to her, this type of constant need for permission would sort of negate her blanket authority over me.

In other words, if i could not move about freely, and needed permission to leave the apartment, it would impede my ability to take care of my responsibilities to her.  Also too, to us, it would denote that i was relying on such a tight leash that i was missing the bigger picture….which is to trust her and trust myself to know what needs to be done and do it. 

In social settings, there is tighter control.  She gives explicit directives: “Sit here.  Don’t move.” 

Sir Raven has a quiet authority and dominance.  i am aware of what can happen if i go too far outside of what she wants.  i hope that day never comes because it won’t be pretty.

We have rituals and protocols and they serve to help me know what to expect.  i cherish the quiet mornings, taking off her shoes in the evening, pouring her glass of wine and waiting to ask if i can have one as well.  i love that i will always walk to her right side, wait for her to get the doors, and know what she needs to be ready for work each day.

i love that she tells me when it is time for bed.

i love that i can talk to her about-literally-anything.

i loved it when we scened in public and discussed nothing because we are CNC.  Doing something brand new for me was intoxicating because it was entirely in her capable hands.  i loved the way neither one of us thought a thing of a person she knows well trying out some of the tools on me without even a glance exchanged between Sir Raven and i.  Just an order to bend over the table and exactly how she wanted me to stand. 

i love that i will bleed for her.  And she doesn’t ask as there is no need.There is something sacred and bonding about blood and i’m so glad i saved these experiences for her alone.

i love the way that in one instant, she is considerate and gracious, holding the door for me or helping me into a car….and the next beating me.

i love the way i have to pay attention to her because she enjoys some sass and spirit….but she is in charge of when i can do this.  We both know that though i certainly dip a toe over the line at times, it’s up to me to be aware enough to not cross it.  i am not confused that there will be hell to pay if i go too far.  That fact alone gives me a sense of peace previously unknown to me.

i love the way that though we are modest in the way we approach how we do this, people in general sense our energy and have a sense of what we are.  The waiters don’t ask me what i want.  🙂  Though i wear no collar people get a sense of us and are not confused about who is in charge.

i love that we are both brave enough to deal with uncomfortable moments head-on and mature enough to never let it ruin the day.  We each find our own ways to validate each other. 

i love that when she tells me to move on, i mostly can, because it is expected of me.

i love that she reminds me occasionally to “have a pleasant demeanor” and the undertone in her quiet voice when she is not pleased that she had to say this.  i find myself standing up straighter and composing my face instantly. 

i love that she notices….well….everything in relation to me.  She misses nothing important, even if we do not speak of it at the time.  Some things she wants to think about for awhile.  Some things i want to think about for awhile.  We each respect that in each other.

i love that she gives me the benefit of the doubt.  If i have not done something, she considers why this might have occurred rather than just punishing me. 

i love when she speaks in her quiet tone, with measured, deliberate words.  It makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up sometimes.

CNC makes all of this possible, to my way of thinking.  It means that my life is what orbits around her.  In this way, we each inspire the other.  It pushes us a bit outside of our comfort zone and implies that we each must think of the other.  Sir Raven has to carefully consider her orders, because i will follow any direct order unless i believe it will result in grave danger.  i have to carefully consider when its time to be silly and help her relax and what its time to be silent and soft. 

i think it is working for us because it is an organic growth process that takes into consideration who we each are and who we each want to become. 

i want to become more and more Her’s….each moment, each day.  i want to give more of myself and every time i think she has every fiber of me….i will find more to offer up.  i feel that i am respected for this work, just as i have tremendous respect for the work she does for us.

CNC gets a bad rap too often for something that can be a strong framework of mutual devotion.  Just because Master has all of the power does not mean that she will misuse it.  Just because i am a slave that doesn’t mean i have no thoughts or ways to add to the relationship.  CNC requires two thinking, feeling, honest people.

On: CNCi have l…

On: Letting Go…

It’s been awhile since i have felt the strange need come, unbidden.

Blood lusty, i am.

There is a difference, to me, between the want of pain and the need of it.  My inner self-sadist has formed the dictum that when i need it, it is not to be enjoyed.  Not in the moment, anyhow.  My inner self-sadist has a grand time.  She sits across the room on the dresser, watching me suffer, impassive for a few moments.  And then the air becomes thick, heavy with the weight of my need, pressing down.

We do not pretend here.  i am just an instrument, the instrument of my undoing.

There is no shame, no regret, no pretense.  Only the eternal moments of my starvation for pain being answered with an endless thud, the sharp pain of the single tail, Sir’s hands in my hair or around my ankle dragging me back to her where i belong.

Time stands still.

i can no longer tell what is being used to deliver sharp, angry pain.  i try to focus on that, focus on any damn thing, i try to hold on.  And the harder i try to hold on, the more i need to let go.  When i do, the symphony of pain opens me whole.  i realize, for the first time through my haze that we are just touching the outermost circle of your need.  My face is hidden but i am smiling in the knowledge, sure of myself, sure of you.

i can feed you.  You would make sure of that if i was willing or not.

My inner self-sadist makes approving noises by the time i am trying to crawl into the wall.  She is nearly ready to start yelling, “beat her harder!” My mouth is incoherently babbling something but whatever i am saying should always be translated into please don’t stop, make me take what you need, make me come undone.

It is all i exist for.

This is what my body was made for, what my spirit longs for, this letting go.

The more i hate what is happening in the moment, the more i love it later.  Slow burn, the flashbacks, the unfaded desire.  It is there again today.  Waiting.  Praying.

It seems to be true in all ways for me.  Inside of the letting go, i am free.

There is something in the noise in my head, trying to make sense of out visions, trying to find words that match the holy that is waiting for us both.

i am writing to reach you without words.

You see into me.

i will let go into You because i trust you.

Always…

Your jade