Finding your voice

“J_____ gives me marbles!”

“J___ gives me marbles!” She was screaming with her nose pressed against the screen as she watched for the pizza delivery and I fucked her from behind. Every marble was an orgasm. Her little plastic bag held over thirty for the two days since the glass bead game had started. At first they were her secret shame. She would blush when asked about them. She would not volunteer their meaning. Before we went to teach she admitted to me that she was no longer ashamed of them, she was now proud. She thought it would ruin my demo. They are so cute when they think they know what is coming.

Our class had gone well. She was a sobbing mess by the end. Her screams and cries had carried throughout the camp and people in neighboring tents were traumatized. Even when she was in her dominant teaching space, even when she thought she knew what was coming, I still was able to bring her to her knees. I have to say, it was a pretty good weekend. It was not just the change to get out of town. It was not just the chance to teach and talk or to meet new people. It was about connection and ownership.

All relationships are unique. I do not expect to find the same with any two people when it comes to sex and play let alone a serious and long term relationship. With that said, it is still interesting to watch and feel how a relationship grows and changes. These are new feeling and ideas to me. She gets a sense of belonging from existing as a possession. It makes her feel wanted and loved to be held so close. For me it is as if she is a part of me. She is an arm, extra eyes, a brain to be accessed and utilized as needed. These feelings do not just happen though. We both come with baggage. We both have lives that existed before “us” which have to be understood, valued and put into place around that which we are making together.

She was raised from a young girl, taught to be daddy’s little slave. She was kept naive and sexually in the dark. He played with a little girl’s shame about feeling sexual. He made her sleep on a towel during her period. He trained her to suck him off the way he wanted. He fucked her in only the missionary position to keep her from becoming too used to the idea of sex and sexuality. All the while he was raising her to be a strong and competent slave in many other ways. She was taught to cook and clean. She was given a chance to become an active member in the community. She grew in her dichotomy. In social settings she was strong and independent, sassy to the point of appearing almost bratty at times while at home she was kept in a place of perpetual failure.

I danced around control with ZG. We would fade back and forth on what each of us wanted. I would push and then pull back, she would ask and then argue. We could not settle on what we wanted, not because we did not know what we wanted but because we knew that what we wanted was the same but not what we wanted from each other. Perhaps we did want it from each other, perhaps I did want her to shut the fuck up and be an obedient slave, maybe she did want me to nut up and rape her more often. In the end it is all semantics. In the end it did not work and we both went elsewhere to get what we wanted.

So here we are; my new slave craving belonging, me wanting control. The world opens up to us and we are frozen in our tracks. She asked me and herself daily “what of who I am is me and what is what he made me?” I have been asking myself, “What is it that I want and what is it that I am seeing others do that I am trying to mimic?” How do you ever really know? What is you? What is them? What is you made by them? What is them made for you? The combinations are infinite. So what is you and what is what you are moving out of? What is your true self and what is what you are making yourself be for this new relationship?

The short answer? Yes.

You are all of those things. You are what you are, what you are made and what you make. You are nothing more than what you are at any one moment in time. I stopped trying to figure that out. I am simply living the life that sits in front of me. I am taking possession of her as I desire. I am a sexual creature. So is she. I love to see her cum. I love to hear her beg me to stop. She is ashamed of who she is sexually and freeing her from that shame makes her mine. I am letting her be the slut and dirty girl she wants to be within the safety and comfort of our relationship. I own her sexually by allowing her to be sexual. Her orgasms are no longer hers, they are mine. Her body is mine to explore and torture. I feel a warmth and comfort in this relationship I never felt with ZG. I do not fear loss (not to be confused with not feeling jealousy). I do not wonder if the love I feel is reciprocated. I see it in actions and hear it in words of devotion. It is the fact that every move is a sign of possession that shows me what I had always craved but never got.

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