Bigger (love) on the Inside

Kink.com Bondage Woman

I have lunch scheduled with a friend for today. He is an old friend from an old life and the last time we talked it was about how one of our close mutual friends had “fallen in with a bad crowd”. What he meant by this was that she was working for Kink.com. I kept quiet. I did not talk about the fact that I had a membership to kink.com, or the fact that ZeeGee and I used it. I did not mention that we had just come out as non-monogamous or that we were kinky. It seemed like more than was fair to dump on him all at once and if I was going to say anything, I was going to say everything.

When it rains, it pours…

I will not do this in half measures. If this is important enough to tell him about, if he is important enough to tell then I am telling him everything. My life is an open book to those I am close enough to. Maybe it is too much for him. He is a good guy with a kind heart and I am not sure if the idea of being cruel, brutal, and controlling are traits he can see without negative connotations. Maybe it is stronger than our friendship.

This is an idea I have been contemplating since before this all began. I have always made friends easily, partially because I am easy-going and willing to listen, and partially because I am willing to talk about what seem to be intimate details of myself. The truth is that I do not consider many of those details intimate and many of the people who were my “friends” are nothing more than acquaintances. When I began to let my inner-self out and I realized that he would not be accepted by most of the people I was associating with, I simply stopped talking to those people. I was not losing something, I was not falling away from real friends because in many cases they did not really know me.

This went for family, and high school friends, and people I met when I first moved to Chicago. They did not know what I was really thinking. I was not losing confidants. I was not losing my secret confessors because I was never telling them secrets, I was never  confessing.

Opening the door to the TARDIS

So he is coming over and I am going to invite him into my house but something will be/is different. I am not going to hold back my thoughts and feelings like I did before. I have come to terms with the fact that I am a monster at times.  I am ok with what I want and who I am. I am also ok with others knowing that. If I have invited you into my house, over my threshold then I feel you can enter into my world. I am not sure what will come of this small experiment in outing myself to my past. Perhaps I will find that this is not what I want. perhaps the world is not ready for my honesty. We will see but in the meantime I have clothes to fold and dishes to wash and all of time and space to explain.

 

PostScript

The meeting went well and all he said to me was, “why didn’t you tell me before?” I told him that I thought he would judge me and he explained that his concerns had always been for how quickly our friend fell in love and had nothing to do with the lifestyle. It was comforting to hear. Not many people understand where any of us are coming from.

 

Enhanced by Zemanta

The Chronicle of a Newly Minted Master

Original: http://gregorystgermain.tumblr.com/post/30982923852

It has been four years since ZG and I started our first explorations of the power dynamic. Up to then I had no idea that people voluntarily gave up control to others in these types of games and relationship. ZG was reading trashy romance novels where the heroines were strong, brash young things just waiting to be put in their proper places by stronger men. We were on vacation, just the two of us for the first time in years, and in the morning I was feeling horny. She was not and after a little back and forth about who this always seemed to be the case she turned to me and said, “You are in control. You don’t have to stop just because I don’t like it.” It was a revelation for her. She was able to give up control and be used as someone else desired. It took me much longer.

 

When we were young…

That first encounter told me I could use her but at the time I did not understand what was meant by the word “use”. I felt as if it meant that I could roll over onto her in the morning and fuck until I came then I was to  pull out and grab a shower. I thought what I was being offered was nothing more than a warm hole on occasion without the need for foreplay. Don’t get me wrong, the idea of having a fuck toy at your beck and call was alluring even before I knew what that truly meant. I was simply not aware of what that could really entail. What she was really offering me was the ability to use her in any way I wanted. I could fuck her mouth, cunt, ass. I could fold her in half or try and fit both my hands in her ass. I could put my dick so far down her throat she passed out. I could fuck her with bottles or dildos. It meant things I did not even know were things (suturing and genitorture) and things I could not even imagine liking (rape and watersports). What I was being offered was a new way of looking at the very foundation of relationships. What I did not know then was that what ZG was offering me was a way of gaining control of my life that I had thought was not possible.

I am an observational learner. I have to see something happen to understand it. I could not pick up a book on being a dominant or master and read about the ins and outs of power exchange. I had to see the interaction, watch people control and be controlled. I had to try and fail and try again and fail again until I was comfortable. I started with simple D/s and tried to define it as something that happened in the bedroom only. ZG and I were an egalitarian couple and I was afraid that even though she said she wanted it, I was going to end of fucking things up by pushing this too hard. D/s was not enough for us and we struggled to build this new dynamic on the constantly shifting sands of uncertainty. She did not know what she wanted. I did not know what I wanted and more importantly neither of us knew what we wanted.

It has been four years now and I am starting to understand what I want more. I can see what is available in the way of relationships and control. When you have someone who gives of herself so completely, the way they dress, the way they act, the way they sleep and eat, you begin to feel like you have a place in her life. I like having that place. It makes me secure to exert control to that level. A submissive is willing to give of themselves to a point. There is always an implied veto where they can say no to a command if they feel it is too unreasonable and it will not destroy the relationship. A slave does not make that distinction. They give themselves so completely. There is no thought to saying no. This is comforting because it means you can focus on making decisions not figuring out how to make the decision stick. It also means that you have to choose your path with a level of intent and meaning you would not have to have if it were a D/s paradigm. That person who has given everything she is to you must be taken care of. she must be handled in a way that watches out for her because she is putting her faith in you in a way that is pure. It is a lot of pressure but it is also an amazingly liberating way of living.

 

So things change, people change, interest rates…

I do not have the relationship I wanted with ZG. We talk about it now and again and both agree it was a pipe dream to think we could have it. We were not the same people when we met. We did not know what was out there, what we wanted, who we were. It is sad to see things change when you can still remember the good times. It seems so easy to think back and see how you got where you are and feel that maybe, just maybe you can retrace your steps and try again. You can’t. Time is a path we walk down backwards. You cannot go back. You cannot know what you have learned. You can only hope you learn from the past and work to be a better person from what you learned. I hope that I know myself better now. I hope I understand what I need better and the things I did before that let my past relationship slip through my fingers. It saddens me to lose something that meant so much but I will not let that get in the way of me making things better for me and mine.

 

PS – I have been thinking about the idea of ownership because of this but will leave that for another post.

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.

Commuting

I have always been attracted to women in street clothes. Perhaps it comes from the fact that I was a sleeping kinkster for all of my early sexual life, I would see women walking down the street, shopping, driving next to me on the highway, and imagine what they were like beneath the street legal facade they wore. Breasts hidden, skirts hinting, heels and hair and lipstick working like smoke and mirrors to both accentuate the feminine while hiding the carnal. I see it everywhere, in the coffee store, on the street, on the train and some days it is hard to not simply approach one of these mythical creatures to see if they are anything more than hallucinations of my sex-soaked mind.

I pull up to the bus stop where she is standing, blond hair straightened, attention lost in her phone. She is wearing a charcoal grey skirt and white blouse. A wool jacket is buttoned and belted to reveal the curve of her body. I roll down the window and tell her to get in. She obeys and reaches for the passenger side door.

“No. Get in the back.” She pulls away from the handle as if her hand had been slapped and moves tentatively towards the back door. She climbs in and sits in the middle of the seat so I can see her in the rear view mirror. I pull away from the corner, the other people waiting for the bus may or may not have understood what had just happened. I really don’t care.

“Open your jacket,” I say as we head towards downtown. She obeys sheepishly, undoing the belt and then the buttons. Her blouse is cute and a simple pearl necklace and earrings bring it all together. “No unbutton your blouse.” She does. She is wearing a white undershirt to hide the black bra she has on.

“Pull up your skirt.” She is wearing tights, the enemy of daytime sex. “Rub your cunt.” She starts to play with herself, her perfectly manicured fingers running over the fabric. I can see through the sheer material that she is wearing a matching pair of panties. I roll down the windows in the back so she is on display for anyone who cares to look in. She is getting flush with embarrassment and excitement and her other hand pulls up her shirt to seek out her breast. Her breathing is getting short and fast as we hit the drive. All around us are commuters lost in thoughts of the work is ahead of them. She is not thinking about work, she is thinking about her sex, about getting caught, about being picked up off the street like a whore.

Around the Oak street curve and past Streeterville she is lost in her fingers as they play with her work prepped body. I take the Grand ave exit and a block west I pull into a parking garage. There is no attendant and I quickly make my way to the top of the parking lot. I find a corner away from the elevators and turn the car off. I hop out and open the back door. I pull her out by her hair and drag her the back of the vehicle. I push her down into a squatting position that she can only achieve by hiking her skirt even higher. I have her continue to rub her cunt as I unbuckle my pants and shove my cock into her mouth. She gasps for breath and starts to flail a bit but calms down and behaves after I slap her across the face. As I fuck her face, I open the back, the third row of seats has been folded down giving us plenty of room to fuck. I pull her off my dick by the hair and shove her into the vehicle. She crawls forward on her hands and knees and I get in behind her. I pull her blouse off and toss it into the seat in front of us then pull her undershirt off, exposing her bra. I pull each cup down, releasing her breasts. Her nipples are hard as I squeeze and pinch each in turn. I grab her shoulder and turn her over the back of the seat so her tits hang down and she stares out the front window. Her skirt is already up. I pull a pocket knife out and cut the tights in the crotch. She gasps in fear of the blade and at the loss of her clothes but before she can object I have forced my cock past her panties and into her wet slit. Her focus is lost as I fuck her. After a few minutes I lean forward and whisper into her ear.

“Cum like the little slut you are.” She lets go and cums for me. I can feel her cunt squeezing and finally giving out. I pull out let her collapse in exhaustion. I pull the condom off and jerk off until I am ready to cum. I slap her face and tell her to open up. Most of it goes in her but some dribbles down onto her tits. I sit back and catch my breath.

After a moment we pull ourselves together. I have her put her breast away still wet with cum and tell her not to put the under shirt back on. The black of the bra can be seen through the blouse but only if you are looking for it. Her tights are mostly intact except for the torn crotch and when she brushes out her hair it looks mostly put together. She reapplies her makeup as we finish driving the six blocks to her building and when she gets out only another whore or fellow kinkster would be able to tell that she had been properly fucked on her way to work. But this was never for them. This was for her. For the rest of the day she will know that she is a slut hiding in these business clothes, she will know that she is a sexual creature and an animal playing the proper role. When she heads to the bathroom and is reminded of the hole in her tights or feels the pinch and pull of dried cum on her breast, she will be able to remember her true nature and that is what it is all about.

Letting My Imagination Go

One of the side effects of my new-found free time is that I am insanely horny during the middle of the day. Mariela was home with me last week and we ran errands for a couple of hours during the middle of the day. She was shocked at how completely my mind had been taken over by thoughts of sex and perverted acts. Everything I saw, every woman that we passed was inspiration for some dark and sexually sick flight of fancy.

My days are actually quite full. The kids are home at 2 from school and have fallen in love with the community pool. The house is perpetually in need of straightening and the clothes of five people do not wash themselves. I love it, I feel needed, I feel like I am doing something that is productive and is tangible but the stress of going from 6 in the morning to 8 at night has started to wear me down. I need a release.

It has been part of my mid-term plan to add a few playdates into the mix of my week. I have the free time, the girls are at work so it is not taking away from them, and the boys are at school. An added bonus is that my neighbors are out of the house so the screaming is less likely to end in me trying to explain to the police that she wanted me to stick a knife in her ass and piss in her mouth. Timing is an issue though. I need to make sure that I get my work done before I play because otherwise I easily degenerate from the lord of the manor to the deadbeat gigolo. And this is where my overactive imagination gets me into trouble. If I do not do something to deal with these thoughts then I become obsessed. I need an outlet for them, some halfway house for my dark passenger that will keep it in check without killing it.

Writing has always been a good outlet but I have tried to keep this blog to only the real world things that are happening. I know that most of the people who read this do not want to see the horrible images I see. They like the stories of me as a person dealing with day to day shit. What I need is a way to vent without scarring you my loyal reader.

What is that you say? You want to hear those stories? You want to know what I see? What?!? Some of you even want to help me act them out? Well then, how can I refuse? 😉

The middle ground for this is a tagging system that I am going to start using. It is simple and to the point:

  • [Title] – Real life blog entry.
  • [Scenario: Title] – A scene that I am either planning to do, want to do or already have done. This will be crazy but legal, safe looking for volunteers.
  • [Fantasy: Title] – Welcome to the dark world of my imagination. These are the sickest unrealistic flights of fancy. Not for the faint of heart. If you read it is at your own risk. If you find yourself so turned on by what you read that you can’t keep you hand out of your pants and want to make the jump for fantasy to reality, let me know and we can see what kind of scenario can be made.

So there it is, a basic warning that some of what I am going to start adding to this blog may be more than you can handle. Am I being arrogant? Am I under estimating what you are hoping that I say? No, I am making sure that you are fully informed because frankly people, my head is a sick and dark place and while I need to get it out, not everyone that reads this is ready to face the void.

Hopefully this will lead to more stories, more posts and more readers that are titillated into reading something a little more kinky than they would have.

Putting the Sub in Subconscious

I have been hearing a lot lately about subs having very vivid, very obvious dreams. The kinds of dreams with so much obvious subtext that you don’t have to be Jung to understand it. It makes me think of when I dreamed. When I was much younger, I was a avid dreamer. Lucid dreams, prophetic dreams, subconscious dreams, even waking dreams were a part of my existence. There have been several changes in my life since then (less sleep, more stress, sleep apnea) that are probably far more realistic explanations to why I don’t dream nearly as much I used to but for the sake of this post and for aesthetic reasons I am going to stick to the idea that I am much more conscious of what I want and need than I was when I was 18.When I was growing up there were many things that I assumed were impossible. Things that had resigned myself to existing only in the imagination. It is one of the first things that we are taught by our families, by society; there is a difference between fantasy and reality. Some things exist (cheese, birds, oxygen) and some do not (Santa Claus, God, a chance that I will ever give a shit about sports). It was a way of fencing in the imagination and focusing our attention on those things that are real and can be changed. Flights of fancy are all fine and good but they are limited in their practicality. There are certain unreal things that are not worth spending your mental energy on. At the age of 16 I started to explore metaphysics and religion and while these ideas allowed me to be more creative in my thinking, they still seemed to be only metaphors, images that reality wore like ceremonial dress. They are not real in the real sense of the word. They were just ways of perceiving what is real more creatively. But they did allow me to explore the idea of changing the world around me through creative thought. I could imagine the world as I wanted it more vividly when it was wearing a metaphor than when I was staring at the naked reality that sat in front of me and so I pushed more and more to incorporate these metaphor images into my life.I became a writer. I began to read surrealist writers. I started looking for images, stories, fantasies that could be create from the world around me. The old women on Michigan Ave that wore long fur coats and read any book that Oprah suggested became savage hunters wearing their Mac cosmetics like war paint. The friends who drank and smoked and wasted their potential on unproductive philosophies became manifestations of the Buddha, or Christ and Krishna. I was seeing the world that I did not like in ceremonial clothes that were at least entertaining. The reality of it was that I was not changing the world, I was changing how I saw the world. I was imagining Hitler in his underwear; I was taking the things in life I feared or disliked and making them ridiculous.

Then I got married. I got serious. I became a father. I saw that I had to be responsible, mature. I let these images slide away and concentrated on that which was in front of me. I stopped writing. I got a job that paid well and wasn’t horrible. I started seeing the good in the real world. It was as if I had spend so many years looking out past the fence that kept real and unreal separated that I had never seen what this fenced in world was all about. I began to explore the real world and it was pretty good. Were there things missing? Sure, but that is life, not everything that you want is attainable. You accept this and then you move on. I could still have those fantasies, I could still live out my imagination within my head as long as I knew that was not the same as the real world.
“I can do that?” The question echoed through my head for the first several months after ZG and I came out as kinky and open. Here was a reality filled with acts and ideas that I had long ago relegated to the world of fantasy. Threesomes, multiple partners while remaining married, hurting and violating and degrading people were some of those long held dark fantasies that I allowed myself to think about because they were clearly outside the well defined borders of the real. Now they were being offered up as common place, not only as real but as nearly ordinary. The biggest revelation was that if these ideas that I had thought to be far beyond possible were not then what other things, ideas, desires were within reach? The truth is there is nothing out of reach. It is just a matter of want, determination and manifestation. If you can imagine it, it can be real.

Maybe this is what happened to my dreams. Maybe this fundamental shift in my understanding about the make-up of reality has brought my conscious and unconscious minds into sync removing the need for the subconscious to translate. The more you feel you have control the more you feel free to explore the reality of your wants. Perhaps this is the opposite of what is happening with the subs I know who have become so highly attuned to their subconscious dreams. Where I feel more in control of not only my life but my very reality, they have all but let go of their conscious mind, their needs to control and have become completely centered in their subconscious.

Being a Good Dom Means…Waking Up on Time.

I woke up nearly an hour late this morning. This is no small feat when you consider the fact that ZG, M and I all have alarms on our phones set to go off at different intervals with different tones. It was another late night that started out with the intention of going to bed around midnight but as the saying goes, “The road to hell is paved with good intentions.” It was after three when I finally pulled ZG from her corner of the couch and told her we had to get to bed. In the morning I crawled over her AND Mariela to shut off the chorus of alarms.It set my whole morning off. I did not get the boys on the bus which meant I had to drive them to school which meant that I was not able to make lunch for ZG and M. In general the morning was a fail. It is the butterfly effect; one small thing can ripple into the future causing havoc along the way. It is the way reality work through a series of chain reactions. If I am going to be able to my job and keep this house running smoothly then I am going to need keep focused on the small victories and defeats. It is incremental that life is won or lost. Day by day we figure out if we are closer to happiness or farther away. Getting to bed on time, making sure the clothes are washed, the garbage is taken out; making sure that the house is straightened up on a daily basis. None of these tasks take more than a few minutes but each of them plays an integral role in the overall success.

The same goes for writing. I have to get something written everyday. It does not have to be much, it does not have to be profound, speak to the soul, talk about kink. It simply has to be words on the page. Every day that I write is a day that is closer to a day where writing is normative. I want to get back into a habit of writing. I will get back into a habit of writing. It will just take time and patience. It will take follow through and most of all it will take getting up on time.