Category Archives: Relationships

Turkey and Misogyny

blissfullyinequal

I woke up this Thanksgiving morning to a hard cock parting my plush rounded ass cheeks.  As the length of him submerged between them, he trailed the head of his cock through my velvet flesh, parting my pink pussy lips with the thickness of him.  His cock immediately slicked with his cum trickling from inside of me where he released hours before.  Reaching around my body, he took his thick, calloused hand and wrapped it around my neck, squeezing.  His vascular forearm nestled between my ample breasts, pulling my body into his as he thrusts his solid cock inside of me.  His thrust forces the concoction of our cum to trail down his length and pool around the base of his shaft.  I feel his coarse body hair against my back and his thick beard brushing the back of my neck. His breath is heavy, and his moans are deliciously low, a primal rumble from deep inside his chest. I could swear I absorb every drop of his masculinity through all of my senses, permeating the very pores of my skin.

I get high off of his masculinity, the opposite that makes me whole.  In nearly every moment of the day, I am reminded about how grateful I am to have a man who fearlessly embraces his masculinity, and not in a way that mainstream society would find acceptable.  My man is a devout believer in patriarchy and as ironic as it sounds, a loving misogynist.  Although this may not work for many women in today’s society, I thrive off of his belief in being superior to me in most ways.  I am not his equal, a belief we both share, and that belief is in no way a threat to me or my sense of self.  Conversely, his embracing his masculinity apart and separate from the feminine is exactly what heightens my sense of femininity in myself.  You see, my personal belief is that a man that embraces feminism, or routinely touts gender equality, is simultaneously diminishing his own masculinity.  I appreciate the more traditional aspects of how relationships and marriage used to be.  Men are being demonized daily; meanwhile, many women are sitting back, spectating or even supporting such movements whilst chanting, “We don’t need a man!”

Well, I do.

I don’t just want my man. I mentally, physically, emotionally, psychologically and in every way imaginable NEED my man.  He is the counterpart to my greatest attributes, ones in which he cannot embody nor desires to embody.  I am the perfect counterpart to his greatest attributes, ones in which I cannot and do not wish to embody.  By embracing our inequality we cultivate a organic equilibrium within our bond.  Power struggles do not find life in our home.  My husband and I do not fight over who gets to wear the pants.  He does.  Give me the dress and heels.  I want absolutely nothing to do with those pants; I couldn’t possibly fill them as perfectly as he does, and thus, suit him so much better than they ever could me.

I feel the modern day woman is doing a disservice to both themselves and men that women will soon (if they are not already) live to regret.  For every time a woman chants, “I don’t need a man”, are they not also acknowledging that men don’t need THEM?  As women preoccupy themselves with raising fists in opposition of the patriarchy, how could men not begin to disassociate themselves from women?  Why would a man choose the limp embrace of a woman who (admittedly) doesn’t need him, when he could find comfort in the arms of a woman who does?  Why would a man appreciate and value a woman for her femininity if he is not validated, acknowledged, and respected for what makes him naturally different?  In modern day, heterosexual relationships*, our quests for equality is perpetuating a divide between the couple and dissolves intimacy.  Viewing themselves as “equal” does not guarantee a more fair, loving, and nurturing relationship; On the contrary, by not embracing what makes us so beautifully different and complementary, we are neglecting the validation of such admirable qualities in our partner.  Sameness is boring.  While equality may be seen as more “fair”, it certainly is not more balanced.  The balance exists when two people can accept where their partner far surpasses their capabilities, is acknowledged for those gifts, and by association, acknowledges the converse of such gifts in their partner.

This morning, as my glorious husband pushed his thick cock inside of my tight pussy, two uniquely different bodies were made whole.  His strong, masculine body pressed against the smooth, healthy, feminine shape of mine leaves me in revere of our differences.  His grasp leaves me feeling secure and safe.  He would risk his life for me and I dedicate mine to his.  I admire him, and in such admiration, I find him to be my BETTER half.  I do not see him as my equal and I am grateful for my position.  In my position I am treasured, taken care of, and admired in a way that no “strong, independent” woman could be.  Yes, I absolutely need my man.

Now, I’m going to go bake a cake in all my domestic goddess femininity and enjoy him devouring my “cake” later.

*I emphasize this because I have no knowledge or personal experience to reflect upon any other kind of relationship; thus, have no business making assumptions about them.


Feminist Facade


Feminist? Not me.

I don’t want equality.

I don’t want you to feel like you must fight me for a position of authority in our relationship.  That you must assert yourself in the face of my emotional whims.  I don’t want you to feel like we both have something to prove, and your assertion of such points must trump mine.  I desire not to corner you, belligerently belittling your spirit for my personal validation.  To feel power over a threat, merely a phantom.  To place you ahead does not render me last.

There are no wars for power here.

I view myself not as beneath you, but beside you. Albeit, preferring a view from slightly behind the curve of your muscular shoulder, the force of your strength leading me forward with each step.  You guide me.  You lead me.  I have no desire to be directly beside you.  I love you in the lead.  Forever keeping in step with you, with eyes alert to awaiting obstacles.  We will traverse them with relative ease made of a balance found between two uniquely different, naturally complementary, forces.

When I’m on my knees before you, I don’t feel devalued; rather, I feel elevated beyond the physical position of my body.  I feel larger than life and greater than the sum of my parts.  With the downward caress of your strong hand through my hair, I am elevated in my service to you.  Your eyes cast downward, connecting with mine, render me gracious for your presence.  Gracious for your presence that is not only physical, but emotional; not simply loving, but loyal to the conservancy of my being.  For your downcast gaze is hardly one of degradation, but admiration.

A very strong and capable woman, indeed.  But, I need not prove to you my independence by forgoing my desire to serve you well.  I need not persistently deny your request to provide aid, to sooth my upsets, or to supportively criticize, in order to reason with my facility.  My strength unveiled with my submission.  The fortitude necessary to forge the iron, strong enough to withstand a blow, however vulnerable to the fire.  You, my weakness.  You, my fire.  I burn in your presence. I melt for your power.

I need not do what you can do to feel equal.  I need not do it better.  I need only to provide to you the soul of a woman who has devoted her life to complementing you.  Where you are right, I will make up the left; whenever you grow far, I will pull you near.  If you shall find yourself sinking, I shall elevate you.  A dance of mutual attendance.  A dance of complementary forces, neither one in need of convincing the other of our position.  Neither one in need of demanding their value as greater.  No need to rehearse for the sake of a convincing performance.  Not a single toe stepped upon.  Complementary.

The fantasies that lurk behind the fortress you’ve built to preserve yourself from the fray, you offer them to me.  The darkest corners where monsters are rumored to thrive; I see beautiful beasts of burden, grown angry carrying the load of societal pressures.  I offer comfort, lure them from the recessed corners and hold them securely.  The beast is aggressive, but I feel no fear of harm.  The beast is physical, but I fear no attack. The beast is rough, but softens at my caress.  I feel the beast tremor as I caress over the scars that form trails along his hide.  I remove his burden.  The beast has no need to conceal any longer.  The beast is in no need of taming, nor training; in no need of demasculinization.

I envelop him in my feminine embrace.  Press upon his flesh the breasts of a woman for pleasure not purpose.  Caress with the touch of delicacy instead of efficiency.  A body with the curves composed of sensuality, not simply capability.  A beautiful cunt to converse the most intimate of conversations, not an agenda.  A woman.  His woman.  His needs are my needs, and my needs are his. In this, we are freed.


Seed and Swallow

swal·low1
ˈswälō
verb
 1.
  1. cause or allow (something, especially ejaculate) to pass down the throat.
    “she swallowed a mouthful slowly”
    noun
  1. 1.
    an act of swallowing something, especially ejaculate.
    “she downed his ejaculate in one swallow”

    ShowLove

    I took a long and lazy break away from writing that I am not proud of.  However, it is the nature of me to wax and wane on things that require my attention outside of my King.  A particular topic has ignited my passion to write this post, even though the clutches of laziness for writing had a grip on me with great strength.

    What topic could inspire me from such depths, you ask?

    The topic of SWALLOWING.

    I have recently come to a shocking social discovery amongst my peers.  Many of the females I know, either rather well or just by brief acquaintance, do not swallow their man’s cum.  But, this isn’t just a matter of not swallowing, no.  These women express that they don’t like his cum and find it “disgusting”. Now, this discovery bothers me on so many levels and I feel the need to address each one; not only because it does my psyche well to express things that frustrate me, but because maybe this will resonate with the very few people who will actually read this post.

    My King is a fantastic pussy eater.  He is passionate, aggressive, and will quite literally devour me.  He is very complementary of my taste, and hearing the rumblings of, “You taste so fucking good” escape his muffled (get it?) mouth generates a fire within me that ignites my femininity from the most dormant recesses of my body.  He never hesitates, never waits, and never progresses toward my pussy with caution.  I never go long without being exceptionally eaten.  My King insists upon making me cum, using his muscular strength to lock down my hips as they buck energetically in anticipation of my orgasm.  When I do cum, I flood.  He will proceed to press harder into my flesh, lapping more and more with each twitch of my body.  As his moans grow deeper, he usually thrusts a finger or two inside of me, only to lick them clean after pulling them from my body.  I feel like a goddess.  I feel beautiful, desired, owned, and utterly appreciated for being a woman.  His woman.

    I cannot imagine if, upon the first signs of my impending orgasm, my King pulled away from my pussy and proceeded to rub my clit to finish the deed.  I cannot fathom how I would feel if his mouth stayed on my cunt long enough to finish my orgasm, only to spit out whatever saliva he had in his mouth that still tasted of me.  I would be devastated if my husband asked that I cum on his chest, and after my orgasm, he took a towel and wiped me off him while making a face akin to a face one would make while wiping off a bird shit from their t-shirt.

    Yet, this appears to be commonplace behind closed doors.  I can’t understand, for the life of me, why a man would accept any of these behaviors from a woman, especially a woman you are committed to monogamously.  Why are men so tolerant of a woman viewing their seed in such a way, when a woman would never be as tolerant?  Is this another reflection of our cultures growing inequality and demasculinization of men in the name of “feminism”?  Are men starting to feel like that’s “just the way it is” and cum swallowing women are saved for viewing porn?  And what about in a marriage, where you have promised to spend the rest of your lives together in a monogamous relationship, and you have a lifetime of feeling the cold air hit your cock just prior to orgasm.  If your wife is reluctant, or downright refuses to swallow your cum, what other doors will be shut in the realm of your sexual experiences together?  How does this not frighten these men straight into the arms of a receptive woman?  Perhaps this is sometimes the reason for affairs, and if so, I don’t blame the men for wanting to put their cocks in a welcoming mouth.

    Yet, it would still be the man’s fault.  He would still be labeled a “dog” and scorned by the vast majority of those around him.  He would still go to sleep feeling the tinge of guilt on his conscious for acting on desires that went unmet…

    For wanting to be WANTED.

    I’m not saying a woman needs to love cum.  I’m not saying that she must get on her knees before her man, mouth agape, batting her eyelashes, parched and desperate for his cum.  I’m not saying a woman needs to scoop her man’s cum into her hands and devour it like a toddler does with a slice of birthday cake.  I am suggesting that a woman should swallow a man’s cum when he wants to leave his cock in her mouth to orgasm.  I am suggesting a woman should show appreciation for her man’s cum as if it’s her pleasure to please him.  I am suggesting that when sharing your bodies, there should be very few things you find distasteful about one another and cum should NOT be one of them.

    I would argue that the taste of orgasm should be seen as a reward.  Brining your loved one to orgasm should be something of an accomplishment to be cherished and valued.  Most common arguments from women for not swallowing cum can easily be resolved:  If you don’t particularly like the taste of his cum, use flavored organic lube.  If you don’t like the feeling of his cum hitting you in the back of the throat, deep throat him.  If you can’t deep throat because it makes you gag, use a product that numbs the back of your throat temporarily.  Or better yet, practice deep throating.  You can significantly improve your gag reflux by practicing, and I’m fairly confident your man would be a willing participant as you practice.  Bottom line, there is no excuse for not swallowing.  It is inexcusable to treat the product of your man’s orgasm as intolerable.  Step outside of yourself and imagine how that rejection would feel.

    And if, as a man, you feel guilty when holding the opinion that a woman should swallow…Don’t.  Women don’t struggle gulping down ridiculous drinks to lose 10 lbs; swallow smelly, bad tasting herbs to improve their hair and skin.  Women will eat certain foods that are disgusting to improve their beauty and health without hesitation.  If she’s unwilling to swallow your cum, you should find it insulting.  She is basically saying that your pleasure isn’t worth her discomfort, and by accepting that, you are saying that her opinion is okay.  You are rewarding her pettiness, and that is unacceptable.

    I find it tragic that so many women will treat their men in a way that would make them feel rejected.  A man who tolerates this behavior perpetuates this double standard.  Just because we have been cultured to feel that a man’s emotions and need to feel appreciated is an afterthought doesn’t make it true.  Just because we often place men into roles with a purpose meanwhile quickly dismissing their need to feel like a man, doesn’t mean they aren’t longing to feel like a man.  Just because you may not WANT to doesn’t ultimately make it unnecessary.

    If it’s true that actions speak louder than words…

    SWALLOW.


Roots

 

005

Wolfman by Boris Vallejo

Human (adj): Having or showing those positive aspects of nature and character regarded as distinguishing humans from other animals.

I don’t need love to be delicate touches from the tips of your fingers.  Barely grazing the skin, careful not to bruise.  I don’t need palms upon my breast to cup delicately and massage tenderly.  I don’t need soft lips to lightly kiss my flesh; pressing down onto my skin and departing swiftly without a trace.  I don’t need love to physically manifest itself as society sees it – soft sheets and similar thrusts between the parted legs of a lover.  Whispers of “I love you” waltz though the temperate air.  I don’t need love to be lax stroking of hair and fingers tracing the outline of my face.  I don’t want a mindful body atop, aside, behind or below mine.  Instead, I want you to be inside of and connected to your nature, your true identity; your primal animal.

I want love to manifest itself physically the way I understand it; you and me, dedicated to one another through a mutual understanding of our animal natures.  You are my alpha, the dominant leader of which I obey and allow limitless access to my body.  I am your beta, the one you own, protect and cherish vehemently.  I feel your love through your ownership.  I feel your love through you taking what is yours, and in doing so, love takes a different approach.

I’ve always been drawn to the way you sniff my hair and skin.  The way you’d breathe me in.  You’ve always noticed the slightest different between smells from one day to the next; a change in perfume, a change in body chemistry.  I feel literal heat inside me as you bury your face aggressively into my neck without a care for how your rough whiskers left behind red irritation.  Your lack of delicateness, to me, is a direct translation of your need for me.  Love looks different between us, King, doesn’t it?  Love is the bite to the back of my neck or shoulders sending a fiery streak through my able body.  You sink your teeth deeper into my flesh as your cock sinks deeper within my cunt.  The pressure from your heavy sac against the delicate skin of my sex makes me feel at the mercy of your masculinity.  Your purposeful thrusts indicate a deep need for penetration.  Each thrust into me is another symbol of your power and control over my body.  The harder the thrust, the more I feel your need.  The more you restrict my body movements with your hands or under the weight of your mass, the more I feel loved.  I’ve given you permission to take, at will, and you do.  You take with your hands as the pads of your fingers leave bruising upon my hips.  You take with your lips as they wrap around my hardened nipples.  You take with your tongue as you lick my flesh, leaving the mark of your saliva upon my skin.  You take as you allow your body to manipulate mine, with little regard for my comfort. You take as you don’t allow my choice.

I feel love more passionately as your words transform into unintelligible guttural moans or throaty growls.  I feel love the more you fill me up with your cum.  You push yourself inside of me, causing what you’ve previously left behind to seep beyond the seam of where you and I meet.  I feel love the more I am used; I feel love the more I am marked by you. I feel your love as I lay upon the puddle of our fluids that spilled out of me and collected itself upon the sheets.  I feel our love as some of my hair breaks way from the pull of being interlaced between your fingers for leverage.  I feel love as you press my upper body and face down into the ground or upon the bitter frigid wall.  I feel love as I’m bent to the lengths my flexibility can handle.  Feel love as I ache from your repeated entries.   Feel love as you release yourself inside of me, feeling each kick of your cock against the sides of my plush inner flesh.  I feel love the more my sent transforms into the smell of you.  I feel your love as you stay inside of me, allowing the weight of your body to be supported by mine.  You don’t remove yourself from me, instead allowing your body to decide when your cock departs from within me.  As the heaviness of your now flaccid cock falls from my pussy, a stream of our love trickles out from within.  I feel love the more you make a mess of me.  I feel your love the more you are selfish with me, possess me.

I feel your love with the loss of your human.


Not you, boy…

I could not be tamed. I loped with wild horses and dined with lionesses. I made beautiful work of faux feminism, teeth into the flesh of lesser men. Dinner for a hungry soul in search of the sustenance of a Dominant man. Flip of the hair, curve of my hips; all the while knowing they couldn’t handle this.

They would seep weakness, and I couldn’t be bothered to clean up messes, not for long, not for very long. They tried, they cried, and I thought of nothing but You. 

They said, “I thought I could change you” while smelling Your cologne on my breast. They said, “I can love you better”, while Your love was slipping out of me.

I was told to feel bad about my sins, taught to atone; but, my religion is Him and my God had anointed me. I’d been baptized in His water. I’ve knelt at His feet to receive my confirmation. 

Oh, and they’d seethe because they knew I only worshipped One. I’d only kneel for One. Only submit to One. Only to be tamed by One. You’d have me a tigress on a leash, never having to pull tight. Never having to tug me in, and never having to cry “heal!”  But, they tried; a boisterous laugh escaped my mouth with each attempt to rein. You? Better off someone new; go find someone new, boy…

I cannot settle for a cub whilst craving a lion. I cannot mount a pony when I’ve been atop a stallion. Go ahead and wear any mask you choose, any cloak you deem comfortable; all of your disguises transparent, boy. You have proved entertaining, a jester for a time…

Only one Lord, you see, and He is mine. 


Empowerment Through Punishment

Mistress M 234 (2)

I find myself here as a blanket of darkness surrounds me.  My arms are bent to form perfect right angles against my back.  The soft Japanese rope silken to my skin as small plumes of flesh escape at either side of the bind.  My wrists are one atop the other, partners in the challenge of maintaining the required position.  From the ladder laced between my parallel arms spawns a woven road to an anchor point in the ceiling.  A slight ache emerges from the inflexibility of my muscles; an ache transforms into pleasure as I breathe into the binds, allowing them to become one with my own flesh.  My sight removed from me.  I now stare into a darkness that is as endless as my determination to withstand what may.  In the end, You will be proud of my will, King.  I will make You proud.

“Challenge me”, I whisper to You as You place five heavy, beautiful beads of stainless steel inside of my sex.  You seal my fate with a kiss before commanding me to spread my legs wider, marking two areas on the floor with a material I can feel on the pads of my toes.  I imagine a thick glue holds my place, unable to slip, unable to budge.  As the space between my thighs expands, I become a vice around the spheres internal.  The metal seeming to surpass my body heat, feeling like small orbs of pure sexual energy within me.  Steely, my determination to impress You.  Tight for You.  Watch what Your treasured cunt can do for You…

My walls dripping of sweet glaze.  My focus intermittently interrupted with the thud of my favorite flogger.  The scent of deer hide leather fills the room – intoxicating.  I find myself in a crux of ecstasy.  Each thud upon my athletic thighs and my thick ass transports me higher.  A drunken relaxation veils over my body as the autumn breeze.  I’m both equally vexed and utterly seduced.

My stubbornness exhaled with every breath as the air smells of my obedient defiance.  You have transitioned to a device for punishment.  Oh, and You know me so well, so fluent in the language of me and my capable vessel.  You lay the gauntlet before me, my King.  With each calculated strike, my mind becomes a fogged street.  An intoxicated haze fills the space surrounding a deliberate focus, as a single beam of light through a heavy mist.  Thoughts break themselves from the ray, slightly fractionated, but the focus remains.  My head begins to bow as my body gives way onto the binds for support, my fortitude gives way to frustration as I teeter a pencil thin line – one side of temerity and the other surrender.  My head falls in acquiescence, my hair a waterfall of my succumbing pride flowing before me.  Your strong hand grips my chin as if Your hands cupped together to catch the spill, offering the liquid back to my lips.  I feel Your breath as You slowly and purposefully move your lips over my neck and to my ear.  Your words, a deep and calm whisper, grab my attention like a thunder clap that rattles through the quietest of nights:

“Beloved, you will keep your chin up.  You are my warrior, my valkyrie.  You will hold your head with pride because I am proud to have you as Mine.  Proud to have you by My side, fighting any battle life may put before us.  I’m proud to have you on My arm, to show you off to the world.  Proud to leave My mark on you, My claim inside of you.  Mine.  The punishment I give you is not to belittle or break you; My punishment is to build you up and make you stronger.  I will correct your behavior when I need to, and I will help you be better.  You are My wife, My beloved whore, My warrior and greatest ally.  Show Me how strong and capable you are, My valkyrie.  Do not let Me see you drop your chin again.”

I immediately correct, the fog lifts, and I’m standing in a meadow of absolute mental clarity.  I am Your valkyrie!  We have many conquered battles behind us and we have some wars before us.  This ax of insolence I wield at the world – this ax is not for You.  The shield I adorn keeping a true “me” from view – this shield is not for You.  Ego, the steed that carries me and rides me on high – he is not for You.  The many wounded in my wake, in the name of You and my love for You – You will never find yourself among them.  Casualties, they were far too weak for me.  I have always been strong enough for You.

Lifting my head, I note a heightened awareness of my value, my preciousness.  The heart that smolders within my chest – this heart is for You.  My flesh before You; full breasts, wide hips, physical feminine wiles, tethered and tied – My flesh for You.  The strength inside resides – Empowered by You.  I rise because I’m me.  I hold my head higher due to You.

As You continue to correct me, to build me, I will show You.  My King, look at my strength, see my devotion.  Look at what I can do for You.


Elemental

Mistress M 158 (2)

We Rest.  Our love, strewn about the bed as a decadent mess.  Legs, arms and panting bodies lie deliriously twisted among fabric rubble.  Life altering madness.  Rounded muscles and crystal blue eyes. Your beauty erases hurt and makes laughter of sighs. You are my heart’s demise. Your five o’clock shadow pressed to my supple breast.  Hands trail, fall and rise, until they tangle in tendrils spread like tentacles atop a sea of bamboo sheets.  High on emotion, my body reels.  The dew upon our bodies glisten in the faint moon light permeating the window. A liquid bead upon breast, a bead upon thigh.  Your nature runs from within me, between my folds, making small hurdles of taught skin below.  A tiny pool forms beneath the crevasse of my ass.  You and I, as much here as anywhere.  Euphoria rises from our bodies, twists and turns high above our post orgasmic coma.  Like smoke and air, we entangle, we drift into a weightless bliss.  Our smell, small particles waltzing partnered in the air.  The sweet aroma of You and me, dispersed into the room as pollen from the bloom.   In this moment You and I are three physical states of matter; we are solid, we are liquid, we are air.


Random Reflection

I realized today that my commitment to being submissive to my delicious D/Husband holds more weight than my commitment to being “married”.  Admittedly, I have not been a fan of marriage and see very little point in it.  The only marriage I have ever given a shit about is the one I currently share with my D/Husband; before that, I left a slew of groveling men in my wake.  If I tell you I’m in love with someone else, you ask me to marry you anyway, and I end up leaving you because I am ultimately unhappy…Well, you had it coming as far as I’m concerned.  If I had a dollar for every time a man said, “I thought you would change…” I wouldn’t be sitting here pretending to work at a job that I currently dislike with “Holy Moley (see post ‘Fuck You’)” sitting across from me accompanied by her Disney character figurines.

“He didn’t change me; with his chains, he freed me”

My previous divorces were no different than childhood breakups, just a little more financially complicated.  I believe our society has turned marriage into a joke.  Marriage is a drug laced with false sense of security; people smoke it up and conjure delusions of a monogamous “forever”, escaping into a naïve alternate nirvana, and meanwhile paying no attention to their present reality.  In the real world, the man has not had a blowjob in over a month because she’s completely preoccupied with asserting her feminism and watching reality t.v shows.  He’s miserable, but she feel secure with her “Prince Charming” in her delusional matrimonial haze; because he said “I do”, and therefore, relinquishing his soul and sexual liberation – FOREVER.  I can hear them whining in my head now, “But…He promised me forever…”

Stop with this nonsense. 

My commitment of submission to my D/Husband, however:  Solidified beyond anything that I have ever experienced nor been capable of.  I have never been so certain of my role, my place in a partnership, or more present in my daily life than while in service to Him.  There is a distinctive difference between my choice to submit to Him and aligning with societal norms by getting married.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that my marriage means nothing to me – that’s not the case.  I’m simply stating that it was shocking how easily and emphatically I identify with my rules and regulations as my D/Husband’s sub, and rebelled against anything associated with marital “rules and regulations”.

The ring did not rein me in; but, His reign does.


Animal in Us

 Lion-Love-lions-12265175-858-740

Are we really so evolved?  A question I ask myself frequently as it applies directly to my sex life.

We claim to be so evolved.  In fact, some people associate a sense of pride with being highly evolved, snubbing their noses at anything that resembles simplicity or being reduced to our archaic past.  We attach social rules to instinctual drives and call ourselves civilized for not acting upon those drives.  For example, people feared sexual liberation and their own lack of control over their drives; therefore, the people found it necessary to impose religious restrictions upon sexuality.  But, did we really evolve past the need for mate selection on an instinctual level, or did we simply comply with the established social rules for how to conduct ourselves for assimilation?

And here lies my greatest question:  What’s with the stigma placed on the BDSM community?  The community fuels on a particular application of two basic concepts: Dominance and submission.  Dominance and submission is a basic primal concept: The strongest survive, survival of the fittest, and the desire to find the most suitable mate.  Animals have operated on this basic principle as the essential building block for the survival of their species.  Humans used to operate under these basic codes in ancient civilizations.  I believe the people in this sexual community are simply on a quest to restore natural selection, on the most basic of levels, sexual expression.

In our present society, we are consciously weeding out natural selection.  The natural competitive drives within our young boys are being discouraged on the basis of equality.  Plastic surgery can make those less desirable (with regard to natural selection) suddenly find a place amongst the genetically superior for mate selection.  We have conditioned our society to level the playing fields on the basis of evolutionary strength; we place the strong on a diminished level and the weak at an elevated level, essentially meeting somewhere in the middle.  Although I believe this concept is fair, I feel it has done very little to improve the condition of society as a whole.  I, quite honestly, long for a life where social order is restored.  I long to exist in a place where hierarchy social structure consists with the strongest, most “fit” leadership at the top and the weaker individuals operating a place below.  Amongst the lower levels there lies a hierarchy of power, creating many levels of organized dominance and submission.  The essential problem with this is there will be people who always question and oppose authority.  A society like this would, regrettably, remove the choice of submission for individuals.  The lack of choice promotes passive aggressive overthrow.  The choice to be submissive to a Dominant is one that makes the entire situation flow beautifully.  Of course, negative situations can arise with the intoxication of power, but that is not the point of this post.

Submission had nothing to do with race, sex or gender.  Submission was the relinquishment of power in the presence of a more dominant individual.  Unfortunately, submission was not always a choice; rather, people understood that their need for survival accompanied the servitude of a powerful individual.  In the world of BDSM, submission is a choice.  Submission is a choice that is respected by the Dominant, because the Dominant understands that a submissive’s obedience is a gift.  I know I struggled for a long time to find a man who could handle me.  I could not be tamed, could not be reined in, and could not be reasoned with.  A man would have had to be incredibly dominant, strong, stoic, confident, steady, and respectful to be able to even begin to have my submission.  My point is, I would have searched and searched until I found the most “alpha” dominant man I could to give my submission to.  Had I been with a weaker man, and he was challenged by a more aggressive and dominant man for my affection – I would have given my affection to that more dominant man.  That’s about as animal as natural selection gets, and it’s happening every day amongst us all.  It’s happening regardless of whatever your sexual preference is.  Its happening despite what your religion is, whether you admit it to yourself or not, and whether you ever truly put action to your thoughts.  It’s happening because we are all animals at our evolutionary core.  We will always want what we consider to be the “best” mate for us.  We will all assume our roles of dominance and submission within our relationships to varying degrees, and I believe that to be incredibly healthy.

In my opinion, my relationship with my Dom is classic, perhaps archaic, as it aligns us with that natural essence of who we are as people.  Who we are, together, as evolved animals.  We align beautifully in our assigned roles, because it ignites something innate in us both:  My deepest desire to serve, and be at the mercy of, the most worthy mate possible; and his desire to protect, control, claim and reinforce his territory though his primal (animal) power.  I honestly feel that, if practiced from a place of emotional clarity and psychological health, BDSM is one of the most beautiful representations of returning to our roots.  It’s one of the most beautiful expressions of releasing the veil of social oppression, turning our backs against modern relationships, and turning toward something more basic.

In our basic states of Dominance and submission, we are returned to the animal.  I will use my favorite animal as an example:  The aggression expressed between two male lions in the quest to assert territory over the female lionesses is akin to something you’d see if another man attempted to traipse on my Man’s territory.  He’d die to defend it.  The female lioness is a powerful unit in herself, able to hunt and provide for the pack.  She is capable of survival, but feels she cannot survive without the protection of the lion.  The lion will pick the most genetically superior and strong female to copulate with.  He will copulate with her at his will, as many times as he wants, whenever he wants.  She should not try to resist him, as he will remind her of his dominance over her.  Though she may playfully bat at him, resist his initial advances, she ultimately submits.  Is this any different than a healthy BDSM relationship?  If we are animals at heart, is there anything wrong with someone wanting to find their perfect mate?  Is there anything wrong with dominance and submission, if these principles have been the foundation for evolution as long as life has existed upon the Earth?  Is there anything unnatural about asserting power over someone during a sexual act, as long as that person willingly submits their sexual power to the other?  This seems very basic to me.  Participating in a BDSM lifestyle aligns with something so deep within me that it seems to be ingrained in the very essence of who I am.  It brings me back to my primal past.  It feels as though I evolved into an intelligent, powerful, feminine human being; but, ultimately, I am designed to serve Him.  He is designed to protect and have ultimate power over me; something that he feels is ingrained in every fiber of his being.  Being my Dom puts him in touch with his most primal, animal past.

Modern relationships strip away the element of dominance and submission, placing the couple on equal levels of power in the name of “respect”.  Ultimately, this is a farce as couples will repeatedly and relentlessly fight over maintaining the power in the relationship.  The quest for power is still there and will forever remain in the human species, as we are ultimately animals at heart.  Modern relationships are simply generic boxes containing intense power struggles.  They are externally wrapped in beautiful paper, and aesthetically pleasing to the general populace.  Inside, a kitten.  BDSM relationships are slightly misshaped packages; but, inside they hold the treasures of agreement.  They are wrapped in basic brown paper, having no desire to present something visually appealing to the general populace.  But…

Inside, a lion.


Fuck your “Box”

I think the most interesting people operate two sides of very different worlds.  They have the complexity to traverse between those interdependent realms with ease, pulling off either role seamlessly.  I often think about how heavily we judge people based on what we see through our own eyes, and the socially obstructed veil that ever looms before them.

I was thinking about this the other day when wondering about what people think when they read my blog.  I wonder if any homely woman stops by my page and subsequently renders me a slut.  I wondered if they read me speak of affairs openly, understanding instead of condemning, perhaps even congratulating people on harnessing their own happiness.  I have been the recipient of so many insults aimed directly at my sexuality; they seem to bounce off my thick skin without much thought.  Further yet, I wondered how many people judge me specifically on the basis that I am passionate about being in a 24/7, monogamous, marital, M/s relationship.  The thought of my taboo sex life complicating any other information or solid advice I bestow in my writing.  How many people even bother to read it as soon as they see “BDSM” in the category cloud to the right.  I’m sure you’re asking, “Why do you care?”  You’re right.  I don’t necessarily care for the approval, but I care from the standpoint of analysis and principle:  Why do some people follow the socialistic patterns they were taught?  Is there truly some people that have not a single part of them inclined to understand what lurks behind the unopened door?

“If all I did was stare at polka dots, my eyes would starve for stripes”

I know people see me and believe I desperately hang from the outstretched hand of my financially savvy husband.  You see me in my body hugging, cleverly revealing, yet professional sheath dresses and think I have a library full of beauty magazines.  You assume I obsess over dieting, refrain from eating carbs, spend my entire life on a treadmill, or get plastic surgery.  Perhaps you see me strutting through the grocery store in one of my many pair of 6 inch stiletto heels, and assume I carelessly sling them over the shoulders of men for enjoyment.  A tasteful amount of cleavage escapes the v-neck of my sweater and you assume these beautiful, full breasts are fake; again, you assume they are probably a purchase that my meal ticket husband or my affair partner bought me.  I place a high value on physical appearance; I choose to never leave the house without being “done up”, so I must be under-educated and compensating for my miserable intellect.  I carry myself with poise, so I must be a conceited bitch.  You see me with my kids and assume I’m their biological mother as you watch them hold my hand, tell me they love me, and scurry beside me in their splendor.  You assume I listen to Carrie Underwood, ask my husband to make sweet love to me, grace a pew every Sunday, and obsess over the next episode of some popular reality T.V.  Oh my…

I am financially independent and always have been.  I have maintained my professional career throughout several personal setbacks.  I fully embrace my sexuality, to all degrees possible.  I haven’t touched a beauty magazine since my early 20’s, and don’t define myself by any standard other than that of my approval and that of my Dom.  I have an intense passion for cooking; therefore, I possess an even greater passion for eating.  I don’t deny myself anything that brings me pleasure, nor make myself feel guilty for embracing the pleasures in life.  I sling my 6 in heels over the muscular, mountainous shoulders of my husband, my Dom.  My favorite necklace is a collar.  I am well educated.  I am high maintenance; preferring my husband to parade me about as his trophy wife than walk 10 steps ahead of me while I trudge along in my tattered sweat pants.  I am confident, powerful, and outspoken.  I would still wear my 6 inch stiletto heels while stomping the heads of zombies, should I ever need to do that sort of thing.  I choose to be my husband’s full time submissive, because I have never met a man who can handle me until him.  They were small in spirit.  They were insignificant in presence.  They were boring in entirety.  I wait on my husband hand and foot; I make his meals, plate his food, wash his body, fold his clothing and carry his cum inside me with equal pride.  I serve him and his every request, relentlessly.  We blast NIN, Rob Zombie, Deftones, Massive Attack, Portishead, Tool, Puscifer, A Perfect Circle (yes, they deserve to be listed separately as I have an obsession with Maynard).  I fucking hate Carrie Underwood and her male bashing, spiteful “bitch in a pair of cowboy boots”, country bumpkin, lyrically trite, bullshit example of “music”.  Oh, and those kids…They are my step-children.  I love them as if I’d birthed them.  I love them with a power so great, it instills a fear of jealousy so vile in their mother that feels it’s necessary to punish them for saying my name.  We raise them with confidence, strength; provide them with an example of what love, appreciation, adoration and respect looks like in a marriage.  We eat family dinners together at the table, insist they use their impeccable manners, and share all the pleasurable tales of simplicity of their day.  We look forward to family game night, weekly.  I don’t pray to God, but openly worship my God (my D/Husband).  I am agnostic; but, possess a deep regard for souls, energy, and the possibility at previous lives.  My breasts and every part of this glorious body, often dressed so beautifully in the knot work of my D, are 100% authentic.

Try to place me in a box now…