Tag Archives: dominance

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.


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.


Distracted. 

I often feel this way when the inside of me is at total odds with my professional exterior. I feel bright red and orange; at the center of a massive nebulae attached to my body like albumen to the yolk. I’m quite certain anyone in the near vicinity can feel my heat. I feel like a wolf in sheep’s clothing – I’m teeth smeared in drool, grey fur on end and claws a carving half-moons into the sand. Outwardly I’m assimilating. I’m merely a sheep standing next to my neighbor, fleece blending into one another, alike to a lesser eye. Instinct paws as I have to rein back my tendency to take teeth to the throat, refrain from gloat, and modestly blend into my wooly counterparts. In this moment, I’m desperate to run with the wolves whose creativity claws from within them, ripping a hole through flesh of which their insides spill out. Wolves who play in the darkest of nights, finding solace in shadows over the light.

I am sitting at my desk at work feeling like it might be someone else sitting here, she just looks exactly like me. She’s no imposter though, she’s the real deal. She’s all impulse and passion, flaws and forgoing obligations. I’m feeling depressed and of little motivation. I want less verbal and need more physical expression…  

I am supposed to be working, seeing cases, and instead I’m seeing cages. I’m craving cages. I want to peer from behind the steely bars feeling completely at peace within. Instead of the cage of my body, I want to find my body within a cage. As if being within the cage allows me to free my inner mind, my inner nature, my inner animal.

I should be seeing cases, but I keep seeing laces. Silken Japanese rope laced up the back of my arms or thighs, making misshapen soft mounds of flesh, causing pride over blush. Laced handles of floggers that seduce my nose with the aroma of leather. The slap to my rounded ass from the hands of my Man. I want my thick leather collar fur lined at the neck, cinched tightly to leave room for escaping breath. Lace panties. Lace bralette over full, perky breasts while I press them into your whiskery face. Your pet donning black lace. Interlaced fingers tightening to the crescendo of my orgasm…

I need to be working like the other sheep. Mindlessly reviewing and submitting, checking and proofreading. But, my mind is flooded with imagery. I’m seeing his whiskered jaw line, a briar patch to plush lips. Deep red painted toes wrapped around his inner calves. Deep reddened ass cheeks, beneath a calloused hand. Vascular forearms, digits plunged into tousled hair. The cold metal of his piercing at my flushed, swollen opening. The salty taste of his skin upon my tongue as I lap at his taught testicles.

I should be seeing cases…  

 


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. 


Interlude 2


My ample chest is flattened to the mattress, as my ass is perched high in the air. Legs form an “A” frame below me, with my sex facing the mirror. Your fingers press upon the keys of my skin, composing music of nothing more than a bundle of nerves. Your grey gaze watches as you play, while I make liquid trails over your rigid terrain. 


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.


Breath of Surrender

“With the fingers of my dearest ally, passionate lover and forever King both wrapped snugly around my throat and thrust deep inside of me, I breathe in His Dominance.”

This morning, I was pinned against a wall in my bathroom with a hand to my throat.  The strong fingers of his right hand were wrapped tightly around my neck, while the digits of his left hand were penetrating deeply into the plush flesh of my vagina.  My nipples were aching, erect, and the beautifully metal bars that adorned through my flesh glistened in the bathroom light as I thrust them higher into the air.  Weak at the knees, a slight bend caused the length of his fingers to breach me deeper.  I relaxed into his hand’s embrace around my throat.  I allowed my breath to grow shallow as I reveled in the sound of my lusty heartbeat in my temples.  A steady, beautiful beat of surrender.  A seductive paradox: a hard, cold wall pressed to my back; a temperate and utterly satisfied soul lies encapsulated within a sweltering and lascivious body.  His asphyxiation is a warm blanket to my sexuality in which I find complete comfort.  His restraint is my rapture.

I was once pressed against a wall with a forearm to my throat.  I felt little fear in this instance, however, I was not safe.  I looked into the shallow eyes of a man in which dominance was something feigned.  The increasing pressure at my throat was an act of desperation intended to quell my protest.  Yet, my protest persisted.  Raising my chin higher, I looked down my nose to the spineless man and uttered in a hoarse voice, “You are an embarrassment to real men.  You are nothing but a little pussy.”  In this moment, I wasn’t sure what was going to happen next.  Keep in mind, we were not operating within any type of BDSM dynamic.  We were simply a toxic couple whereby his abusive behavior was his way of attempting to control me, and my antagonistic attitude was my method for establishing my inability to be controlled.

I have always had a thirst for dominance from the time I was young.  Dominance was something enigmatic to me.  A specter in the night whilst I traipsed in the shadows of insecure men’s souls.  My quest for dominance was akin to a hunger pang where you can’t quite pin exactly what would satisfy your craving, but you know you must have that certain, “something”.  I would later learn that a little “something” was actually a whole dynamic that I needed to center my sexuality around.  I identify as closely with being a submissive to Him as one would identify as being gay, straight, bisexual etc.  My sexuality is interwoven with my submissiveness; but, I had no idea I needed this dynamic until I met my King.

Prior to Him I was destroying men in their vain attempts to control me.  A free spirit “firefly” whereby they would temporarily trap me within their glass jars until my spark would no longer ignite.  A lioness in a mesh net.  A pit viper in a shoebox.  A siren to a slew of hopeless seamen.  No man could possess me.  No man could turn me to a kept pet.  No man solidified my commitment.  Until Him.

With the fingers of my ally, passionate lover and forever King both wrapped snugly around my throat and thrust deep inside of me, I breathe in His Dominance.  I relax into the embrace that never harms me.  I relinquish control to the Man who never forced my surrender.  I give full ownership to the only man able to possess me.  The only Alpha to trump my own.  My King.

His warm breath exhaled against the lobe of my ear as he moans, “mine”.  His kiss upon my lips.  His body pressed against my skin.  Hunger satiated.

His.


Interlude 1

My diamonds are at home. He cleverly hid them from me as punishment for leaving the house sans wedding rings yesterday. Yet, my collar graces my neck in a way more personal than a wedding band surrounds the finger…

People put so much stock in marriage – the crux of commitment, intimacy and trust; yet, so many marriages are without all three. I have never cared for marriage much, finding little connection to the union.  Being married never made me feel committed. In fact, I have only been able to commit to one man, no matter what my marital status had suggested.

I feel my marriage is an afterthought by comparison to the commitment I have to serve and obey my King, who is also my husband. My marriage has been reinforced by our lifestyle. Our marriage enhanced by my servitude and his personal conviction to cherish what is His. His because we choose, regardless of the piece of paper between us.

Society recognizes the rings on my finger as a symbol for marriage. The same metal and stone combination that grace the finger of the vast majority of women. Only a few people would recognize my collar as my commitment to serve. Both bring me great pride to wear. Both are a symbol of my devotion, eternally.

However, I prefer the “weight” of my collar.


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.


Ropes and Respect

I was cruising around the blog postings today, on a quest for some interesting reads.  I came across a posting that truly disturbed me.

A woman had a one night stand with a man who attempted to play Dom.  I emphasize the word attempted, because the female had no idea that he was heading in the BDSM direction, and from the sound of it, inflicted some unwanted pain on the female.  She was writing about how disturbing the whole experience was.  What a shame.  If I was a Top, I’d be pissed at all the lousy (and downright pathetic) attempts made by individuals that haven’t done their research.  Stop!  You’re ruining it!

dom1

I can’t proclaim myself an expert at BDSM, but my husband and I definitely subscribe to the lifestyle.  I prefer to say that we have a Master/slave relationship; but alas, I still have far too much feistiness to be a praise worthy slave.  I am passionate about serving my husband and truly feel ignited living as a bottom.  I’m regularly a powerhouse bitch who can’t be told what to do by anyone.  My husband is my Dom and my entire world; He certainly is the only person who can successfully tell this woman what to do.

A bit of advice and insight (my personal opinion, of course) into the beautiful world of BDSM:

BDSM does not consist of non-consensual abuse.  In fact, many people in the lifestyle would agree that “abuse” is a term rarely used.  To be “abused” often implies victimization.  Individuals involved in the BDSM lifestyle are not victims; they are consensual participants in an alternate sexual nirvana.  From the perspective of a bottom, we are enticed by the feeling of being dominated.  How that dominance may appear to those who are not part of the act is not of our concern; unfortunately, we have grown rather accustomed to being judged.  Although the practice of BDSM often results pushing boundaries, a mentally sound bottom will not permit an act that arouses a deep seeded emotional result.  An educated sub will never place his/her Dom in the position of being seen as the “cause” for emotional turmoil or physical pain.

Boundaries are negotiated prior to the session.  I’m going to err on the side of giving this boy the benefit of the doubt by saying that he appears overzealous.  I’m sure many Doms experience a feeling of confusion when wrestling with their desires initially.  Thanks to our lovely close-minded society, we program men to feel that any form of aggression in the bedroom is dangerous territory.  My husband experienced backlash in the past for pulling out his cock and lightly slapping it against his ex’s vagina.  He was called, “sick” and she was infuriated that he was treating her as if she was a “whore”.  WOW.  I straight have him pull his glorious cock out and smack it wherever his heart so desires!  I guess I’m a dirty whore 😉  I digress…I’m willing to bet this guy is battling an overcoming need to be a Dom, and doesn’t have the patience to wait for a willing sub.  He doesn’t understand how to have that kind of conversation, or perhaps, he’s afraid to have the conversation…In which case, he needs to reevaluate his confidence level.  In all cases, his pushiness is not a trait typical of a good Dom and will likely become a repetitive, vicious cycle.  The point here is to remember that people involved in consensual acts of healthy BDSM understand boundaries before they participate in play.  I consider my body my Dom’s territory; though, we are both aware of the fact that I’ve given him permission to own it.

RopesandRespect

A good Dom will respect his sub.  My husband is an amazing Dom.  Certainly, he had the utmost respect for me prior to making BDSM part of our life.  He is gloriously protective and he operates with the right amount of possessiveness.  He will watch for cues to signal comfort level and willingness.  Even if you don’t have the level of intimacy we have and you are just beginning to experience play, a healthy Dom will communicate effectively to gauge your comfort level.  This is akin to having an excellent lover in general; an excellent lover watches the body’s non-verbal responses to sexual acts and adjusts his/her behavior accordingly.  A Dom worth serving is one that considers how serving him feels.  Your Dom is your priority, but you become your Dom’s ultimate responsibility.  If you ask me, I consider the role of a Dominant to be worthy of the utmost respect due to the nature of the role.

Despite how it looks, BDSM has everything to do with respect and romance.  Personally, I feel there is no more romantic a union that that of a Dom/sub.  Perhaps, it may not appear that way to some people because the acts appear “violent”.  I assure you, despite of how those acts appear to you, they are wonderfully fulfilling to participate in.  My Dom would stop at nothing to protect me, cherish me, and lavish love upon me, both verbally and physically.  My Dom’s pleasure is derived from me serving him because he ultimately has given me his all:  His heart, his passion, his trust, his body, his soul, his vulnerability, and his leadership.  In my opinion, there is nothing more romantic than mutual need gratification where barriers are town down, walls are demolished, and people can exist in sexual play without fear of being chastised.  Let us not forget how vulnerable a position being a Dom would be, and how easily they are judged for being abusive individuals.  I would argue that most sexual relationships deemed “normal” as opposed to BDSM, certainly contain their fair share of unspoken desires.  It’s a sad world we live in, ladies and gents…

There is no room for passive/aggressive behavior in BDSM.  If deep down you feel as though the acts you are participating in is violating you on a personal level – just stop.  You are missing the point          !  You cannot force your body to enjoy what your mind is not open to.  Doing something against your will breeds discontent, and that discontent will manifest itself in passive/aggressive behavior.  Take responsibility for your own actions in situations where the other person is counting on your to use your best judgment.  By participating in these behaviors, you help perpetuate a tainted image upon the face of BDSM.  After the joke that is, “Fifty Shades of Grey”, we just cannot stomach any more phonies.

-Fervid M