Category: General Musings

NE is reverent.

There are certain areas of her life that she considers sacred. Sacred in the way little girls view their favorite stuffed animals. Sacred in the way older girls should be able to remember their first love. Sacred in the way children trust their parents.

She is still able to trust like that. There is no one else I know who has managed to maintain the capacity to trust at this level through adolescence and young adulthood. This trust is not born of naivety or ignorance; NE has been burnt in her past. More than once, and quite harshly. She’s learned from her mistakes. But this place of innocence is a part of her. Unconsciously, she surrounds herself with people who will protect it.

But these sacred places, these sacred places she holds inside her, she trusts these sacred places with a completeness of self that I am almost made the less for in not having the ability to share. I have my own citadels of belief but they are born in the iron lines of will and experience. They are blood stained and hardened.

Her place under me is sacred to her. She sees my writing on here through a lens colored equal parts amused sarcasm and reverence. She doesn’t follow the links I have listed so carefully along the side (though I have never forbidden her to). When she comments, she comments anonymously (which is just silly, but I can’t find the heart to admonish her too severely for it). The only time she reads other blogs is when I assign her some specific entries to read. The last time I did this, I also requested she write her thoughts on each entry. Here are a couple of her responses.

***

Ambient Storm – The Girls Gotta Have It.

My initial reactions: Fuck me, that was beautiful, perfect and fucking sexy.

This post was really well written. It was right to the point. And it was enough to stir jealousy and desire in any woman, but particularly me. I feel that way about sex more often than I ever have before, but it is still so fucking hard for me because I don’t cum like that. In truth, I think that a few years ago, I would have hated that post, but the fact is now I can let go like that with Bear. I am so glad. I have to admit, I want to try that; not exactly like that, but something similar.

My favorite part was her quick, solid and without even mentioning it, ability to let go. But with a more straight-forward reaction…this fucking post made me want to have sex or get-off right now. This was very erotic with even touching on the should I – shouldn’t I thing. It was really interesting because in a way it was about her control over herself. I love that.

Additionally, if I question your motives…were you trying to make me want to get a vibrator? I truthfully have never heard a more convincing argument.

Bliatz – Confessions of a Word Whore

God, she is so expressive. OK.
I am like her in some ways but not in others. First of all, the asking. I hate to be asked how I feel or something of the kind by you. The reason why is that I am not sure that I will answer correctly…I am such a first baby. Maybe I am not at the right place yet, maybe my answer will not make sense, maybe I don’t even have an answer to that. Having said all of that, it is still something that needs to happen. I agree with her that it does force me to understand myself, but between you and me, I think that most of it is a way for you to pin point more of where I am on the staircase.

Secondly, the commanding. Again, I don’t really like having to tell you that I am your slut…this in itself is not a turn-on for me (most of the time, although I have to agree that it is amazingly freeing and it does take away the guilt that you could feel. I cannot believe how self-observant she is!) I don’t think that it ever has been. But I am all about the reaction. I am all about the vehicle to take me over the edge.

Really, if I examine myself, I am all about the rewards for doing something well. What I do love about “dirty-talk” (I actually hate that phrase) between you and me is that it doesn’t feel like dirty talk. If I had to name an instance that I loved (I mean died…) when we were talking together, I would say after I am really turned on and under you. When I feel like explaining something to you in detail, like how it feels you are sucking on my nipples or how sexy it is when you hold me down, while you are holding me or rubbing me. That is so erotic. And truth be told, I am all about when you reward me verbally. It really makes me wet, and to me it absolves me from my sin.

NE

There was a period of time where I experimented with hypnotism. You could go so far as to say I ‘dabbled’ in it. I am far from an expert, but I did learn a few things.

1. Hypnotism does work.

2. How well you respond to hypnotism depends on several factors, not the least of which is personality (surprisingly, it is the imaginative strong-willed type that tend to make the best subjects). Other factors include the setting, desire, and rapport with the hypnotist.

3. Hypnotism *cannot* force you to do anything that goes against your moral code – but you may find yourself doing things you had not thought yourself capable of. The subconscious is a very tricky beast.

Aside from the obvious (setting of control), hypnotism shares one important element with Domination: it provides a place of freedom. While hypnotized, there is a freedom from conscious constraints, a freedom from burdens.

In this freedom is born the sometimes beautiful, often comical, and occasionally erotic, unmonitored activity of the human mind.

I first started playing around with it at seventeen or so. Friends of the family were staying at the house and they had a daughter the same age as my oldest sister. One late evening I convinced them both to let me attempt to hypnotize them. It worked to a small degree with my sister’s friend, but my sister slid under quickly and deep. Her trust in me made her an ideal subject and I focused my attentions on her.

I tried small things at first – having them recite the alphabet backwards without hesitation. Successful here, I moved onto slightly more complex post-hypnotic suggestions (such as laughing when a particular word was said). I placed restrictions on each suggestion (to have them fade after a few hours) and before bringing them back up I would instill a sense of relaxed refreshment that would last long after the other suggestions faded. One curious after-affect of the process was the development of a surprisingly strong trust bond between my sister and I. Each session increased this bond until, towards the end, her attachment had the taste of dependency. This faded after a week or so.

I continued to experiment with hypnosis with various degrees of success for the next several years. My attentions turned inward and I practiced self-hypnosis and meditation. Eventually my attentions were turned towards other areas and I stopped thinking about it.

Until recently.

Because now I’m seeing it in another light. Might not there be other aspects to this hobby? I’ve always been fascinated in the boundaries we create. My hunt is one of testing, nudging, driving, taking others over these lines. Physical lines of pleasure and pain. Mental lines of vulnerability and freedom.

Where can you go when you slide that deep? How similar is this place, under hypnosis, to the place my submissives live in when I own them with my words, my will, and my hands?

(Part I here.)

> TELL PORTIA TO GET TO HER KNEES

The weight of the flogger gives you a bit more confidence, and it comes across in the surprisingly harsh tone in which you speak. You order her to her knees.

She looks a bit unsure of herself and her eyes remain on the flogger in your hand – but she isn’t yet entirely convinced.

> PUT HAND ON PORTIA’S NECK
(putting your fingers around Portia throat)

Now we’re getting somewhere. With your free hand, you reach for Portia and wrap your fingers carefully around her throat, an act that elicits from her a slight gasp. You can feel the heat of her skin against your grip, feel each breath she takes, ragged and increasingly uneven. And, closing your eyes, you can even feel her pulse as it rests along the inside of your hand. When you open your eyes it is to see Portia’s gaze on you with a simmering intensity to match the strength of your hold on her.

(Portia is stilled.)

> TELL PORTIA TO GET TO HER KNEES

She slips to her knees in silence, her wide eyes locked onto yours. There is some fear there, but it is driving something much larger before it – a hunger, tightening and tightening inside her until it’s tip is sharp enough to draw blood. With your hand on her throat, you guide her downward.

(Portia is on her knees.)

> TELL PORTIA TO UNZIP PANTS

There is just the slightest hesitation before she reaches up and, with trembling fingers, draws down the zipper of your jeans .

> SAY THANK YOU

That hurts. Down deep, that hurts. Way to let me down, man. Come on, try again. Be strong.

> FUCK HER

Excellent idea, but don’t you think there are a few things left to do? If you handle her right, she’ll give you the best thirty seconds of your life. Well, for you, the best twenty seconds. You stud.

> POSITION HER FOR SPANKING

With your zipper down? Don’t you think you should do something about that?

> POSITION HER FOR SPANKING

Ok, ok. You drag her up with one hand and…

(To be continued…)

I am going to give you a gift. I am going to give you a single day to do exactly what you want. A day where come midnight, the last twenty-four hours will become nothing but a memory for you to savor.

A day without consequence. A day of complete freedom.

What will you do with that day?

Will you kiss every girl and guy you meet just to watch their reaction? Will you be completely, painfully, honest with everyone you care about? Will you give away the ending of the latest Harry Potter to your book club? Will you sleep with your best friend?

Will you hold up a bank? Will you buy a cherry red Ferrari on credit and drive to Vegas? Will you try every drug you’ve been curious about? Will you poison your neighbor’s noisy dog? Will you tell every bad boss you’ve ever had exactly why they shouldn’t be allowed to even manage a McDonald’s? Will you get that tattoo? Will you buy yourself a pony? Will you take a punch at a Hell’s Angel?

Will you sing for your friends like you do when you’re alone?

Will you forgive?

Will you bungee jump? Will you jump out of a plane? Will you *fly* a plane? Will you run naked through your neighborhood? Will you try exotic foods like octopus, squid, chocolate covered ants, or camel hump? Will you tell a stranger all of your secrets (every single one)? Will you steal the last slice of apple pie?

Will you make a small firepit in your backyard, using all of your bills as tinder, and roast some marshmallows? Will you eat a whole box of Godiva chocolates (except the cherry-centered ones)? Will you cross the street without looking? Will you call your old friend from college that you haven’t spoken to in ten years? Will you paint your house like a candy cane, red and white, red and white?

Will you love without regret?

For one day, will you stop being afraid?

What will you do with the Devil’s Gift?

Tips on being a Dom, #27: Knowing Beauty

Sexy and beautiful women know they are sexy and beautiful.

***

My first successes as a Dom were born of instinct, a bit of experience, and blind luck. Instinct in the form of selfish desire and a need to exert control to get what I wanted, experience in the form of learning from each successive attempt, and blind luck in finding women who were willing to go along with my pretensions while I figured it all out.

What experience taught me was what worked and what did not; I had enough common sense to keep doing what was working and to stop trying what didn’t. A fine strategy that worked for a while, but really, I was just pretending to know what I was doing. In time, what was an act became reality. For me, learning any skill follows a similar process – you keep practicing, going through the motions of what works, trying to do something and then one day you’re no longer trying – you are doing it.

One of the distinctions that define that line between me pretending to be and actually being, Dominant, is when I not only knew how someone would react, but also understand why they would.

One thing I’ve learned? Women know when they are sexy and beautiful.

The other evening I was having drinks with NE, her husband Bear, and his brother. Bear’s brother was discussing how his wife was trying to lose weight (she’s quite thin in my opinion) and how she often remarked that she wasn’t that beautiful.

“She may say that, but she knows.” I put out the clove I was smoking and finished off my sour. “Sexy and beautiful women know they are sexy and beautiful.”

Bear shook his head, looking at NE. I followed his glance and smiled, “Her too.” NE knows she is sexy even though she may often look for assurance of the fact.

I couldn’t get Bear to agree with this; NE would often say she wasn’t feeling particularly pretty, or that this person or that person was much more beautiful than her. Bear was under the impression that if he didn’t reassure her, she wouldn’t have any idea just how pretty she is. After a good twenty minute discussion, we interrupted her conversation with Bear’s brother to ask. Under my gaze and the helpful affects of four glasses of wine, she was completely honest. She did know she was beautiful.

The truth is simple. Women who do not think they are sexy or beautiful are not going to remind themselves of this fact by frequently asking about it.

Women who do know they are pretty will often act otherwise because they may be looking for reassurance of the fact during a bad-hair/I have nothing to wear that fits me/I cried all night and have red-eyes, moment. Or they may just want to hear from someone they care about that they appreciate and recognize them. They are not asking out of ignorance of the truth. Because at their core, they know, they know, they have it. In fact, it is the knowing that is partially responsible for making them so alluring. It is this knowledge that makes them move a certain way, flirt a certain way, make love a certain way.

I have been careful here to not give many details on what I consider sexy and beautiful. This is intentional. There is no easy definition for either. Beauty is not inherently found in wafer thinness or platinum hair; sexy is not restricted to exotic looks or long legs. It is found in the eyes, and the words, in the curves and the attitude. It is in how innocent they really are, how devilish they can be. It is in a flash of skin, a smile, a dance, and a willingness to be brave. To some extent we cannot escape society’s definition of beauty, but that is just one part, one element of a whole – an element that isn’t even that important when lined up against everything else.

Incidentally, this knowledge has led to another of my quirks. I don’t make idle compliments. When I remark on how nice someone looks in a particular outfit it is because they really look fucking stunning. When I mention how silky someone’s hair is it is because I am imagining how nice it would feel tangled in my fingers. When I tell someone that I think they’re fairly clever it is because I think they may be just clever enough to keep up with me. I never give a compliment I don’t believe in with absolute conviction.

I am the same way with apologies – I hate making apologies just for the sake of making one. It renders the words and sentiment behind them, meaningless, which is a capital crime in my book. Apologies should be given when they are meant.

But that’s another topic entirely.