One Entity

Thwap, slap. Thwap, slap. She’s acutely aware of the smell of the leather in the air, of the changing sounds of instruments measured by the differing displacement of the air around her. Landing across her ass cheeks, one, then the other, sometimes both at once, up her back and down her thighs, the implements create a cacophony of sensation – prickly strings of heat, lingering, deep, sweltering aches made from the ricochet, vibrations traveling wood as it strikes, the pulsing waves of pain that reach each and every nerve ending, culminating in the wetness between her legs. Then the warmth of his palm caressing the stinging burn.

Eyes tightly closed, she feels the pill of the paisley fabric, soft against her exposed flesh. Her reddish brown curls cascade onto her shoulders, flowing over to rest on her jawline as she’s bent over the ottoman. Above her head on either side, her wrists rest, bound in the purple and black buttery softness of the cuffs, strung under the ottoman and held in place by the tie from her robe. Beneath her, her chest heaves in heavy breaths between quick hisses of inhaled air. The most intense pain/pleasure causes her to hold her breath in her body’s attempt to absorb and feel every bit of the impact, as her brain is challenging itself to relax and savor, to fully let go. To finally exhale. That’s what he desires.

Every few sets, she can feel his radiating warmth nearing her side, just before his breath reaches her cheek as he speaks, before his hands begin to roam her flesh. “Are you okay, Love?,” he always asks, this time gently moving her hair from her cheek with his finger so he can see into her eyes. As he does, her low moans escape lips unconsciously opened, forming an ‘O’ as she feels his fingers gliding over the ridges of the welts and tingling spots, again and again. Sliding down between her legs, his middle finger seeks evidence that he’s pushing her to a place he needs her to be. “You’re dripping wet. Do you want more?,” he asks. Eyes never leaving his, she replies, “Yes, Sir, I want more, please,” almost begging. Oh, God, she needs more.

Unrelenting, the strikes continue in rapid succession, intermingled with the brief, soft touch of his hands. Focused, she concentrates on the sharp, biting ribbons of pain. She’s on fire, a fast, increasingly fervent blaze taking over her entire being. Entirely in the moment, she is simply feeling him. As each instrument lands, instead of holding her breath, she feels the freedom to exhale with her voice, her screams echoing against the walls, her excited breaths filling the spaces between. It doesn’t take many more before her focus comes to a peak, and she internally slows. There is no more external sound. There’s only a rhythm she feels deep within her – the ga gong, ga gong of her heart beating against her chest, the musical thump and reverberation of implements absorbed through her skin, the comfort of the shift in the air behind her.

Now, she is truly alive in him; they are one entity. Control and complete surrender; love.

Who Knows

About three weeks ago, I spent a weekend away with some high school friends. I was anxious about it, more so than any other year and it wasn’t until this week that I had any real insight as to why. This vulnerability I feel is not just with M, but with the entire world. I am this genuine self, the one that authentically offers what I have inside and not prefabricated reactions and defenses designed to make myself or others feel comfortable and safe. I knew when I went on this weekend, that’s what I’d have to offer these women. Not that I’ve never been a genuine or authentic person, it’s more that I just don’t have those defenses and armor to protect myself from hurt like I used to. And I feel so deeply. I get hurt very easily and I was afraid of not being accepted, afraid of being hurt.

On one of the days with my friends, we were sitting around talking about going on a much bigger trip in a couple of years and JV said she wasn’t sure her husband would let her. When she left, JM said she didn’t agree with the way she’d said that, that it was crazy she even felt like he might not ‘let her’, which sparked more comments from some of the others, especially A, all along those lines. I politely spoke up. I told them JV seemed happy, which she does, and if she’s happy why wouldn’t we be happy for her? I added that it’s that way at my house too, that I ask for permission, too, for many things. JM purposefully changed the subject and ended the conversation. She didn’t want to talk about it any longer. There was no antimosity, but it was awkward. It made me think, long and hard. I was hurt, even though the conversation hadn’t been directed at me.

A few days later, after I’d processed it more deeply, I chatted with JM and A, the two with whom I’m closest, because they were the two who initiated that conversation. Not only was I unhappy that it felt as if they were judging JV, but they’d done so behind her back. JM had ended the conversation, and if they felt that way about JV and her relationship, it seemed they’d think the same about me and mine. I needed to tell them it bothered me, that it hurt they had judged her and seemed so unaccepting. As I discussed it with them, I also described in general terms the power exchange between M and I. While they don’t need to know all the details of my relationship, I don’t feel the need to hide or be ashamed. Either they’ll accept me for who I am, or I suppose they won’t. In the end, they both said they accept anyone’s way of living, but they don’t agree with the way JV or I live. They defended their talking behind JV’s back, saying they were concerned for her. Then, A said I shouldn’t feel the need to defend myself, although I was merely offering information about myself in order for them to understand me. I wasn’t seeking approval, only acceptance and respect from the women who are my friends. I don’t feel that’s an unrealistic expectation to have, at all.

It was left at that, but again, it made me think so much about how I live so vulnerably, how it’s not possible to prepare for these types of situations, not just ones that involve sharing about my relationship, but ones that involve being hurt by others. This hurt stuck around. It shook me and effected me so deeply. It made me feel very isolated.

 In the past, I’d have smiled and allowed that hurt to internally fester, but I’d never have voiced my view or my hurt. I’d avoid confrontation at all costs and either keep hanging out and getting hurt or quietly walk away making excuses. I’d have recovered quickly on the outside and found a way to stuff it away or release it in misdirected anger. Now, I feel it all, right way, and I’m learning how to handle that without those old defenses and old tricks. I’m happy I reacted genuinely and offered my voice. I’m happy that, after I truly processed what had happened and my feelings surrounding the situation, I talked to them about it, even though it was difficult and uncomfortable.

I’m not exactly sure where it all stands. I don’t know how I feel about continuing to go on the weekends. The ‘face that shit head on’ part of me says to go, be this genuine self, and whatever happens, happens. There’s another part of me that says it’s not worth the time and money taken away from my family to go and be with people who talk or judge behind one another’s backs. That’s not the kind of person I am.

Who knows.

Crazy Train

Bright sun spreading warmth
Through square glass, beckoning
The life in which I belong
An arms length away, quickly passing by
The weight of worry and distrust
Filling one train car, then another
Chugging, toxic smoke and charging wheels
Spinning at 100 mph
Locked on this one way track
To nowhere

I need to hear the screeching sound
Of metal against metal
The grinding halt
Of self destruction
I need to tell the conductor
I want off this crazy train
“Stop this train, please,” I shout,
Hoping he’ll hear me, I’m stuck
But those deafening words echo
In my own ears

For I’m the conductor of my crazy train
I’m the architect of this track to nowhere
He is window after window on each side
Making vision clearer
Shining a never-ending light
On the life in which I belong
Outside these caste walls
Waiting patiently for me to join him
Heading somewhere, everywhere
Going home

I’ll be right there

Silhouette Dancing

Purple and black encircle wrists
Secured tightly above my head
Fingers draw fiery lines on skin
As I anticipate being lead

Blue Nirvana t-shirt brushes
Softly against sensitive flesh
As he whispers loving words and commands
Desire and anticipation enmesh

One click, then another, hold me still
Wooden bar spreads my feet
Completely bound and immobile
Standing before me, our eyes meet

Smiles and silly faces
An ease we’ve never known
Fist wraps around hair, tugged tight
Reminded we’re at home

Candle flickers in dim light
Instruments strum music on skin
Thud and slap, whoosh and crack
A melody over and again

Body sways in chorus
Eyes closed, connected mind
The only sound my breath between us
As cane connects behind

Time stands still, only he and sound
As I sink into his safety
Pushed in trust, with his strong hands
Proven to support and catch me

Pleasure meets pain, pain meets pleasure
Warm hands pinch and caress
Slow burning heat, rising pressure
Ebb and flow, buzz and press

Two hands gently guide my head
To silhouettes on distant wall
I watch as shadows dance, as one
My surrender is his, my all

Hits the Spot

One of the most amazing things M and I have experienced is an openness with one another like never before. The willingness and need to communicate and experience one another with total honesty and trust. And patience.

There are times when we communicate and our lines get crossed, when we have to keep revisiting a topic until we are both on the same page. We talk and think and talk some more, until we find a direction that works for us. An open honesty that allows us to truly meet one another’s needs and learn so much about ourselves and one another along the way. 

The same happens in the bedroom. There are times when things just aren’t meshing so well, when something feels a little off. Like last night. I couldn’t get out of my head no matter how hard I tried to just shut it off and follow. Then, I tried too hard. As much as he was trying to lovingly lead, he was trying too hard, too. 

M slowed us down and patiently lead with lots of communication until we found our same page. Him leading and me following, as we explored one another in unexpected ways, taking our time, learning together. That’s when he found this new spot, and how to touch it, and to combine it with this, take away that, or add this at just the right time. Oh. My. God. 

These are some of the things I’m so grateful for. Not just that he found another amazing, new spot, but that we are in this place where we can. Where it’s not only comfortable to explore, but it is what makes us tick. Our freedom to be ourselves, to communicate, share and learn about one another, all the time. To work through whatever comes up. Which always leads to some new, unbelievable discovery about one another. 

Appreciating one another and our ability to make these new discoveries, physical or emotional or spiritual, is what this is all about.