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Posts Tagged ‘Dominance/submission’

  1. The Question of Submission

    May 11, 2016 by Heather Cole

     

    Credit: Depositphotos

    Credit: Deposit Photos

     

    I’ve been doing a lot of inner excavating lately, and one doesn’t go digging into the darkest part of their heart to find rainbows and fluffy kitties. I’m a seeker. I want to see what lies beneath even if it scares the ever living shit out of me. And let me tell you, I’ve found the opposite of kitties in the darkness of my soul. Even though the digging has been painful and dark, the earth I’ve turned over has been rich. Which is the whole point of working on oneself, right? You go through the pain to grow. At least, that’s what my therapist had told me.

    My personal seismic shift began last spring. The catalyst took the form of a visit from sir’s wife to stay with him for a month. I’m not going to go into detailing the series of events, because ultimately the specifics are irrelevant. The resulting actions, the reverberations of their time together and how it indirectly and directly involved me, shook the foundation of my relationship to sir and to myself. It was the latter part that pushed me into a tailspin. By the end of January 2016 (my last trip to see sir), I questioned everything, especially my relationship to BDSM, submission, and my role as a lifestyle submissive in a D/s dynamic. It felt like nothing fit anymore, and no matter how I had tried, I couldn’t make myself feel OK again. Something had to change. I had to change.

    As a result of the catalyst, I began examining my motivations for being in a D/s relationship with a man halfway around the world. We didn’t start that far apart, but that’s where we ended up. I discovered the hard way that the dependency we fostered as a submissive babygirl with a Daddy Dominant when we lived together couldn’t continue in the same way via a long distance relationship. All our protocols and expectations that we created and nurtured when he lived in the States could not withstand the time and distance that now existed between us. I think logically I knew that would happen, but I didn’t feel like it should. Up until last spring, I desperately clung to what our dynamic used to be, and the intimacy we had fostered, as we tried to cobble a semblance of it through text, email, and Skype. And then it blew apart.

    I was devastated. I felt like everything I had believed about submission, about being a submissive to this man in particular, was mostly one-sided. It wasn’t that sir didn’t love or want me, but he was busy creating a new life in a foreign land. And there I was at home, devoting much of my time and energy trying to keep a dynamic in place that was unsustainable given our new circumstances. It felt like I was clinging to a ghost, while everyone else moved forward into a new life.  I’ve called it a game before, but that submissive role was central to my way of life and how I viewed myself as a person. I never clearly saw my dependency on him or how central my sexual submission was to my identity before their visit. Or maybe I didn’t want to admit that I was in deep.

    I grieved for our loss and for the people we were. It was the summer of tears, but eventually I had to gather myself again and figure out how I was going to proceed. Once I began digging into the reasons behind my upset and bewilderment, I saw more clearly my motivations behind my affinity for D/s and BDSM. I took a long, hard look at why I loved the kinky things I did. Some of it was because I was wired this way and kinky shit got me off, and some of it was because I had daddy issues. The most difficult thing to admit was that I was cruel to myself, so that when a Dominant humiliated and degraded myself during play, I felt like I deserved it. Like deep down inside deserved it and should be punished for it.

    Up until that point, I hadn’t realized how I had spent most of my life feeling bad about who I was and how I looked. The changes in our relationship were on one level, but below that lay some core beliefs about myself that needed to shift as well. Getting in touch with those feelings… well, I had some really dark days. I was raised a feminist, and I firmly believed in equality regardless of gender, race, and sexual orientation. I would never shame another human being for their kinks or body type yet I didn’t hesitate to judge my own. Living that kind of dichotomy of beliefs yet remaining unconscious of it—I had to ask myself, why had it taken me so long to see it? Why did I think it was acceptable to treat myself poorly with such little regard? Who was I if I wasn’t a submissive pain slut who deserved degradation and humiliation?

    These musings brought me to the doorstep of what I enjoyed most in my kinky life. In the moments of a BDSM scene when I was the subject of humiliation or degradation, play that I loved, there was a part of me that believed it to be a reflection of my true self. I was a slut, dirty and shamed. And I reveled in those moments—desired it more than anything. Often times a scene was literally my inner critic coming to life, an external force that matched my internal one. In that glorious storm of physical and mental, I was made completely whole, because my internal beliefs had manifested outside of me. The inner critic had been embodied in my dominant, and my body was punished on the exterior in the same way that I punished myself on the inside. (Although sir had always been kinder to me than I was to myself.)  It usually culminated in a crescendo of endorphins that left me in grateful tears, while sir picked me up and helped me come back to myself.

    In those moments, I wanted to be a dependent babygirl who was rescued by her wonderful daddy. I also wanted to be the 24/7 sex slave who only existed to satisfy her dominant. The aspects of me, the most difficult for me to accept—the girl who needed saving and the shameless whore who wanted nothing but sex, were valued in this BDSM-D/s context. I suppose, to the average human being, this was obviously fantasy. But to me, in my heart of hearts, I so wanted them to be real. The feeling of alignment that I gained from a scene was such a relief, that I thought to have more of it was the key to happiness. I convinced myself that if I tried hard enough, my insecurities could find a home between me and sir. I had blurred fantasy with reality to the point that it had become detrimental to my well-being. When you’re waiting for daddy to rescue you, you’re not really addressing your own patterns of behavior or responsibilities. My submission was holding me back from one of my most important roles: being a caretaker of my own life.

    The catalyst in the spring brought me three truths: 1. Sir couldn’t save me. He had to take care of himself, his career, and his home first. 2. In order to save myself, I had to start truly loving myself—the whole way to my core. I had to banish my inner bully and love those pieces of me that were twisted and perverse. I needed to learn how to love myself in the moment, just as I was. 3. I had to stop serving everyone else’s needs before my own and make myself a priority.

    That’s where I am—standing amidst the rubble of the after effects of an earthquake and trying to figure out what to do next. I’m still in a D/s contract with sir, and we’ll be spending most of July together. Honestly, though, I’m not feeling all that submissive. It’s freeing and scary as hell all at the same time. I’m changing as I rearrange my priorities, and I think both sir and I are wondering where we’ll be after the dust has settled. I’m still sifting through the strands of what is fantasy and what is actually plausible in reality and adjusting my expectations of our D/s. I love him dearly, but I’m not the same girl I was. I’m also saying “no” a lot more. Do you have any idea how liberating that is? I say no in order to conserve my time and resources for things that are really important to me.  Most of all, I’m learning to be kind to myself and loving as I’m pushed out of my comfortable labels of “lifestyle submissive” to be something different. Every day I attempt to write a love letter to myself by making healthier choices and allowing space for my needs to be met. I no longer think of myself last thing on the ‘to do’ list.

    I had a dream last night that I was sitting in a college classroom. I had on a small, Hello Kitty backpack, and I leaned forward in my seat to talk to my friend seated in front of me. The professor, a tall man, walked up and down the aisles talking about a secret code that we needed to enter in order to take the test. He asked if anyone needed a pencil, and I raised my hand, feeling sheepish because I hadn’t been listening and was unprepared for class. Then I opened my folder and found three pencils inside. I had remembered them after all. They were short but sharpened. The professor gave me a pencil and made a joke with my friend. Something about if I ever got my act together, I’d be a force to be reckoned with.

    I’m taking that as a good sign. I may not know the secret code yet, but dammit, I have pencils. It’s a start.


  2. In the Hands of a Stranger

    October 7, 2015 by Heather Cole

    Aaron Apt 2015

    I lay on the couch, draped over the stranger’s lap with my face buried in a cushion. My dress bunched around my waist and my panties had been pushed down to my knees. Stinging slaps rained down on my bottom as I fought not to squirm. The man enjoyed hitting high along the top of my asscheeks or on the sides, not across the meat of my bum where I preferred. I didn’t complain, though. Instead I bit the inside of my cheek and fought to endure the burning fire that spread across my flesh. I silently vowed to do my best and submit, because I wanted to make Daddy proud of me.

    This particular situation was new for me. Daddy had loaned me out to a stranger for a precious two hours. I had seen the man before and had watched his scene with a different submissive. At the time, I hadn’t thought much about him—not good or bad. It was the idea of playing with a stranger that seemed like a distant possibility. He was an older, British gentleman with a ready smile and large hands. He hadn’t been practicing kink for a decade, but now he wanted to get back into the scene. The problem was that he didn’t have a regular submissive partner, and his life was constructed in such a way that being open about his preferences would have proved disastrous. He was discreet, and he wanted to play. Part of me loved the thrill of submitting to someone I didn’t know, while the other half of me felt anxious about it.

    Daddy agreed to the arrangement because a close friend, and dominant, supervised since he was unable to be present.The logical part of my brain told me that I wasn’t in real physical danger, but butterflies still filled my stomach. Daddy had negotiated the terms of the scene, and the three of us had reviewed my hard and soft limits beforehand. Even with all the things I knew the stranger wouldn’t do to me, that still left a lot of things, painful things, that could happen.

    My friend gave me a playful slap on my reddened skin as I passed her, making me wince. “I think he’s taking it easy on you,” she whispered. The wide grin on her face didn’t reassure me at all.

    The stranger led me by the hand from the sitting area into a large play room. He bid me to stand under a square, wooden frame and ran his hands over my waist and hips.

    “I love the clothes that women wear,” he said in his proper accent, “but I prefer them naked.” He pulled my dress over my head and stripped me out of my lingerie. “Bend over and spread yourself open. I want to see what I’ve borrowed for the afternoon.”

    His words slid like a knife between my ribs. This wasn’t my Daddy who objectified and degraded me with love in his heart. This man didn’t know anything about me. He wanted me because I would submit. I was a living, breathing sex toy that he could use for his own pleasure. In that moment I felt powerful, that I could give the gift of myself to please another, but on the heels of that thought came a needling voice, what kind of girl lets a stranger use her? I felt myself blush as I spread my legs apart.

    The stranger complimented my body as he tightened wide leather cuffs around my wrists and ankles. He clipped the cuffs to metal rings at the top of the frame, stretching me almost to my tiptoes, and then placed a spreader bar between my ankles. I was rendered immobile. He then produced the final touch… a blindfold. My heartbeat ratcheted into high gear as he covered my eyes. I was blind and bound, and in the hands of someone I didn’t know. I had surveyed the table full of impact toys before we started, but I didn’t know which one he would use. I strained to hear the slightest noise, but everyone remained silent. Goosebumps marched over my skin, and all my muscles tensed.

    His wide palms skimmed my ribcage, making a path over my abdomen and up to my breasts. A breath I didn’t know I had been holding escaped from between my lips. His meaty fingers fastened on a nipple, and he squeezed as hard as he could. My knees buckled at the pain lancing through me.

    “Yellow!” I gasped.

    My caution word made him release me, and I explained that my super-sensitive nipples couldn’t take that level of abuse. If he wanted me to last for the entire two hours, he needed to respect my body and pain tolerances.

    I don’t know how long I stayed on the frame. Time became blurred when it was reduced to the moments between body shaking blows and reverent caresses. The stranger was kind and cruel in turns, offering his embrace after a particularly powerful slap to my inner thigh, and then stepping away and retreating into silence until he decided to hit me again. It was the worst kind of cat and mouse, because I couldn’t protect myself and had no way to retreat. Silently I yelled, “leave me alone you mean man! I want my Daddy!” On the outside, though, I whimpered and squealed. Finally my body had had enough, and my fingers got tingly from being above my head for so long. He took me down immediately.

    Again he led me by the hand, this time to a massage table. He positioned me so that I was bent over at the waist, my abraded nipples protesting as they pressed against the cotton sheet. The blindfold came off, and I asked if I could have a tissue to blow my nose. My eyes were wet and my nose was running, but I didn’t feel upset anymore. Some conscious thought entered my awareness, and I recognized the signs of subspace. I still felt everything, but I didn’t care as much. I experienced a feeling of floating, of being wrapped in a huge bubble of not giving a fuck.

    I had warned the stranger at the beginning that canings made me cry, but that the tears weren’t a sign to stop. I told him that I would use red or yellow to signal if I were truly in distress. My friend reminded him again of my safewords, and then he gave me my instructions. I had to count each stroke, thank him, and then ask for another. With tears trickling down my cheeks, we began.

    He didn’t cane me like my Daddy. Memories tugged at me, threatening to send me down the rabbit hole of missing my sir. I didn’t want to fall apart, and I didn’t want to ruin our fun with the spectre of a physically absent dominant. So I remembered instead that this had always been a fantasy of ours. Even though sir wasn’t there watching, we still shared this adventure. I was pretty damn lucky to be able to live out this fantasy, even if it wasn’t exactly how I had envisioned it. But the stranger wasn’t finished. A flogging followed the caning, and then there was figging and more breast torture with clothespins and ice cubes.

    By the end of our time together, I was blissed out on endorphins and uncaring about what he wanted to do next with me. It was the kind of high that really good bruises give you. I felt like a ragdoll, a real life sex toy that had been used hard and who loved it.

    Hours later I sat in front of my computer and skyped with Daddy. I had to cry a little bit, because I missed him. I wished he had been there, that it had been his cane against my thighs and his arms around me. But by the end of our talk, I was coming back to myself. Daddy said he was proud of me and that he loved me. I was proud of myself, too. I had endured a stranger’s sadism and had pleased him. Not every girl will take that kind of attention and enjoy it too.


  3. Fifty Shades of NO: The Movie

    July 9, 2015 by Heather Cole

    Image courtesy of Salvatore Vuono at FreeDigitalPhotos.net

    I watched Fifty Shades of Grey the other night. I haven’t read the books, mostly because of the lackluster (poorly written) excerpts I read online. Sir watched it last week, though, and his feedback surprised me. He said there was a D/s contract and negotiation, and even though I was openly incredulous, I knew I had to watch it for the sole purpose of being able to discuss it with him. Plus, sir said that Mr. Grey’s playroom was kickass, and I’m a sucker for a well-appointed dungeon. I settled into bed after my child fell asleep, and watched the movie with my phone in my hand, so I could text Nikki about all the failings of the movie and its portrayal of D/s.

    I discovered that Fifty Shades of Grey, the movie, is about a woman who doesn’t want to be a submissive. She wants a billionaire boyfriend that treats her to amazing, spectacular adventures like flights in a glider, a helicopter, and buys her fab things. She wants love and romance, to be courted and swept off her feet. And there’s nothing wrong with that. The crux of the problem is that the billionaire boyfriend is a dominant and a sadist, and what he wants is a submissive with a signed contract that commits to a D/s relationship, which doesn’t guarantee emotional intimacy. At least, not the kind of emotional intimacy that a more traditional dating relationship would entail. Christian Grey also has a tendency to creep, stalk, and lurk. Add to these conflicting, fundamental differences the fact that BOTH characters are positively shitty communicators, and you have the basic gist of this movie.

    But… but… Heather, you say, aren’t you always going on and on about the physical and emotional intimacy you enjoy through BDSM? How can Mr. Grey be anything but a cad and a blackguard for wanting Anastasia bound and naked yet not wanting to cuddle with her overnight?

    My perspective of this movie is from the viewpoint of a woman who signed a D/s contract without the promise of romance. I committed myself to a dominant without the knowledge that we would fall deeply in love and that our partnership would expand into “regular” life. What I desired most of all was a man that would hurt me in all the ways that I wanted, who would use me, control me, and degrade me in the most delicious ways I could imagine. I wanted bondage, and pain; an outlet for those nameless things that clamored inside me–I wanted to serve. And I knew that sir was a decent man, one who would keep me safe while I explored all the dark, twisting turns of my desires. I knew he would be a caretaker for me in those times of domination and submission, but in the beginning, I didn’t have aspirations that our D/s would follow a path to romance and courtship. I had no expectation that we would live together, that my submission would turn 24/7, or that we would continue together despite an overseas relocation and months of separation.

    So no, I don’t think Mr. Grey is fucked up for being a dominant or a sadist. He lacks the ability to communicate his feelings to the unwilling, yet grudgingly submitting Anastasia. He utters the words “due diligence” to her, yet they fail to do anything except some light bondage and fucking six-ways-to-Sunday in the playroom. That’s all well and good, but she needed to do actual research on D/s (it’s called Google, Anastasia). Contracts in D/s can be a big frickin’ deal, and even though they aren’t legally binding, I would never enter into one without a lot of thought and consideration beforehand. But that’s a rant for a different day.

    Where Mr. Grey did fuck up (besides the stalking, lurking, and non-consensual control) was that he didn’t say anything regarding the trauma of his past (talking to someone when they’re asleep doesn’t count), or how it’s possible to be a loving sadist/dominant. Probably because he’s completely unfamiliar with what a functioning relationship may feel like.

    With such fundamental differences between them, you know the movie isn’t going to end well. It really doesn’t. In fact, it’s the last twenty minutes of the movie that made me hate it. Because nothing infuriates me more than a play partner begging for a certain thing, hating it but not using their safewords, and then when it’s all over, shaming the other person for doing the exact thing that they requested earlier. This sort of interaction is precisely why BDSM gets a bad rep when our lifestyle is actually based upon a foundation of consent and trust. And the simple act of writing about it has pissed me off all over again.

    sigh…

    I need a glass of wine and funny cat videos to forget this clusterfuck of a movie.

     

    For an eloquent fact-checking article regarding the “kink” (yeah, I placed that in quotes) in FSoG, Nikki found a great article written by actual kinky folks who engage in actual Dominance/submission. Read it HERE.

    ~And since Heather watched the movie, sharing with me a bazillion texts regarding its ridiculousness as it unfolded, I’ve agreed to finally read the clusterfuck of a book. Oy.~ Nikki


  4. Conversations From the Workplace

    December 20, 2014 by Heather Cole

    I worked with a woman who I would classify as a dominant personality. I had lots of evidence to support my determination as I observed her in action, her confidence skillfully overriding those more hesitant or reluctant. She classified herself as a dominant depending on the  situation, and when we worked together, that’s the side she chose to present most often. She was charming in her absolute certainty of action around the workplace, so you can imagine my delight when she shared her stories about being a submissive. The dichotomy between who she was professionally and who she played with in her personal life appeared to be polar opposites. The more time I spent in the kink community, however, the more I came to understand that these two sides often belonged to the same coin.

    I listened to her submissive tales with wide eyes, my jaw dropping when I saw the photos of the predicaments he placed her in, bound and immobile with her breath restricted. Her Dominant had a wide sadistic streak that made my toes curl with trepidation. My friend, though, embraced this in a way that made sparks fly and my panties drop. I might not have felt compelled to do some of the things they chose to experience, but I sure as fuck loved hearing about them. I was dying to hear about their latest visit together, of course, and this is what she told me.

    They decided to order pizza after work one night. She was at his place, and while they were waiting for the pie to be delivered, they began messing around in the bedroom. One thing led to another and she ended up naked and on all fours. He bound her in place and lowered a blindfold over her eyes.

    The doorbell rang.

    She said she waited, listening for his footsteps to enter the room again. It was quiet. Suddenly a cock pushed at her lips. She pulled back as much as she was able, still unable to see, and tried to make sense of what was happening. She tasted latex and knew there had to be a condom, but she didn’t see why he needed it.

    “I don’t understand,” she said.

    “Be quiet. Do what you’re told,” he replied.

    She did, and she did it willingly. She started fellating the cock, and after a few moments, a second man entered her from behind. She was spit-roasted, caught between her Dominant and a stranger, none of whom she could see. She said it was one of the most erotic things that had ever happened to her. Or maybe that was what was going through my head as I listened.

    The man using her mouth had an orgasm, and after he pulled out, she heard him say, “I have to finish delivering the pizzas.”

    As soon as she told me this, I burst into laughter. It turned out that the pizza delivery man was a college buddy of her Dominant. It was like a Penthouse Forum letter come to life. I have to confess that I felt a flash of envy. Delivery suddenly took on a whole new meaning.

    I wonder if he took that blowjob in lieu of a tip.

     


  5. SINS: Come for the World

    September 13, 2014 by Heather Cole

    Sins FINAL Cover JPG

     

    The idea for this book came from a conversation with my sir. He said, “what if you wrote about a secret Catholic sect that worshipped through sex?” It was a concept I could relate to, not only because I was Catholic, but because I worshipped that man’s cock on a regular basis. I was intrigued after our brief conversation, and I began writing. Much of it went slowly as I searched for the right voice. Even though sir insisted that all it needed was “fucking and sucking” I made certain that it had plot and a heroine that I believed in. Who also loved fucking and sucking. The true fun of writing this was creating a character who was dominant, and boy howdy, does she dish out some punishment. Punishment with love, of course. *evil grin*

    SINS is available now at Amazon and will soon be all over the place.

    If you’re not hooked already, here’s an excerpt:

    Serah gently caressed the angle of his cheek. “I understand that this isn’t what you expected,
    but I can aid you in completing your journey. I’ll hear your confession and will help you find
    what you seek. Do you consent to this?”
    “Yes, Mother Priestess.” Rafael offered her a small smile as relief washed over his face.
    “Good. I’ll need a moment to prepare. Take this time to look inward. I’m reminded of a
    psalm: ‘Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy loving kindness: according unto the
    multitude of thy tender mercies blot out my transgressions.’ And trust me, Rafael. I will render
    my tender mercies upon your fine flesh with respect and enthusiasm.” A slow grin curved her
    lips when she felt him shiver beneath her hands.
    “Yes, Mother Priestess.”

     

    So get on out of here and buy it. You won’t be disappointed.

    OH! Fair warning: if you believe religion shouldn’t go anywhere near the sexual realm, then this isn’t the book for you.

    MWAH!

    ~Heather


  6. Let Go, Baby

    April 23, 2014 by Heather Cole

    I was snuggled under his arm as we watched Game of Thrones in bed. Despite losing myself in the story and the feeling of his warm body next to mine, I could feel a tight coil of tension at my center. The stress of worrying about the future and mourning our impending separation was my constant companion. The mornings were easiest when I had work and caring for my child to distract me. By the time sir returned home for dinner, though, I could feel tears threatening. I knew it was about needing a physical release for the emotional tensions of my day, but I was reluctant to give in to it. I didn’t want to be Debbie Downer, and I really didn’t want sir to begin associating his return home with a deluge of my tears every time he walked through the door. So I mentally placed those coils of tension in a small box somewhere around my stomach, and tried to ignore it.

    After the program ended, I grabbed my phone from the nightstand to set the alarm. Sir disentangled himself from the bed sheets and got to his feet to go to the bathroom, I presumed. To my surprise he strode to the closet instead and began digging through the toy bag. I watched in disbelief as he pulled out black clover clamps and walked over to my side of the bed.

    “Stand up and take off your pajamas,” he said.

    My mouth dropped open in disbelief, and I stopped myself a second before asking why out loud. Asking for an explanation of sir’s motivations would only get me in hot water.

    I did as he commanded, and he took a seat on the edge of the bed. He watched me intently, one hand on his lap and the other holding the clamps that I loathed. Finally I stood in front of him wearing only knee socks, my arms crossed tightly over my chest.

    “Step out,” he said and motioned for me to spread my legs.

    My heartbeat kicked against my chest, and I took a tentative step. His expression was pleasant, but I heard the underlying hint of steel in his voice. His hand went to my crotch, but I backed away. I stared at the clover clamps glinting at me in the dim light.

    “I can’t handle clover clamps on my pussy,” I said.

    Panic blossomed through me, and I found myself shaking my head. My eyes were wide, and that box inside me where I had kept the day’s fears was threatening to spill open. There was no way on God’s green earth that I could tolerate the merciless clamp of metal on my sensitive nether regions. The thought was overwhelming. I couldn’t do it. Not even for the man I loved.

    Sir laughed. “You say that like you think there’s a Door #2 or something. There’s no other option. Come here.”

    “I can’t do it,” I repeated and shied away from his questing fingers.

    “You’re going to do this,” he said, “or I’m going to beat you with a wire hanger.”

    If he had threatened me with any of our usual toys, a cane or whip or flogger, I would have dived for the alternative. But a hanger was so outside our usual play parameters that I recognized it as a true deterrent. Plus, I had seen Mommy Dearest. Did I think he would actually do it? Probably not, but I understood the message beneath the uncommon implement. Sir was dead serious.

    My voice caught in my throat. In that moment I knew there was nothing to be done but submit. I could feel the emotion welling in my throat, along with defeat, and there was no denying that the avalanche of feeling contained within me would break free. Tears slid down my cheeks as I slowly stepped forward and gave him access to my labia. I couldn’t bear to watch him apply the clamps, so I shut my eyes and looked away. My tears fell faster, and I started to shake. Big hiccupping sobs shook my chest as I felt sir’s hands move from my pussy to my breasts. Still I refused to look.

    His fingers gently teased my erect nipples as he clamped them, and the familiar weighted chain felt cold against my skin. Relief that he wasn’t going to clamp my pussy washed through me, but it couldn’t stop the torrent of emotions that had been unleashed. I continued to sob as sir murmured endearments.

    “Just let go, baby,” he crooned. His lips grazed the underside of my breast, and then he kissed a clamped nipple. He gently caressed my skin with his hands as his lips planted sweet kisses over my chest.

    As he wrapped his arms around my waist to pull me even closer, I rested my cheek on the top of his head. Finally my tears were spent, and I took a ragged breath. I felt exhausted and empty, exhumed of all tension and sadness.

    “Thank you,” I whispered.

    Sir sat back on the bed and carefully removed the clamps. “I think you really needed that.”

    “I did.”

    “You know, I was never going to put these clamps on your pussy. That would have been mean.”

    I shook my head and felt a small smile bow my lips. “You really are a champion mind fucker.”

    We crawled into bed and returned to the positions that had originally started our evening. I snuggled into his side, my head on his chest, and I took my first deep breath of the night. Deep feelings of love and gratitude swept through me, and I pulled them tight around me like a blanket. I wanted the moment to last forever.

     

    IMG_2233 Smashwords

     

    Want more stories of a good girl being naughty? TALES OF A FILTHY GOOD GIRL by Heather Cole is now available on Nook, Kindle, and Smashwords.

     


  7. Happy Anniversary, sir

    March 4, 2014 by Heather Cole

    A year ago this week we had our second date. The first involved my introduction to Indian cooking, and I made your favorite dish, sag paneer, and chocolate cake. For dessert you tied me to a massage table and gave me more orgasms than I could count. Our second date took place at your office where there was more rope, a caning, anal sex, and 43 orgasms (you made me count that time) among your bookshelves and the scent of paper and incense. We were tentative and sometimes fumbling, but I was completely mesmerized by you. You had captured me, brain and body. I was yours, but I didn’t know it yet.

    All of those sensations and images run through my head when I think back to where we started. I thought I wanted a weekend-warrior-type kink style of domination. I thought that what I needed was to be tied up on occasion and beaten. My past experiences with Dominance and submission fell along those general lines, so I assumed that was what I was looking for when we began dating. I had my defenses firmly in place in case you were just another guy who thought they wanted a sex slave. I was prepared to cut my losses and walk once you proved that your intentions weren’t long term or serious. I had every expectation that this would prove to be yet another casual encounter, and I felt fairly certain that you didn’t know what deep waters you were messing with. You proved me wrong, though. Over and over again you proved that you were exactly the man and dominant that I needed.

    It’s funny. I’ve prided myself on being independent. Even without the people that I loved most in my life, I knew I would continue to function; I would continue to succeed in my life no matter what. You showed me, though, that it was OK to need someone. You once explained to me that you would tighten the tether between us until we were so close that we became a part of the other. I laughed when you said it, shrugging it away as if you didn’t know what you were talking about. I figured it was the kind of sentiment uttered in romantic BDSM novels and not anything that could be sustained in real life. And yet…

    I need you. Need in a way that is basic and fundamental to how I operate through life. You have become my center, my true north. What I’ve discovered is that I may balk at something you ask of me, but I will submit in the end. Despite my willful moments and sassy mouth, my submission to you feels like eating or breathing. Perhaps the face of it will evolve and change over the years, but I’m sure of it like I am certain of my heartbeat. As long as I have a heart, it will be yours.

    You understand facets of me that I couldn’t fathom before we met, and you make my most idiosyncratic parts feel “normal.” Like I said, it took the discovery of you to find all those lost pieces of myself. ‘You complete me’ is a  trite phrase, but it’s true. You took someone who was floundering and groping around in the dark and gave her a purpose. You gave me a different kind of goal:  to be the best person I was capable of being. You also gave me yourself, in all your flawed and battle-weary wonderfulness. You’ve shown me what it means to submit every day, in little ways and in big ones. Sometimes that means standing still and naked in the kitchen as you stroke the tips of ice cubes over the most sensitive parts of my body or being turned over your knee to take the birthday spankings at a party of fellow kinksters. And sometimes it means giving you my mind, my most cherished possession, and trusting that you will do wonderful things with it. Every day you show me what it means to be yours, and every day I strive to be your best girl.

    I’ve told you before that I wished to give you everything, every fiber of my being, every nook and cranny of my soul. That’s not to say that I won’t ever question you or balk at your guiding hand, but in the end, I will always submit. I will go to my knees when you ask it and try to bend my own desires to fit your will. I understand that you want me to fly, to stretch my experience to the far reaches of my imagination. And as much as I want to be launched into my wildest dreams, at the end of the day, I want to return to your feet and be locked inside the cage of your choosing. In the end, I want to return home to you. To the life that we have made together and the bonds that we both have chosen as Master and slave. In the end, I will choose you and our dynamic. Over and over again I will choose you. I want your ring, your hand, and our love.

     


  8. Dear Heather: Is This Relationship Possible?

    January 23, 2014 by Heather Cole

    Dear Heather: I’m a hetero poly male who is interested in dating a hetero poly female. She’s also in a D/s relationship with another guy. What the heck is up with D/s, and is it possible to make something work when I don’t want anything to do with that kind of thing? She’s awesome, but I don’t know if I should pursue her given her other involvements. What do you think?

    — A no D/s Dude

     

    Dear Dude:

    I think you’ve asked one of the many complex questions of the universe, and my short answer is this: It depends. There are a lot of factors to consider in this equation, and I sympathize with your dilemma because I’ve been there myself. On the opposite end of it, though.

    The first question is can you honor her Dominant/submissive dynamic even if you don’t understand it? D/s and M/s are polarizing concepts even within the kink community. People have hundreds of legit reasons for why it does or doesn’t work for them, and there are always heavily debated pros/cons online wherever kinksters hang out. In fact, I’ve talked about my reasons for choosing M/s a lot on this blog, and we have a list of resources if you want to educate yourself.

    In it’s simplest definition, Dominance/submission (the DS in the middle of BDSM) is “a set of behaviors, customs and rituals involving the giving by one individual to another individual of control over them in a BDSM erotic episode or lifestyle. Physical contact is not a necessity, and it can even be conducted anonymously over the telephone, email or other messaging systems. In other cases, it can be intensely physical, sometimes traversing into sadomasochism. In D/s, both parties take pleasure or erotic enjoyment from either dominating or being dominated.”

    D/s can take many forms and each construct of the relationship is different depending on the Dominant and submissive involved. The levels of commitment and intensity run a broad spectrum from occasional play to a 24/7 lifestyle. As the definition explained, some people experience D/s solely through electronic means. It can be anonymous and casual. The other end of the spectrum is intense both physically and mentally and can involve long term commitments.

    You might not feel the need to understand what D/s means for your potential love interest, but you should get a sense of her commitment. You need to talk about boundaries and time. Is she in a 24/7 type of dynamic where she’s D/s all the time? Or is it a weekend here and there or maybe a couple of hours every week? The one question all my ex-lovers had was “how does your D/s affect me?” You need to ask this question too because the truth is that although she may not think it will, if she’s in a 24/7 D/s relationship, it’s GOING TO affect you. If you’ve had any experience with poly (and it sounds like you have) then you understand that we don’t have relationships in a vacuum. There may be overlap between your more traditional relationship and her D/s in some areas, and you’re definitely going to feel something about her D/s. Like I said, it’s a kink that generates opinions in everyone. If her D/s is something casual that she does on occasion to get her rocks off, then the effects on her other relationships will be less in my opinion.

    You liking D/s or disliking it isn’t the heart of the issue, though. More importantly, can you have your opinions and still respect hers? Her kinks may not be yours, and you need to honor her choices for anything (even friendship) to work. Because this is the part that gets under my skin. I understand that you may not ever understand or even like the fact that I call myself a BDSM sex slave, but you damn well better respect my right to choose this. Live and let live, brother. Nothing will cause more stress and conflict for the two of you if you belittle her dynamic. Asking questions and talking about it is really good, but don’t be disdainful or ridicule it. And most importantly, don’t think less of her or respect her less because she chooses to submit.

    There may come a time where she tells you about something she did with her consent and within the bounds of her D/s arrangement that inspires you to say WTF?! Trust me, this happens. Even if you find the activity baffling and maybe repugnant, can you give her the space and respect to have that experience without your judgment and condemnation? Because your negative reaction will make her much less likely to open up to you again about D/s, and less communication in any relationship is the opposite direction of where you want to go.

    What I’m trying to say here is that no one in this scenario is right or wrong. You’re both trying to figure out if you’re a good fit which is key in any type of relationship. But in my opinion, pursuing someone in a lifestyle that you don’t approve of or understand might not be the most suitable match.

    Rock on, dude.

    Heather