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Posts Tagged ‘understanding dominance and submission’

  1. Ask Heather: How Do I Pee in front of Sir?

    June 27, 2014 by Heather Cole

    Dear Heather,

    Sir and i were watching a film together with me sitting by His feet. In the middle of the film i felt the need to go to the bathroom. i got up and said to Sir that i needed to go to pee. Suddenly He asked me, “Do you really want to go to the toilet?” I replied yes. He then asked again, “Would you pee into a glass if I asked you to?”

    i should have known better but i immediately said “Are you kidding me? Of course not!” HUGE MISTAKE to be defiant. He said to me either i peed in a glass in front of Him or hold it. I did hold it till the end of the film and asked Him again. i still didn’t want to pee in from of Sir in a glass. So He ordered me to bend over my bench. He told be He was going to strike me with my paddle 40 times. He would continue till I would go pee in that glass.

    After a dozen of strikes, i said i would try. i tried but nothing came out. Some kind of muscle down there just wouldn’t relax enough for me to pee. Embarrassment was out of my head already. i just wanted to do what Sir wanted me to do. i failed and accepted the rest of the punishment.

    But Sir promised me that He will have me pee in that glass one day.

    Do you have any tips? No matter how much i tried to relax, the pee won’t come out.

    Zoe

    P.S. i am very happy with the blog you and Nikki have. I especially love your letter to your Sir at the anniversary. Very touching and inspirational.

     

    Dear Zoe:

    Thank you so much for writing! I had to squeal with joy that you gave me the opportunity to share this skill I’ve developed. Let’s face it. It’s not every day that you get to offer pointers on how to pee in a cup with an audience. (Although I suppose this would be helpful for drug testing.) Your email about the situation with your Master sent me tripping down memory lane to the first time I tried to pee in front of my sir. Like you, I couldn’t relax enough to do it, and I felt embarrassed that I had failed in my service even though my first reaction was, “YOU WANT ME TO WHAT?.” I’d say that my smartass mouth has improved since then, as well as, my ability to pee in front of an audience, but that’d be a lie.

    A little background for those VA readers who are wondering why the heck this is even a thing… in a dynamic of Dominance and submission, whether it’s part of BDSM or Domestic Discipline or whatever, the Dominant is the doer and the submissive receives the stimulus. Sometimes the action of the Dominant, in this example the command to pee, isn’t the actual fetish. It’s the aspect of control, of making your submissive do something he/she doesn’t really want to. And sadism can certainly play a part if the Dominant enjoys the sub’s discomfort, embarrassment, or humiliation. The submissive on the other hand, providing that the action isn’t a hard limit, often enjoys having boundaries pushed and likes complying with the command. Of course, how this specifically plays out in the dynamic depends on the people involved, but that’s the general outline of the game. And holy moly, can it be a fun fucking game.

    My dear Zoe, there are two specific things that helped my bladder get over its stage fright. The first thing was kegels. (I simply read the word, and I’m compelled to do them.) Here’s a simple how-to and why from the Mayo Clinic. If you don’t do them already, they will be very helpful in teaching you how to control the muscles that control urination. Not to mention the added bonus of tightening up your vag. Stopping your pee midstream while you’re by yourself in the bathroom can illustrate what those muscles feel like when you tighten and release them. This is the first step to many things sexually. Know your body and how it works! When your brain gives the command to stop peeing, you then have to give yourself the command to release. As you become conscious of this instinctive function, you’ll be able to control it more which will allow you to control it better when the time arises for you to do it on command. Hurray!

    I’m guessing that your punishment didn’t help matters either, because your body was tensed for the spanking. Once your muscles are in the place of receiving stimulus, it would be challenging to relax them enough to relieve yourself while feeling embarrassed about doing so (or failing to) in front of your Dominant. The trick is to become comfortable enough to pee and perform way before the situation gets to punishment. Although your spanking sounds pretty hot. Just sayin’.

    The other thing that really helped me was practice. I was partially forced to practice because sir took away my right to privacy. In our house, there are no closed doors except when sir wants his privacy. Otherwise, sir can wander in and watch me do whatever I’m doing in the bathroom. In the beginning, I was appalled. And grossed out. I mean, bathroom functions are private. I don’t like doing them in front of trained medical professionals let alone people I love and have sexy times with.

    I don’t think you have to start peeing with the bathroom door open, but you need to shape up your pee muscles by practicing with kegels. Then you need to practice more by peeing into a cup in the bathroom or wherever you want to do it. Don’t be afraid to make a mess. My first couple times I freaking sprayed pee everywhere. Thank goodness I was in the kitchen (and on the linoleum). I started out with a bowl then worked my way into smaller and smaller cups. When I finally could pee in a juice glass without spilling a drop, I felt like a badass ninja motherfucker. I’m pretty sure I yelled, “Fuck yeah!” and did a victory lap through the dining room.

    When I was finished writing this response, I read it aloud to sir for his feedback. He replied that he didn’t want to condone unsubstantiated claims on the internet (can you tell he’s a lawyer?) so he sent me downstairs to fetch a juice glass. Next thing I know, I’m standing in the bathtub and preparing to pee into the juice glass. I confess that I got a case of the giggles as I watched sir settle himself on the bath mat like he was preparing to watch something riveting on the television. No doubt he wanted to scrutinize the process and add to my nervousness. He suggested that I hum to myself to get things going, but once I focused on the task at hand, I filled that juice cup with ease. I was reminded of two other factors that may help in your training. 1.) It’s easier if you feel the need to go. Not an emergency situation, but wait to practice until you feel a significant urge to empty your bladder. 2.) The more delicate I try to be or the more careful (i.e. when I’m trying making it a trickle), the more I spray or dribble all over myself. It’s when I let go with confidence that I have one single, strong stream. Also, don’t hold the cup too high against your crotch. You’ll only make things messier.

    Once you become familiar with the series of muscles working when you pee, and you get used to peeing in things other than the toilet, I have the utmost confidence that you’ll be able to pee for your Master when the situation calls for it. And when you do, please tell me about your victory lap.

    *boob smoosh*

    Heather


  2. Sex, Shrieking Mind Monkeys, and Feelings

    February 21, 2014 by Heather Cole

    One of the main tenet of my slave contract was sexual availability and sexual service. First and foremost I was a sex slave, and when sir and I began this journey together I was vocal and explicit about my sexual needs. Objectification was a big turn-on for me, and I craved to be used. I enjoyed being a living, breathing sex doll of sorts. In fact, I insisted on it. It wasn’t that I didn’t want an emotional connection during sex, but it didn’t always have to be about the feefees. Sometimes what I wanted was to be bent over the kitchen counter and commanded to present myself for penetration. Luckily for me, sir was looking for that exact thing. We both had high sex drives, so when we crafted our contract, sex was number one on the proverbial “to do” list. This meant that it didn’t matter if I was in the mood or not. If sir wanted to fuck, or be sexually satisfied in any way, shape or form (in a way that wasn’t on my limits list) we did it. Even though he pushed my boundaries in his charismatic and loving way, I was game. It got intense at times, but we more or less saw eye-to-eye when it came to sex. And then December happened…

    I think it’s part of the human experience to have contradictory feelings about the holidays, but December was particularly intense for sir and me. Sir had the month off, and since I worked from home, we spent most days together. Sir called it The Month of Obsessive Compulsive Fucking, because we did it all the time. At least, that’s how that month felt to me in hindsight. When I think back on it, everything seemed blurry. It passed in a haze of come, sweat, rich foods, endless family visits, and booze. It felt like we squeezed a year’s worth of debauchery into 31 days. I wasn’t sleeping more than a couple of hours in a row, because we’d fuck in the middle of the night. There was a blowjob in the morning, at night, and sometimes in the middle of the day. He’d come downstairs, pull out a chair beside me at the table and tell me to get on my knees. We fucked all over the house, in all the rooms, using all my orifices. I took to keeping a tube of Aquaphor on my nightstand, because the delicate skin of my labia, lips, and anus were rubbed raw. It was an intense rush. I had never felt closer to sir emotionally, and it seemed like our physical joining was reinforcing that. On one level I felt amazing, but by the time January rolled around, I felt like I was falling apart emotionally.

    The first sign of trouble was that I began to resist being hypnotized. We have had a lot of fun with consensual mind games, but in December, more often than not, sir would put me under and I wouldn’t remember what transpired. One moment he was mid-thrust, and then my consciousness was gone. I would eventually wake up to our dark bedroom with sir fast asleep beside me. I’d be covered in bodily fluids, smelling of sex with come trickling out between my legs. Any other time, I would have been so turned on by that level of objectification that I’d wake sir up to fuck me again. I loved to be used in this way. I felt like a sex detective which made the disconnect in my brain fun. I’d take stock of my body and sensations and try to guess what had happened. Often sir would give me a brief recap of what had occurred between us, but it got to the point where I feared that I was hypnotized more than I was conscious. I began to have an emotional reaction to going under, and I couldn’t figure out why my sex doll role play wasn’t making me the horny, wanton slut the way it usually did. Sex wasn’t supposed to be a point of stress for me, but that’s precisely what happened.

    It took me a long time to work up the courage to say that I needed break. In fact, I still feel guilty that I said anything at all. I’m a prideful whore, and I take great satisfaction in pleasing my dominant. Admitting that I was beginning to unravel felt like weakness, but I had to do something. There was an internal war happening, and sir didn’t have any idea that I was ripping myself to shreds. I resisted hypnosis because on some level I felt like he was rejecting the conscious Heather (who had an opinion about everything) in favor of a doll that he could control completely. An insidious voice whispered that if I truly was as devoted as I claim to be, I could have endured. I could have stuck it out while silently hoping I’d be granted a reprieve. I learned, though, that there was a limit to how much pounding my body could take in the span of 24 hours. And I now know that even though I wished to submit and serve, I also wanted to be present. Not all the time, but for most of it.

    These feelings of criticism and self-censure were an echo of an old family message that I’ve struggled with almost my entire life. It takes time for me to become conscious of them, and part of my healing has been teasing apart the strands of what happened in December and articulating exactly what triggered those shrieking monkeys in my head. Sir and I both had to expose our feelings about the situation, and it turned out that the emotional landscape behind December was vastly different from what showed on the surface. Both of us grappled with outside stress and uncertainty, but we weren’t talking about it with one another. We clung to each other and tried to find solace and distraction in our favorite activity: sex. My mini-breakdown finally ripped off the cover to expose what was going on at the root of our compulsive fucking. We were trying to bury ourselves in sex and physical connection in an attempt to cushion ourselves from the pain of what we were feeling regarding outside circumstances.

    I’m still sorting out the repercussions of December. Hindsight is a helpful lens, and I’ve been able to open up more to sir about what I was feeling. Our conversations since Debaucheries December have revealed that there are innate expectations associated with our role of Master and Slave. It’s natural for sir to feel pressured to be in control of himself and everything else as a loving, caring dominant, and I have my own expectations of how a slave should behave. But without open communication regarding the feelings associated with D/s, we’re stuck playing shallow roles that have little to do with who we are as people. As my dear Mama pointed out, there is strength in vulnerability, and I think that’s the biggest lesson for me. It takes strength to open myself to the control of another, and it takes strength to advocate for myself as well. As uncomfortable as it feels in the moment, I’m learning that this kind of emotional exposure only strengthens the bond between us in the long run. I don’t want a robotic, super-human dominant who knows all without me uttering a word. I want a flawed, loving man to take the lead and who understands that I’m bringing along baggage as well. The gift in this has been forming a healthy dialogue and pushing past our perceived hurts to find the other willing partner again. It’s my sincere wish that we will always find each other again.

     


  3. Strength in Submission

    May 30, 2012 by Heather Cole

    “He kissed her now on the mouth for the first time. He kissed her like he owned her, as he owned her. He kissed her like her mouth was his mouth, her lips were his lips, her tongue was his tongue. They were one flesh. They needed no wedding ring, no ceremony to know that was true. She had the collar around her neck.”  – THE SIREN

    I finished THE SIREN at the tail end of a visit from M. The fascinatingly complex relationship between the main character, Nora, and her Dominant, Soren, spoke to me, tugging at my insides like familiar echoes. I had to stop and re-read, soaking in Tiffany Reisz’s  words like a balm to my tattered heart. For the first time I was reading a novel that captured an accurate view of what it feels like to be a collared and owned submissive. I wanted to weep for a story so achingly beautiful, and shout from the rooftops that I found an author who truly understands.

    It is no easy thing to submit. There is the instinctive struggle against another human being striving to Dominate me that simultaneously coexists with the internal struggle of two opposing forces; my need to submit grates against my need to stand alone. I am a woman with a business, a child and a full life that requires my leadership and attention outside of my kinky preferences. It’s my fierce independence that fights against my need to give control to another. But I understand how it may appear weak to others. I know this perspective first hand because, during the times in my life when I doubted my submissive instincts, I used that same word…weak.

    When I choose to kneel at the feet of a man with a thick leather collar around my neck, striving to please Him with my manner and actions, I have, for a moment in time, completely surrendered my body and will to Him. I need to submit. It’s part of my emotional make-up like my need for physical affection or my need for love. It is with love and complete trust that I give Him my body to wound with a flogger, a whip, or a set of lacquered canes that I both fear and adore. I have two words, my safeword and my slow down word. One will halt our play in an instant, and the other pauses our game to give me a chance to re-center myself and allows M the opportunity to adjust in order to continue the scene.

    “After so many years together she’d learned how to prepare herself for a flogging, for the whip and the strap. She knew tricks, ways to breathe, ways to hold herself, to alleviate the pain even as she received it. But when it came to the cane, nothing helped. And when the first strike landed on her lower thighs, she could do nothing but cry out.”   – THE SIREN

    At first glance one would assume that M holds all the control. After all, he’s the one with a whip in his hand. But who has the final say in how we play? I do. More importantly, if I do not choose to kneel in the first place, if I refuse to submit, there will be no play at all. In a Master/slave relationship, it is the submissive who ultimately holds the trump card…the gift of submission. I can honestly say that M has never steamrolled me into doing something I didn’t want to do. Yes, he pushes me, but I have my magic words. Like Nora says in THE SIREN, “if at any point you want to stop everything and just go home, you can say [safeword] and we’re done. We’ve all safed out. It’s completely okay.”

    My empathy with Nora is contrasted by a different character with whom I’m intimately acquainted. It’s a different book written by a different friend. He called me his Muse and felt inspired to write a love story of sorts that was supposed to be a version of us in a different life. The main character shared my name and some other details from my real life. She was also kinky. At the end of the story, she killed the man she loved, her true love, at the behest of her Master. She literally ripped out her lover’s heart because her Master commanded it.

    I felt insulted. A person whom I had considered a close friend saw my submission as a mindless, weak-willed, compulsion. He viewed me as a victim, as something that was preyed upon by a stronger personality. What was even more alarming was his obvious need to “save” me from the evil clutches of my Master. I bit my tongue and didn’t tell him that if he ever tried to take my collar in real life (in BDSM language when a slave leaves a Master’s service then he/she no longer wears their collar) I’d kick his ass my own damn self.

    I chose M as surely as he chose me, and our M/s relationship is carefully constructed and more negotiated than any traditional relationship I’ve ever experienced. We have a contract and a safeword and a hundred other things that ensure that our relationship is safe, sane and consensual. Trust me when I say this, a weak person makes a shit slave. No way could a lesser person wear my collar and succeed as I have.

    Nora, the heroine of THE SIREN, is a woman after my own heart. Her kinkyness is a facet of who she is but not the summation of her entirety. She’s a force of nature who is intelligent, courageous and kind. She’s complex and takes responsibility for her choices, good and bad. Regardless of what you may think of her character, I doubt you’ll see her as weak. She is charming and human, and captivating in her flawed beauty. As I told Tiffany after first reading Nora’s adventures, “I don’t know whether I want to hug her and bake her cookies, or have sex with her.” Yeah, she might be my hero.