Cereal and chocolate

Can you read something real quick for me?

Her request isn’t abnormal. She has shown me articles in the past so I clicked the link with little thought.

And then I read it.

It’s all about me! And us! And the last line it has my heart in my throat.

Here I stand outside her door with cereal and chocolates, hoping for the correct response.

Suddenly it’s hard to catch my breath. Is this one of her “mind fucks” she speaks of. I’m going to feel really stupid if I open the door and no one is there.

But I get up and realize my legs are wobbling. I grab my dogs collar and we walk to the door. It’s never felt so far away before.

And when I open it she’s actually standing there. I’m not sure how to hide my emotions so I just embrace her. I’m trembling.

She did in fact have chocolate, lavender chocolate! And the cereal she spoke of is fruit loops. The most important thing she gave me was herself though.

I’ll enjoy the chocolate and cereal, but I’ll always value the woman who stood before me tonight and declared her love.

Nothing about us has been without hesitation. I think we both got caught in our heads and worries far to often. I’m sure we still will. But tonight one of them was put to wrest when we acknowledged our feelings for one another.

On blankets and empty words

My sons room is hot. I’m laying on his bed with him waiting for him to fall asleep. It’s quiet. My thoughts wonder.

I have a blanket in my bedroom. Below the drawer full of sex toys, and below the one full of lingerie.

For months it stayed in my closet, in its package. I had kept meaning to open it but I never got around to it. Until I did. One day when E was at school.

We had all went up for a nap. S following us up to our bedroom. I was so happy. I thought to myself I have just the thing!

I felt safe, and little, and sleepy. And suddenly I wanted a blanket to wrap myself in. I guess I would share it if I had to. So I finally freed it from its wrapping.

I can’t remember the colour. But it is fuzzy! Like sleeping wrapped in a cloud, with a little bit of stretch. I fell asleep with my head on your chest in the middle of the afternoon. My daughter snuggled up against me. I thought, finally I’m safe, at last I’ve found the end.

Weeks later I sat small and broken in your lap. Hating myself for such a pitiful request. “Daddy?” I whimpered. I couldn’t bring myself to meet your eyes because I felt childish to ask something so stupid. “Please, I just need you to hold me and pet me and tell me it’s okay. I’m scared, please tell me your not going to leave me.”

I wonder if when you eased the knots in my stomach if you had to swallow the ones forming in yours from how full of shit you were. Did it taste faulse to you when you stroked my hair as I trembled and broke while you told me again and again that I was safe, that you wouldn’t let me go, that you wouldn’t leave me.

You filled me with empty reassurances. I believed you. Every night I would wake up clinging to you from yet another dream of your abandonment. Every time I would I kneel at your feet and look up at you with my world in my eyes. I believed you. Every time I said our words with you when we fell asleep at night, bouncing them back and forth like a thread that could keep us from breaking. I believed they could.

I was fucking delusional to you. Lost so deeply in my adoration for you and in my submission. I believed you even when you didn’t believe in yourself. But nothing was enough to make you believe in US. Even you spoke the same words every night.

Faith hope love trust. Mine yours this us.

Every single one of those things has left me. These days I fall asleep in silence. Sometimes my cheeks are wet. Sometimes I scream in to my pillow. Sometimes I dig my nails in to my palms. Sometimes I fuck myself silly so I just pass out. Sometimes I stay up so late looking off despondently until I can hardly keep my eyes open. Then I just drift off. Sometimes I don’t sleep, I just lay awake.

When will I stop being haunted by you? When does it get easier? When will songs not make me think of you? When will I forget you enough to let myself love fully again? When will I have no more tears for you?

Trying

“What do you think will happen when I let myself fall to you?”

She skirts around the question and continues to flirt and talk with me as we always do.

But it’s a question I’ve been asking myself a lot these past few days. I wonder if she has been asking the same one?

I’m kind of a danger to her. Not from a place of malice or cruelty, but from a place of uninformed emotional defences to handle polly.

Here is this woman who could be all of the things to me. And yet, she belongs to another. Another woman who is also wonderful and sweet and kind.

I have kissed them both, touched them both, and could see myself falling to them both.

And then what?

Where does it leave me? Wanting something I couldn’t ask her to give. Navigating play partners and other lovers, and all these emotions that just make me want to curl up and hide.

I’ve got myself in to something and I’m to caught up to get out but I’m really scared. Because it wouldn’t take much to be fully lost to her. And then I’m in a country where I’m the only one who doesn’t speak the language and I’m floundering to catch up and fit in. I’m trying to act like I’m not jealous when she talks about other potential play partners, or spend every night sleeping beside someone when I sleep alone. I’m trying not to wish it was me. I’m trying to tell myself over and over again it never will be.

I’m trying to not cry every night over James. Trying to be a good mother. Trying to have faith in something, anything, even if it’s just myself. I’m trying to play at dungeons and fly so I don’t think. I’m trying not to miss Tyson who just fucking dipped on me.

I’m trying to keep strong and keep my head. But it’s hard when she touches me or I cry myself to sleep or I over think or I can’t ignore my feelings.

Time

I wonder at what point it finally stops. When I’ll no longer feel this constant current of empty sadness under everything I do. When I don’t have random bursts of tears from nowhere.

Everything happened so fast, and ended just as abruptly. Leaving me shell shocked and trying to figure out what the hell happened. I honestly still have no idea and I doubt I’ll ever fully understand. But picking up after something so destabilizing is hard.

It’s left me such a different person. It’s changed how I conduct myself when talking to new people. It’s sucked the fun out of looking and replaced it with a weariness that’s all the way in my bones.

Sweet nothings do just that for me. People are faced with the impossible task of trying to prove they are worthy of me because of someone else’s misstep. I’m sure for them it must be tedious as well.

This is probably one of the many reasons I’m exhausted. Having to hold so tightly to not fall or even relax with anyone takes a lot of energy. Trying not to always cry myself to sleep at night takes a lot of energy. Pretending I’m okay so I don’t stay in this state takes a lot of energy.

I keep waiting for the day when I won’t have to try so hard for everything. When the memory will fade and the fear of repeating it over and over in new people won’t be so strong and I’ll be able to love like I used to again.

Until then I just keep telling myself it’s going to take time.

A hard day

I’m not sure where my head is at today. I’m about a hour or so away from the kids getting here and I find myself holding back tears.

Today has been hard. This entire week has been hard it feels like. I can’t really articulate any set reason. It’s probably a combination of things.

I got some impact toys at shadows on Friday. A flogger and a crop. I found something sexy to wear next week. I’ve spent time with friends, I’ve played.

But below it all I just feel sad. I feel like something is missing. The most frustrating part of it is its something I can’t have. And now I’m crying as I type. Fuck me.

I miss waking up to a partner in my bed. I miss the comfort of submission, the security of dominance. I miss falling asleep to hair pets and whispered words. I guess today I’m lonely.

Hopefully the kids coming home soon will help this. But this month, these past months have been so fucking hard. I wish I could love with abandon again. I wish I could feel the joy of getting caught up in someone rather then pull back when it gets to real. I wish I could be myself again.

Don’t

You email me. To indicate you have a car and a job. You call me baby girl. And it’s left me sitting here once again crying like a pathetic fucking idiot. Over a daddy I no longer have. A dominant who had no idea how to dominate. A man who was really still a boy.

My stomach sinks with the realization of how deeply you have hurt me. No matter how many times I get hit or fucked or loved, nothing dulls it. I fucking hate it!

Don’t drift to far baby girl. As if you were not the one to start the process. As if you don’t know how that title deeply wounds my already fucking desecrated heart.

Did you think I would read it and smile?Look back fondly on how you would pet me while my head was on your chest and say “I’ve got you baby girl,” or respond to my whimpered declaration of daddy with a stroke of my cheek and a whispered “baby girl.” of reassurance?

I don’t. Nothing really brings fondness regarding you. It brings a deep sadness. One that if I’m not to careful will pull me under and I’ll get lost to. It brings such anger. The kind that has me tied on my knees screaming and floating and grinding against daggers to just dull this fucking red hot rage. It makes me lonely. So lonely I fuck strangers and past lovers just to feel some sort of value again. It makes me lost and broken and brings out all the feelings of worthlessness I try to swallow down and smile away. It puts me right back where I was when I met you but so much worse because of your reckless carelessness.

You speak of how your to emotional to send the lengthy email you have been crafting. Yet words fall from me like tears constantly and pathetically because I can’t stop them. I can’t stop myself from circling around this endless dance of why wasn’t I good enough? Your dress still hangs in my closet and I can’t bring myself to burn it. The rose bath bomb still is in my bathroom. I can’t bring myself to wash what’s left of you down the drain.

I can’t make myself vulnerable enough to anyone to say, “please cut this dress off of me, hit me until I’m flying, draw us a bath with the bomb, and hold me while I ugly weep and break, oh and please don’t take advantage of my fragile state by trying to be my saviour, ok thanks.”

I don’t feel safe enough to make that jump. I feel foolish I would have to, childish in the ritual I require to let you go. Terrified to actually act it out. Vulnerable to show someone how fucking broken I am.

And the catch 22 is when they get close enough to see some of the cracks, I push them away. Caught in this circle of self imposed abandonment. It’s better if you leave them so they don’t leave you.

I’m not your baby girl. You fucking destroyed that part of me, for you and anyone who follows. You have broken me in so many ways I can’t keep count. Move on, let me go, but don’t you dare call me baby girl.

On pandas and pain

I’ve been sleeping with my stuffed panda the last few nights. I picked it out because it had no emotional ties to it. It’s soft and has a little bow on its neck. It’s paws are filled with beans or something to give them a little weight.

I’m not sure where the little in me came from in these past few weeks. When it was hot a while back I would go sit on my sons bed. He was at his fathers so I felt no shame in stealing the cool of his room and the stand up fan. Stretching out on his bed I took his Mickey Mouse stuffy and held it to my chest. I fell asleep like that for 3 hours.

Right after James left me I held on to my kids like literal stuffys. One on either side of me on the couch like pillars for me because I was so lost, so hollow. I would let them sleep in my bed and breathe in the scent of their hair when I quietly cried so as not to wake them.

These days I’ve gotten some of my space back. I still let E sleep in my bed one night out of the 3 or 4 he is here each week. I still let S come in and snuggle with me in the mornings. I still snuggle my panda when I’m sleeping alone.

It’s been so many highs and lows for me this year. I would like to say I’m getting better but sometimes it feels like one step forward, two back. I still cry over him when I’m not expecting to. Things we did will pop in to my head and I’m left trying to shake them off but I can’t. The way I view my submission to anyone has changed. Something I used to view as safe and free now sends alarm bells screaming and makes me want to run.

But there are the moments when it will leak through all the cracks he has left me with. No matter how fiercely I try to patch them. Sometimes I’ll miss having a keeper, or kneeling, or being called a good girl with love.

And then there are the other times where I think if I could just find myself a submissive maybe I could be at ease. Maybe if I can find someone who understands submission the way I do it’ll all be worth it when I’ve earned it from them. But I find people who are so surface level it makes me angry and sad for the saturation of something so beautiful.

When I go to dungeons I long to be topped. It’s a “safe” way to be submissive but not to submit. I can let someone float me away on pain and let go of some of my own. I wonder how many hours I’ll need to be beaten to release all the pain he has left me with?

Do you understand? Part 2

That was all he needed to hear from her.

“Good girl,” he said and her body filled with warmth. How long had it been sense she heard those words? How long had it been sense they meant anything other then a add on to play?

She had little time to think as he backed her up against the bed.

“Lift your dress, lay down, and spread your legs.”

Her mind felt slow already. Weren’t they going to the dungeon? Had he changed his mind? Still, she did as instructed, lowering herself to the bed on unsteady legs.

He didn’t speak as he touched her, slipping his finger in to her soaked centre. Removing it and bringing it to her lips to suck clean of her juices.

Feeling him press something against her opening he must have removed from his pocket. She didn’t move her hips as she felt the toy slide inside of her. Why was it so small?

And then she gasped from the internal vibrations. How had he turned it on? It was so good. Closing her eyes she focused on how it was hitting all the right spots.

“Up,” his voice broke her from her state and she sat up slowly. The toy inside her giving a feeling of fullness as it continued to buzz away.

“Yes sir,” she said. Her voice was all breath and need now. They hadn’t even made it out the door yet.

“Come,” he said as he exited their bedroom.

Following close enough behind him that she could feel his body heat, it amused her to walk down stares. The vibrations stopped and she almost missed the last one, bumping in to his back.

“Careful little one,” he said. His voice had been soft and it was everything in her not to call him daddy then and there. Swallowing it down she stepped in to her heals and left the house behind him. Following him.

Sitting in the car was a interesting venture, made more so from how he toyed with the remote. She guess he was getting great amusement from her gasps of surprise each time he turned it on or changed the patterns. She knew she had when she had held the controls.

Their dynamic was a mixture of contradictions but uniquely their own. He could top her so well, like such a good boy. Yet she had held firmly to it just being that. Keeping it in the bedroom yet waving the title of his submission to her with such fierce pride to anyone who would listen.

It was like a shield to her. Keeping him her good boy meant she would never have to face the vulnerability of lowering herself to her knees again.

Until it was all she could think about. Giving herself to him as he had her. Allowing him to take control from her not just in the bedroom but in a public dungeon. Showing everyone they both belonged to one another.

She expected their would be some confusion. Normally he would sit at her feet or on her lap. He never topped her, rather watched and provided the after care if the tops didn’t require it.

They didn’t see how he would push her down and rip her clothes off when they got home. They didn’t know how her nails would claw him and how their coupling was something wild and lacking titles. Her mind began to swirl with anxiety.

She hadn’t noticed the car had stopped until his hand was on her face, turning it to look at him.

“This doesn’t change anything, it just enhances it, do you understand?”

Those words again. He knew her so well. He must have recognized her mind was beginning to spin.

Leaning her cheek in to his hand she suddenly felt very little. Wordlessly She nuzzled his palm.

“I know,” her voice sounded higher, less strong and for a moment she hated her weakness.

“I’ve got you,” he said. With those words she forgot all about her hesitation.

“Yes sir,” she said and she waited for him to come collect her from the passenger side of the car. This was her creation, her capture and her release. This was both for her and him. Mutual ownership.

Surprise derail

I spent the day with C and G. They were so welcoming! Steak for lunch, a wonderful bath, a massage, cuddles, play.

The day allowed me to get to know G better and be at ease about the triangle of us. It’s different for me because I never thought I would find myself here.

We met for dinner with L and enjoyed the evening all together. The drive back was spent talking about the day.

Then I saw a post on Facebook on my blind parenting group. Someone was talking about sorting their kids clothes.

It made me remember.

How one Thursday me and James had went to once upon a child. We had spent over a hour there, as I bounced with excitement picking out dresses for missy. We picked out clothes for E as well. He helped me sort through all their smaller stuff. Took the things that no longer fit them to donate.

The memory just made me deeply sad. A damper on a really good day that came unexpected from nowhere.

I don’t want to think about it any more but it’s in my head and it’s stupid. On that note I’m going to go to sleep before I start crying.

When you have to let go to try and have it all

It’s hard to know where to start. So much has happened in such a short time and it all comes with my intense emotional highs and lows.

My last post I believe I put up on Friday. As I often do when I’m struggling I used writing as a refuge. Slipping in to artistic expression to weave something beautiful from a interaction with my boy.

He spent Wednesday night with me. I had planned to have him share my vulnerabilities by allowing him to see me crack. I had laid out a scene where he would cut the dress off of my body and hit me and hold me as I cried. I thought I could do it, let it go, but I couldn’t. We skirted around it and what was a good idea in my mind was actually a cliff I couldn’t jump from.

So he had held me and kissed me and was the inspiration to my post. He had taken my toes in his mouth and I looked up at him and something shifted in that moment. A fondness that he wanted to worship someone so fucking dented up.

We played, he hit me, he tied me. He gave and gave and gave and I was happy to take. I loved him then as I do now.

And then in comes a force so strong everything shifted.

I had attended a female led relationships munch for the second time. I was doing this to become better for my boy, to make myself worthy of him, to make myself a better dominant.

In all honesty I was disappointed with the first one. I ate my food and talked to a young boy beside me with beautiful long hair I had to remind myself I could never have. His mental health conditions were determined, by us both, to be something we just didn’t feel comfortable navigating with my young kids.

It was frustrating though because the caregiver in me wanted him. To pet his hair and hold him in my lap and beat him over the head with love until he accepts he is worthy. Because I know all to well how it feels to view one self as unworthy.

So the second time I went it had been to see him. To share in his time as a friend and maybe lift him out of his sadness in the ways I could. I purchased his dinner as he didn’t have money. K talked to him and continued to mentally check myself. Because the dominant in me was responding to him as a baby boy and I already had mine.

Even though I don’t respond to mine, the dominant in me doesn’t respond to him as I did to the boy with the flowing hair. But I ignored it and was thankful for his company.

When I stood to leave with my friend someone reached out to me. A husky voice, to a body I couldn’t see. A hand shake with the nails of a woman. A complement on my writings and a indication we could talk that Friday if we saw one another at the play party.

It doesn’t sound like much but I was a fumbling mess. Reacting stupidly to the nails as if they wouldn’t be on the hand of a beautiful woman. But I had no idea, and it just fell out of my mouth.

The entire ride home was a rapid fire of information. Confirmation she is a woman, looking at her profile, seeing she is polly and has 25 years in the life style. It all just pulled me towards her. I told my friend I hoped I could play with her on Friday.

Friday came and went. Work was slow. I went to my friends and got ready for the dungeon we headed out.

This time around it started slow. There was no demo and I found myself sitting there feeling sleepy in my thigh highs and red strappey outfit.

Someone began a impact scene and I waited to see if someone would approach me for one. It was my friend who broke the ice.

“She really wants someone to hit her,” she had said. And she was right. After spending most of my day crying over a man who was never coming back and I didn’t really want, just the idea of him, I needed the release of the pain.

So someone stepped up. He helped me remove my boots. Making our way to the cross I hummed inside with anticipation. Here comes the release, sweet oblivion. Thank god.

The cuffs he put on my wrists were way to big and the rope around my waist was slack. But when he ran the butter soft leather of the flogger over my face I inhaled its scent deeply. God it was soft! It smelled so good!

And he swung it on me over and over. Used it’s metal skull head to batter my already marked ass. Smacked me around with his hands.

And then he kissed my neck. Something allowed from our negotiations but something I didn’t want. Don’t make it sensual, don’t let me smell your cigarettes and feel your beard and breath. Just fucking hit me!

Eventually we made our way to the spanking bench. Here I didn’t have to stand and could relax more. I vaguely felt disappointment with the cross. He asked if he could use a wand on me, as if making me cum was a consolation prize. Silly man! I didn’t want to cum tonight. I wanted to get lost!

When it wasn’t working I heard a touch of frustration in his voice when he pulled it back from where he had been hardly pressing it. Back to his hitting for a while. Until he tapped out.

“Who’s next?” I asked. Everyone laughed. Not yet seeing how completely serious I was. I hadn’t gotten what I needed from the first.

So up comes the second one. More experienced in his craft then the one before him. He showed me many treasures in his toy bag and we laughed together as I became lost to the fun of it.

At one point the first one returned. Taking my toes in his mouth and making me moan and squirm. A good redemption for the mishap with the wand. I had a top at either end of my body and I somehow felt dominant.

Eventually the second guy said he was done. I thanked them both genuinely for what they had done to me. And then she was there. The one from the night before with her husky voice and long nails and beautiful perfume.

Normally she doesn’t do this. She would go easy. Showing me a flogger the length of my body while I laid on the spanking bench propped up by my elbows. My body hummed from her voice. The darkness of her hair. Those nails.

And we began. And I was a goner to her. How she raked her nails over me. I was a mess of primal growls and bucking hips and desire.

“Look at you.” She had said. Almost sing song as I pushed my ass in to her nails as they dug in to my cheeks. Fuck yes! I can take you, let me meet you here! Give me your dark so I can find my light again.

And I moaned in a way I never have. Raw and primal and strong. As she lashed that massive flogger down on me over and over and my body rocked with the impact.

And then she needed water. What no! No no no! I’m not done, I want more!

Thinking back on it now I wonder if it was her darkness playing games? Perhaps she recognized my need for her then and there, and was making me wait. Like a good little girl.

If she had asked me to beg for more, I would have. But she said she would return, and she stepped away from me. Leaving me frustrated and ravenous for her.

In comes number 4. His job was made easy with how she had paved the way. He had only one tool. A delicious little pin wheel that worked wonders on my skin. She had left it tender.

He ran it over the bottoms of my feet and I growled and moaned still more primal then I had ever felt in my life. Struck again by how dominant I felt when I was bottoming for everyone.

He grabbed my waist and I got up on my knees almost snarling as I pushed my ass against him. Thinking back on it now I wonder if I violated his space, and when I finish writing this I will reach out to him to make sure I didn’t. I respect this man. I would play with him again.

But as I pushed in to him his energy changed. He wasn’t responding to my fierceness he was tolerating it. I let myself go back to the bench on my stomach, and let him continue to work his magic with his wheel.

I could hear her voice somewhere beside me. Talking to someone about a scene and I wanted her attention again.

I was a mixture of impatience and restlessness as he wrapped up his scene.

I slowly sat up. People were talking and I guess I was done. I wanted more. I wanted HER.

“I’m not done with you,” I think that’s what she said. But I’m really not sure. I jumped up and hopped back on that bench so fucking fast that I can’t really be sure.

And she jumped right back in with her nails and her magic.

“I want you to tell me when you want a hard hit,” she had said and my brain scrambled to keep up. But that means I have to think! Is all the tine a acceptable answer? Can I have you for ever?

“What can I call you?” Suddenly I needed to. I needed a term to call her because god I was under her power. I’m not sure if she heard the mixture of desperation and panic in my voice.

Even though my mind didn’t have the clarity to put forward those thoughts it fell from my voice unguarded.

I think with my own question I knocked her slightly off kilter. I can’t remember her answer. I think my head was starting to catch up with me and I think it was bringing my defences, slowly as if plucking them from quick sand.

And then her hands were on the inside of my thighs, digging her nails in. As if to say silence your mind sweet girl, you are mine now.

Silence it I did as I moaned and growled and arched in to her. And then she let go.

Somewhere from beside me now, “I want you to tell me when you want a hard hit.”

Again asking me to do things when I probably didn’t know my name! But somehow we agreed she would hit me hard on the 3 count. Somehow I managed to remember my numbers and kept her time

And on three she hit me hard and I cried out. And then, greedily hungrily I started back at one. Asking for more.

And she kept on and I was caught in my gratitude for this gift. We did this 3 or 4 times.

Is it possible to feel like your making love to someone when they are brutalizing you? I have no idea but the back and forth of our voices combined with the impact of her flogger and the give and take sure felt like it!

It was me who tapped out after a hard hit. I would gladly admit defeat to her. Not that it was a challenge, although I feel truly we both one.

Sitting up from the bench the entire room clapped and I felt unworthy. A normal feeling for someone with abandonment and self worth issues. But she was still standing there.

“After care?” I said even though we hadn’t really spoken about it. Later I came to learn normally she doesn’t do much.

The first man, the one with the beard who smelled of smoke, the one who sucked my toes, again earned more respect from me when he offered to clean up for her. Was he serving her, or me, or the magic of what we had just done?

I really have no idea but I’m thankful to him. He was a good boy.

Taking her arm I made my way to the small room. The bed was low on the floor. It took her a while to take off her boots. And then I was close to her. Feeling her hair, looking in to her face, and I was lost again. In a totally different way.

I think we were both lost. As I pulled her down on top of me and wrapped my legs around her and growled with a need I can’t articulate.

Then someone said it was time to go. So we caught our breath and sat up. I still can’t put it in words or do it justice.

When I made it home we talked all night, if one can call getting home at like 3.30 am and talking until 12;30 pm all night.

Everything came to a head when my boy showed up Sunday morning. I introduced them and shockingly said I wanted to try my hand at polly with them. In her I could have my dominant one day. In him I could have my good boy and progress towards a life relationship. In her I could get lost. In her mine and touch and voice.

We all talked and I floated in and out, and eventually they both left and I wrote, putting it all out there.

I went to my protector to tell him of the exciting news. And I was immediately blocked.

This along with other things have rained on my parade, but they always do. Everything happens for a reason I guess.

Sence then my boy has given up on me as well. People falling away from me like I am of little value. All like James. Except her. She still stays.

“Why do you want to be a slut,” he said over the phone. I didn’t let him hear the catch in my breath. I haven’t even told her about this yet. Because the kids came in and I couldn’t deal with it so I swallowed the agony and kept going forward.

Now I’m turning to my usual dumping ground when I can’t get hit. He broke the dynamic. No submissive calls their dominant a slut. No protector walks away from someone because they don’t listen to what they want.

Both these people have wounded me deeply. So I let them go in order to move forward with her.