CERAF: The responsibilities of the dominant

A few days ago I wrote a post about how I had failed my past dominants with my sub centric behaviours. I said they were the one, from the power transfer layer, who could decide how I got my wants met. I spoke of how I was selfish and only focused on myself.

While in some ways this was true, upon further reflection I realized my sub centric behaviours only really surfaced when they were not meeting their responsibilities as my dominant.

In Rikas second book she defines these responsibilities as CERAF. Communication, expectation, recognition, assessment, and feedback.

I can remember many times looking to, or literally up at, my dominant waiting for some kind of direction. Expressing how lost I was because there was nothing for me “to do,” and how I wanted to serve.

We would spend hours, often started by me, attempting to communicate about these issues. The conversations never provided clarity, rather more confusion.

I had asked what their expectations were, for some kind of recognition, how I was doing (assessment), and if I was doing ok (feedback.)

With all of these I was given little to no response. Often “I don’t know,” or, “I need to think.” Those 4 words would leave the conversation hanging until I would drag it out again. Always with a mixture of feeling like a burden for having to beat a dead horse, and with hopes I would FINALLY get some direction so I wouldn’t have to flounder any more.

Eventually I found my inner strength and said enough was enough. One can only tread water for so long. Stepping away from the power transfer saved my sanity, and ultimately ended the relationships. When I lost respect for them as a dominant, I also lost it as my partner. They weave together.

These days I’m on the other side of the slash.

Anyone who knows me already can confirm communication has never been something I struggle with. A quick scroll through my writings will show you the same thing. I’ll talk something in circles until I feel I’ve made my point. I’ll nudge and probe to know the inner workings of a mind. It’s fascinating to me.

When it comes to expectation, recognition, assessment, and feedback, I only need to think of my past to remind me to provide these things to the best of my ability.

I would never wish anyone to feel the way I did with my “dominant” partners. That lost, that confused, that devalued, that empty.

So I remind myself what NOT to do. I talk and talk. I give clear expectations. I try to recognize things done with the intent to serve and admit my mistakes when I make them. If something is done incorrectly or too slow, I’ll sit down and gently point it out, with care and love. I’ll suggest alternative methods and ways to increase the quality of service and listen unguarded and with a open mind to the suggestions of the submissive.

All these things I wish I had in my past. They are called responsibilities of the dominant, but I can say that from the other side if I had had them I would’ve viewed them as gifts.

Letting go

As I start to cry he moves me on to his lap.

My head rests against his chest as I tell him no more mistress. The steady beat of his heart accompanys my words.

I tell him I still love him. That we are still in a relationship. But really there has been no power transfer here. There has been a power  ricochet. Bouncing back and forth based on his compliance. I do not have the skill nor the desire to MAKE him do anything. So I explained it he is ever ready to come to me with no resistance, with the intent to serve me, to put my wants and needs and desires above his own, then I would consider accepting the title of mistress from him again. But until that day, if it comes, I’m no longer clinging to the title just to have it.

What I seek is a dynamic. One that is dominant centric. One where the submissive is active in their service to me. One where it’s just as much a part of then as my side is a part of me. Currently I’m not getting that, so I’m done holding on to “mistress” like a mantra that could magically make him stop resisting.

He is the only one who can do that. So I’ve removed the title, and as the tears slid down my cheeks I let the grip I was holding on “ mistress” go.

No more. He will either come to me or he won’t. But I will no longer bend myself in half trying to get him to do so.

Exiting the power exchange car

The last time was Saturday night. Sure Sunday I got myself off with his help, and yeah Tuesday I used my clit sucker. But it’s been for me what feels like a long time.

Perhaps this is why I feel sad and  melancholic today. Maybe it’s because I’ve moved on to the second Rika book and continue to notice the gap of what is missing here at home.

Whatever the cause today is a low day. One where I feel defeated because it seems no matter the side of the slash I take finding someone who echos my passion is incredibly difficult.

I’m once again trying to make a relationship work without a dynamic. Or a very little one, or one on his terms. I don’t know what you would call it but I’m frustrated and tired.

Being with someone only gets you so far. Existing with someone just keeps the time passing. But what happens when one person needs more, or wants more. While the other person is content to just go from day to day. Things stagnate and the mind spins and you ask, is this it?

At 6 months it shouldn’t be is this it? It should be what’s going to happen next! But I’m tired and frustrated and sad.

I have two people reading these books with me, yet neither of them are the man I share my home with.

You can lead a horse to water but….

And that’s just it. Submission by force isn’t really submission is it? It’s a chipping away, a breaking down, a wearing thin until they stop resisting. I want it offered because my value is seen, not because I begged and they finally agreed.

I’m back here again. Giving up on pushing because it’s not how I really want to come to being served, and I’m sad. Because as much as I want to believe I only want a power exchange dynamic, it’s only to avoid facing the truth, to prevent another relationship from potentially breaking when I own up to the fact it’s a need.

I’ve tried to not need this. From both sides of the slash, but I do. In my core, who I am. It’s not window dressing or things to turn up the fun between the sheets. It’s who I am. Not a tack on or a pull out when you have the energy to do so. It’s ME and it’s draining me to not have it from either side. It frustrating me to live with someone who approached me as a slave who now won’t even submit, even though he uses the mistress title. It’s how HE sees submission, not me. I should be calling the shots but he resists me constantly.

Does giving up on the dynamic make me a awful dominant? Sometimes I think so. I was told to keep trying till it works. I feel like a failure for letting it go. But I can’t keep forcing something he clearly isn’t receptive to.

So I’m sad today. Because I probably won’t be called mistress any more. And really even though the title makes me feel worthy and valued it’s just dangling something I can’t quite have in my face. I’ll miss it, because it’s the one small thing I could actually hold on to to fool myself in to thinking we had a dynamic.

But we don’t. Not how I see it. Not how I want. Just how he does. The wrong person is driving so I’m getting out of the power exchange car.

I don’t know what this means for our relationship. Considering I’ve owned up to the fact it’s a need. I do know you can’t  ultimatum someone to serve from a domme centric view point. You can’t MAKE someone change how they see things. So I’m no longer trying.

I used to get these bursts. Moments of hope where if I just did the right thing or said something that got through to him, he would finally understand. But I shouldn’t be the one doing the persuading. I guess it actually makes me look quite pathetic as far as dominance goes. Doing back flips hoping he will see the value in letting go to me. Trying to make him something he might just not be.

And it’s that realization I continue to wish I could ignore. Wish the desire for a dynamic was a want and not a need so I could get on with my happy little boring vanilla with kink sprinkles life. Because if I can’t, then what?

Drift

Why do i even bother to shower when I just get myself all messy again?

I didn’t get my release lastnight. My one drink went down to easy and I wasn’t feeling good so my boy got a break.

I slept great and woke up feeling refreshed and energized. After sending the kids to school I had the house to myself. So I took a shower.

And then I stretched out. And then as usually happens when I lay down after a shower I pulled out my toy.

What goes on inside your head when your fucking yourself? Maybe your curious. Maybe your still caught up in the shower part of my day.

Regardless I’ll provide a window, as I so often do in these writings, to more of who I am.

It’s absolute chaos! Being a switch from top to bottom makes it a coin flip as to if I’m taking the poundings or initiating them. If I’m being honest it normally bounces between the two delicious roles like some sort of kinky table tennis game.

It’s great! All be it full of plot gaps a mile wide! But this movie in my mind doesn’t ever need to be shown to others.

Sometimes it’s whispers from past lovers, almost shameful in the wrongness of how my body responds. Other times it’s their words from my boys mouth. Sometimes I’m being tossed around and objectified in ways I would only tolerate in fantasy, yet my pussy has no objections. Sometimes it’s looking down while my hand squeezes a neck and I ride till I climax. Sometimes it’s pushing down my whore and fucking their ass rough and eager. Contradictory to my gentle dominance outside of my mind. It’s nails and teeth and words growled in ownership, it’s primal and untethered from hesitation.

But sometimes it’s gentle. The submissive who seeks me out. The dominant who cracks my code. The pride in good service. The freedom in kneeling for a daddy dominant. The tenderness of worship. The warmth of hair pets and whispered sweet nothings.

Like me my fantasy’s have many layers. It’s never a dull day in my mind when it’s left to drift as I bring myself to release.

I tried to be good

I’m making soft pleading noises.

He has started painting his hands over my skin and of course I want him. In a perfect world it would be whenever I want, almost every night.

But he is tired, wanting to just snuggle and touch my skin.

I try to be good, I really do. When he pulls me against him as the little spoon I try to ignore the slickness on my thighs. I try to slow my breathing and calm the throbbing between my legs. But after a few minutes I give up.

I roll on to my back and slide my hand under his arm that is still around me to between my legs.

Brushing my nose against his I start rubbing my clit. His fingertips slide over my waist making my breath catch. He knows what I’m doing to myself, but he doesn’t offer himself.

I’ve spoiled myself with my clit sucker and after a while of manual stimulation I roll over to grab it from the bedside table.

“Fingers just don’t cut it any more,” I pout. His cock and my toys have made them all but useless. Unless I have lots of free time, and it was already late.

Returning to my back I wiggle the side of my body against him. This will be quick, I’m already soaked. It’s not what I want but it will do.

The little beauty does its task well, going to work on my clit just as I like. I’m tensed and waiting.

And waiting

And waiting

His hands keep touching my body. I’m going crazy. I want to scream at my body to let go already. I need this release. It’s a sweet torture.

And then his hand slides between my legs and his fingers enter me. I’m soaked. It could be his cock instead. He would have slid right in.

But it feels to good for me to pout. He is moving his fingers in and out of me just how I like. I can hear the excitement in his own breath, and my lovely little toy is still going at it.

When I cum I cry out, I feel myself explode around him inside of me. He makes a soft sound, something like pleasure from my pleasure and removes his hand from between my legs.

Beside him I’m trembling as I turn the toy off. My body feels like led as I roll to put it away before flopping back down beside him. Sleep comes fast and it’s deep and dreamless.

Munches and collars and service, oh my

Last night I attended a munch out here in Maple Ridge. It’s exciting because it’s not often they have things this close to home. Literally a 5 minute walk. Timing is great as I don’t have the kids until later and I love the food where it was held!

I had the same problem I do at most munches I attend. Conversation is tough as it’s loud and everyone is all over in a long row of table. But all in all it was a nice Sunday night.

On the way home we stopped off to get some brownies and the conversation of collars came up again. He wants to make his own, I want to, one day, pick one out for him. It’s a sensitive subject for me as I feel the s type should be happy with any collar from the d type. I can work with things he doesn’t like, things he can’t wear, but the idea of him making it on his own, it kind of rubs me the wrong way. It would be one thing If we made it together, but I don’t do  chain mail. He said the quality will be better if he does it himself, and it just feels like another ego and control thing. Makes me feel like only his way will be good enough and frankly turns me off from even looking at one for him in the first place.

I’ve noticed a change in his service though. Doing more before I ask. Sometimes being more present with me. But it’s something I observe from somewhat of a distance. Allowing myself to become to passionate about a dynamic only ends up in frustration for us both. Yet I see his service in the ways he offers it, I just wish he would stop resisting me.

For him he feels like he can’t be both a submissive and daddy. Yet the daddy title for us is just care giving, there is no dominance there, so in my mind it would just be him serving and meeting my needs. Maybe one day it will click, that one doesn’t turn off the other. But I don’t know and just take things day by day.

Today he is making dinner when he gets home from work. A welcome surprise as I normally end up getting it ready during the week when the kids are here. Tonight though he offered to make spaghetti.

When the kids leave this week we will have a bunch of time to continue to work on things and figure out where things are headed. I recognize it’s not so much the destination but more the journey but it can be tough when the directions keep changing.

Better

It had been a slow start. The kind where I’m hesitant because I don’t want to let myself become to turned on from his cock waking up from my touch just to find he is to tired or not in the mood.

We had had a long day. Up early, bussing all over to go to Taboo, and then to a game night at our friends place. It was a great day! But we were both exhausted so I wasn’t sure how my advances would be received.

It was almost lazily the way I worked him. First with one hand and then between my two palms. My attempts to not let myself become to turned on were for nothing as I felt myself respond to his own growing desire.

But he laid still. His hands slowly touching me with the illusion of little interest, almost sleepily. There was not so much a hunger here as a softness. Something different from the ways we so often take one another.

Climbing on top of him I positioned myself just above his fully erect cock. Telling him I would keep him warm because he said something earlier about being cold I slid myself down taking him inside of me.

I started to move. In the  rhythm we often make. Not super fast but not something you could call slow. But his hands held my hips all but stopping me.

From below me he moved at his own pace. Once again achingly slow. I swear I could feel the skin of his cock sliding. Every inch of him was setting me on fire. Sometimes he would pause, holding himself inside of me while my pussy strained for release.

At one point he ran his hand over my hair and asked me if I was going to cum, and I was already there. Whimpering and trembling from the wait of the release. Dissolving around him as he continued the same delicious pace. Clinging to him with my face burrowed against his neck when he let go with one last motion.

Something has shifted in the way our bodies connect. It’s not a fever pitch, yet it’s the furthest thing from boring. It’s not dirty talk and nails and teeth, yet it’s so far from the days of vanilla that it leaves me staggering and trying to catch my breath. Perhaps it’s the realization I wrote of earlier, the shared vulnerabilities of knowing how deep this runs for us. Maybe it’s that I’ve seen him in dark places and continue to love him, and for that he can finally begin to let go. He doesn’t need to fuck and own and break and resist. He can just let down the walls and be.

Whatever the reasoning it’s noticed by us both. These are vulnerable softer days, ones where things are rebuilding, repairing, finally no longer resisting. It’s delicate and tentative. Not quite confident but world away from insecure. I think it’s uncharted for him and difficult for me. But it’s also sweet, to watch someone break and become new, to be in the spot to hold them as they do so. To work through the hard times together and come out better.

Need

I told you I needed this. It had been difficult to ask for. Ridiculous really but asking for things sometimes makes me feel very vulnerable.

“Would you be ok just to touch me, skin to skin. I don’t know if I can do sex yet. I want to but I might end up crying. I just need to get lost in you. I need this.”

It felt like a silly thing to have to ask for. Please want me? Please love me? But I needed to in order to start the healing process. The terrifying difficult rocky healing process.

I was lost to your lips. Blinking back emotions because I wouldn’t let myself break. And then you did it for me. Your head found my chest as your tears fell and silently I joined you.

We didn’t speak for a long while. Between my legs I ached from the luxury of your unhurried touch.

It’s never like this. I need it like this more often.

When you lift your head we brush noses. There is nothing to say because we both know there is damage here. We are both hurting for different reasons. We are both trying to help one another through it.

And then we are lost to the pull of it all. But it’s not frenzied as I thought it would be. It’s not a rage fuck fed with claws and teeth and carnal need to hurt in acceptable ways. It’s slow, achingly slow.

Every inch of you mixes with your hands on my skin. One moment I can see you above me and the next I’ve lost focus and I’m telling you I love you as I climax.

It’s not the curl your toes kind that has you moaning the house down. It’s different, deeper. It has me saying things like I need you. It has my mouth open and my eyes closed and soft affirmations spilling from us both. It’s the kind that leaves me trembling and clinging to you after you have stilled.

There is something in the repair process that shows you your value to another. It’s in the things they don’t say, the catching of their breath, the way they break just a little more when they realize this time it’s different, that this time they suddenly need you just as much.

February is not my month

It was later in the evening and I was sitting in a Starbucks with tears streaming down my face.

You had told me the visa was cleared and you would be “home” soon. Your words caused tears of happiness. Finally we could start, finally we could have “our” life.

I made you a key for the house. I picked out one with little Canadian flags all over it. I put it in a little wooden box and when you were finally in front of me I got down on one knee.

“Will you m,” I lowered my eyes and paused. I was “twisting you out” playing you at one of your own games. “Move in with me,” I finished and you laughed. I loved the sound of your laugh.

A year later today and I wonder if your reflecting. If your still serving tables and drinking yourself to sleep. For me this month is just a hard one all around it feels. The 11th is my failed wedding anniversary. Today is the day you cane in to my life and started whatever you want to call what we were. The 4th of this year I had the foundation of my  primary relationship broken. It’s not my month.

We are working on repairing the damage. Something you just walked from. Today though I just feel empty and hollow. Maybe I need to be hit, until it all falls away like I did in those early days when I was trying to leave you behind.

Now though I can’t even find release in that. Because the one I used to seek out that release from, has broken things. So I’m floundering around and keeping my head above water. Should I reach out to my friends, others I have bottomed for and ask for some release? Should I stay home and just act like I’m not a disaster from all these broken hopes?

I don’t have answers. I have coffee, and music, and more tears.

Growth is never comfortable

This weekend was the first time I went on a date without my live in partner.

It was something past partners had asked of me and that I had been to uneasy to attempt. And even though this time I was ready to take the jump it still felt strange!

My phone stayed silent through out the evening, I was treated to a stuffy cloud, a cupcake, and a meal. It was a good evening, and much needed time out of the house.

But it’s hard to not feel guilty. When the “dynamic” is at a stand still and the relationship at home is going through tough spots, and here I am going out.

It’s hard for it not to feel like a disservice. But I swallowed my unease and enjoyed my evening. I reminded myself that he says it’s ok and I trust his word until shown otherwise. And I remembered how uneasy growth feels when your first beginning to stretch.

When I came home later that night I showed off my stuffy, and we fell asleep just the two of us as we have for many nights now. I don’t know what the future holds, but I’m learning to not make the same mistakes from my past. Polly won’t work if everyone doesn’t get one on one time, even if it’s uneasy for me to learn how to do so.