This blog will be a collection of things that interest me,
including my musings on D/s, sexuality, fashion, art, and all things cute.
That’s all there is to it. Comfort her, shower her in love, remind her how proud you are, remind her of your endless affection, and make sure she’s giving herself the proper physical care she needs after it all.
Just because you played around online doesn’t mean that aftercare isn’t important. Your responsibility does not end just at orgasm.
I’m not talking about your body.
I can and I will control your body, regardless of its size, or your opinion of it. It belongs to me.
I’m talking about your metaphysical size. The size of you. The smallness that makes room for me, the space you create for my Dominance. I will make you smaller with my weight, with my will, with my being. I will extinguish all the fires and voices that defy me. I will fold you into me.
You just need to ask me to do it.
It’s been a long time since I first started tinkering with the notion that, in addition to being a submissive, I might also be a masochist. I always sort of enjoyed the idea, but for the most part, it’s only ever been a passing thought, mostly because I haven’t had the opportunity to explore that facet of myself. The other day, that changed.
When I was cleaning up my room, I happened upon an old glowstick from a concert I attended some years back. It’s roughly the length of a ruler and a little thicker than a pencil, so my first thought was, “This looks like a switch I’ve seen in BDSM photos. Kind of short, but still a switch.” My next thought was, “I wonder how it would feel if I smacked myself with it?”
I get curious. It’s in my nature. I can’t help it.
That first time, after experimenting with the makeshift switch’s weight and force of impact on bare skin, I gave myself ten quick strikes to the inside of my right thigh. I didn’t give it all my strength, only a fraction, and I walked away from it slightly sore, my skin red under my clothes. The marks left behind were faint, but I could still feel them every so often when the fabric rubbed up against my leg, reminding me of how sensitive that spot had become.
I think what surprised me most was the rush from receiving those strikes in fairly quick succession, the way my stomach twisted into knots while I counted up, so focused on my task that I wasn’t entirely sure what I felt. In the few seconds it took to reach ten strikes, my body was working on auto-pilot, just so I could get up to the number I wanted.
When I finally reached ten, I just about dropped the implement and curled up. The delayed sensations of those strikes hit me all at once, turning the dull ache from each slap into one long, slow wave of heat starting at the site of the pain and working up to my core. It nearly overwhelmed me, and once my heartbeat had slowed again, I had to stop and consider whether or not that rush had been good or bad.
Eventually, I came to the conclusion that the pain was good. Really good. The sensation of release after experiencing those short bursts of pain put me in this blissful state once it was all over, and it was all I could do not to go back for more. Even though the pain had come from my own hand, the whole thing made me feel incredibly vulnerable. Like I had just exposed every nerve. As a submissive, vulnerability is something I’ve come to embrace. It’s a lovely thing, one that grounds me, gives me focus, and helps me center. The vulnerability I experienced in the wake of that pain gave me that sense of peace.
My first attempt at self-inflicted masochism was brief. Only a few minutes. But I think those few minutes gave me a taste for it…