Friday, November 27, 2015

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Saturday, November 21, 2015

I Need You To Dom Me

When we were first beginning, my needs to feel Jason's strength were damn near insatiable. I would read things online, or imagine how things would be, and I knew I wanted it. 

He always has been the Dominant partner here, so there was no major shift in how we related to one another when we began the D/S journey, other than both of us more thoroughly embracing those roles. But we had very few rules in the beginning. Jason said things like, “But you're such a good girl. Why would I spank you?” 

He had lower expectations for me then...and that was how things were supposed to be, as we asked ourselves what we wanted from this, and worked through them. Gradually, he would add something to “the list.” It's what I call “the theoretical list of spankable offenses.” As our dynamic grew, so did his expectations for me. 

But when we were just beginning, I would feel so needy. I would want to feel him. And I would say, “I need you to Dom me.” 

Over and over again, he would say, “I have no idea what you're talking about. What does that even mean, I want you to Dom me?

So over time, I found some ways to communicate that need more effectively. When he did “Dom me” I would thank him, or show him in so many other ways exactly how grateful I was. 

I like it when you overpower me. 

Phew is that sexy. I love it when he holds my hands up over my head while we make love, or commanding me to stay in position. I love it when he wraps his hand in my hair and pulls, and I feel the tug all the way down my spine. I like when he's over me, or on top of me, or he pins me up against a wall. That tiny prickle of fear is erotic, because I know he would never hurt me and I'm his. I love when he picks me up and pulls me over his lap. I love the feeling of knowing he's stronger than I am. He will take what's his, he doesn't ask, and I love that.

I like it when you tell me what to do. 

I like it when he asserts himself over me. When he tells me to go to bed, or to drive carefully, or to make sure I do what I need to, I feel that I am important to him. 

Now, sometimes, I rail against that. Sometimes I want my own way. But I love that he will take the time to ensure my wellbeing. It means I am important to him.

I like it when you help me stay on track. 

It's easy to neglect my own self care. I'm better about it now than I used to be, but he has rules for me that help me. They're like guard rails on a highway, boundaries that comfort, and I feel safe knowing I cannot stray. Sometimes I am in a place of emotionally spiraling, and his stern, “That's enough,” is all I need. 

The other night, I got a spanking for losing my temper. It wasn't an awful spanking, more of a reminder than anything, but I was so very tired from a long day. He took me over his knee, spanked me quickly and firmly, and sent me to bed. I needed this. I was so exhausted. I fell asleep, and woke with a clearer focus, thankful he didn't let me derail.

I like it when you take control. 

Balm to the soul. Calm to the mind of the submissive. When he steps in and sets things to right. It could be so very simple, and it's taken years to train myself in accepting even the simplest of his wishes. Even now sometimes I resist. My fears come into play. 

Last week, we went out with friends and had dinner. It was an expensive night, and Jason had budgeted for it and he pays the bills. He's very much on top of the situation and I love that he is, because I hate dealing with money. Later, we were snuggling in bed and I mentioned the meal. “Was it very expensive?” I asked. He merely smiled and said, “Is that something you need to worry about?” I told him no, and it brought peace to me to put it right out of my mind again. 

I like it when you make me focus on you. 

He expects me to come to him immediately when he calls me. He will make me put down what I'm doing and come sit between his feet, or kneel by the bed. A finger under the chin or even lightly holding the chin to maintain eye contact is a very dominant move he uses often, and I love that. I feel like I'm precious to him. It's a subtle reminder of my submission to him. When he talks to me, he demands my undivided attention. 

I recently was in the kitchen, focused on a million things at once, and he came in the room. Leaning up against the counter, he grabs me and pulls me over. My mind is racing, but then...ahhhh. He's over me, I'm under his spell, and he's whispering things in my ear. Yes, this. He often puts his hand on my neck, when we're out or about, a quick touch that I find erotic and calming all at once.

I like it when you call me your good girl

Jason will text me throughout the day and ask if I've done what he's left for me. If I have, I will often get a, “that's my good girl,” response. I melt with “good girl.” But there are other things he calls me, too. My all-time favorite, that's mostly used when he's tucking me in at night, is “little one.” “Sleep well, little one,” is simply lovely. But even a brief text when I'm out with friends, “How's my baby girl?” makes me feel special to him. The coveted “good girl” has to be earned, so it reminds me of my obedience to him when he uses it. 

I lke it when you make me obey you. 

In theory, I want to obey him. I'm attracted to his authority over me, so deeply I crave it. But I need to know he expects me to obey him. I need to know he'll discipline me if I don't. Even though I don't like to be punished, it's far worse if he allows an infraction to go unpunished, because my obedience to him is crucial. If I'm allowed to disobey him, or disrespect him, a vital part of how we relate is missing. The simple words, “Am I clear on what I expect?” or “Do you understand me?” or “Do I need to take you across my knee?” reassures and brings me back to center. And when I don't meet his expectations? I need to know he will hold me accountable. 

What does it mean when I say “I like it when you Dom me?” It's an elusive phrase, and means different things to different people. These are some ways I appreciate Jason "domming" me. What are some of yours?

Saturday, November 14, 2015

I am His.

I hang up the phone. 

I hate the phone call I just had. It was brief, but painful, another issue with a family member that is an ongoing problem. It's such a problem, that I'm not allowed to call this person without asking permission first because Jason prefers to be with me when I call. He's protective like that, and I love that he is. 

But I had permission. I just needed to ask her a quick question. I was going about my day, doing what I had to do, and I picked up the phone and called. It was just a simple question. And just like that, a few sentences later, I'm hurt, the severity of the words she had for me dredging up my own struggles of rejection, reminders of my past, and the hurt that will just keep on hurting. 

“I wish I could heal from this,” I say to my friend later that day. “I just wish the wounds would scar already.” 

“How could they?” she said, “When they keep reopening?” 

Jason is at work, and occupied. I send him a text and he gives me all he can in the moment, “I'm sorry, baby.” 

My sister is waiting for me to call her. I take a breath, take my phone to a private place, where my kids can't hear me, and without planning to, I spill my guts to my sister. I cry. I apologize that I'm a weeping mess, as I'm helpless to hold it in any longer and I break down. “Let it out,” she says. She knows. I don't have to explain a thing. She's right there in this with me. After I cry, and tell her, “God, I miss dad,” and we cry together on the phone, remembering the way his voice would welcome us, and I remember with tear-filled clarity the day he told me how proud I made him.

But after I text my friend, and talk to my sister, the pain is dulled but I'm still aching inside. 

I need Jason. 

“What would you do if you didn't have him?” I ask myself, the ever-present question that plagues me, the struggle I have in building this life together, this daily, constant, pulsing, symbiotic relationship in which we both meet one another's needs so fully. 

I crave him. His husky, “Morning, gorgeous,” when I bring him his morning coffee. “C'mere,” he says, sleep-drugged whispered in the darkness of our bedroom, pulling me close, his hands in my hair, pulling my head down to his chest, still warm from sleep, as his whiskery kiss flutters on my forehead. “I need to feel you,” he says. He wants me near when he wakes. 

I crave our morning routine, when he's dressed in crisp work clothes, me on my knees before him as he goes over my day ahead, approves of my list and orders my plan of the day, reminds me of my obedience to him, and pulls me over his lap to remind me of my place as his submissive, ending with the solid reminder of who I belong to when he snaps my bracelet on my wrist. 

I crave his texts throughout the day, our evening check-in, his voice on the phone, the way he randomly sings eighties rock tunes when we drive in the car, and cranks them up, playfully smacking my fingers if I go to change the station (which I do just to annoy him, not because I don't like his music.) 

I crave his sternness. The look he gives me when he wants to know I'm paying attention. The firm, “Time for bed, little girl,” I get when I want just one more minute of reading before bed, and he points to the bedside table for my phone to go down for the night. Yes, even the way he opens his desk drawer and removes his favored implement, the quiet but oh-so-effective rod he wields expertly to keep me in place, teach me to obey, ease my stress, and remind me who I belong to every time I sit down. 

But right now, I just want him. Right now, I need him. 

I do what I need to do, stay focused, and remind myself that yes, if he wasn't here anymore, I'd be okay. I'd manage. But today, I do have him. Today, he's coming home to me. 

And he does. He holds my hand as he listens to the kids and does what he needs to do. He sings his eighties rock. He hands me a little piece of chocolate he's picked up for me at work and I practically squeal like a little girl. And when he's done what he needs to do, he calls me upstairs. 

“Come here,” he orders. I go to him and kneel and bury my head on his chest. He pulls me in. “You need this,” he said. “Before we do anything else tonight, I know you need this.” I nod. And I don't say much. I don't shed the tears I did earlier, because I don't need to now. I tell him in very few words I'm hurting, and he says he understands. He tells me tonight we'll spend some time alone, and reminds me of the very very fun time we had the night before. I giggle, shy but pleased to share the memory with him. 

And then he's asking me if there's anything I need to tell him. Any rules broken? Did my list get done? Did I focus on what I was supposed to do? I did focus, I did get it done, and he pulls me in with the coveted “good girl” as my reward. And this is how he does it, how he's giving me what I need. The support that I crave. The understanding and comfort. The reminder of my role and his, the ever-present authority over me that comforts. The intimacy and companionship. 

We go about our evening. As I type this, preparing to edit and publish in the morning, he's with our children in another room. They're finishing their movie, and then we'll have our bedtime routines. But when the quiet has settled, he'll call me to him. He's already said he will. He will lay down in bed and pull me up on his chest. I'll rest in the knowledge that it's all okay. That the world will rail against me, and hurt will bring me down. The days will be long, and some days will be hard. But he's got me. I'm precious to him. He loves me, and I am his.