Good morning, readers. Checking in here on Sunday, and I hope this post finds you all well. Thanks to those of you who have written to me this week. It's been nice catching up on some correspondences, and it's always nice to hear from new people, too. :)
It really amazes me to hear from all of you from around the world. While I've been blogging, I've corresponded with people from so many foreign countries, it boggles the mind. Most of the readers here are from The U.S., Canada, the U.K, and Australia, but far reaching all the way to Germany, India, New Zealand, and South Africa. What amazes me about this is that we are all here in D/s blogland for a reason. We all have similarities that bind us together.
Today I'm going to write about a concept I've shared with many of you, because so many of you told me this resonated with you: my happy submissive place.
I know the feeling well, when I'm not in my place. It's an unsettled feeling, a feeling that something is off. It's not really a sorrow, or anxiety, but rather a sort of longing.
I need Jason.
The past few weeks have shown my need for him clearly. When I got back from traveling, I needed him so badly I could taste it. Fortunately, the D/s draw is a symbiotic type of relationship. It's not always this way initially. In my observation, frequently in the beginning, a submissive in this dynamic craves the dominance more so than the men crave submission. But when a couple fully embraces this dynamic, both partners frequently feel that desire to maintain the power exchange.
So when I returned from being apart from Jason, his desire for me was every bit as strong as mine for him, and it wasn't just intimacy, or being reconnected to one another in the many ways we did, but he needed to dom me. His hands on me when we were alone were possessive and heated, and he wasted no time in bringing me across his knee. When he came to bed, his hands were around my waist, or getting a bit frisky. The commands he gave me were rapid and demanding, and I obeyed each with the knowledge that he needed to do this as much as I needed him to.
Needed to do what? Assert his authority over me. Remind me who was in charge. Remind me of my place.
I don't know if there's any phrase we use that flies in the face of modern-day feminism as much as the phrase being “in my place.”
“You need to be put in your place,” Jason will say, or, “Remember your place,” or “Has my little girl forgotten her place?” (I know “little girl” isn't everyone's cup of tea but I sure love it). At first that phrase grated. It sounds rather chauvinistic. I must confess, though I crave submission and embrace that submission wholeheartedly, I'm not at all averse to modern feminism. I am averse to man bashing (I don't think it's cool to bash any group of people, period) but I also don't think embracing some feminist ideals while maintaining submission is necessarily contradictory. The rights of women in this country were hard-won, and we shouldn't simply toss out our victories and freedom because we long for dominance. Most of us who crave submission value equality. It's the consensual imbalance of authority or power that we really want. There's a difference.
I recently discussed a novel synopsis with an editor from one of the publishing companies I work with. I said to her, “I want to write about a strong, powerful woman who wants to be submissive.”
After I explained more, she explained that she liked this particular synopsis. “Isn't that what it's all about? Dominance and submission?”
One of the reasons I love both reading and writing historical fiction is because I adore the contrast between strong, brave, fearless women, and the rugged men they submit to. I just finished my second book that takes place on the American frontier. My research involved reading books and real-life journals written by women who crossed the Oregon trail, and settled in the American west. These were women given away as children into marriage, who buried babies and small children, who watched their husbands go to war and never knew if they'd return. These women left their parents and siblings, never to see them again, who held their own families together when danger, illness, and uncertainty threatened to pull them apart. These women faced major hardship and were expected to submit to the men they wed. What strength of character that took. How does one balance the draw of submission while still fighting for equality? (By the way, if you're interested in how submission may have played out with those in the Suffragette movement, check out my friend Amelia Smarts' Submissive Suffragette. I loved it.).
Modern day women are tenacious as well. It's partly what makes submitting to a man who's earned your trust so delicious. When he knows who you are, and respects that, allowing you to be the strong, intelligent, capable woman you've given your all to achieve, but he takes the reins and allows you the freedom to rest a while, it's so very freeing.
This week I came across a quote I really loved.
It wasn't a quote I read and agreed with right away. I had to give it some thought before I decided whether or not I agreed , but as I thought about it, I found that it was true. Yes. Submitting to Jason is so freeing, because I'm able to be all that I want to be and more. The reasons why are many, and I've written about them before – the mental freedom, the ability to let go of what others expect of me and simply focus on his.
When I'm with him, I'm free to be a lover, and his friend. He allows me to explore my passion for writing, pursuing a career that has been a life-long dream of mine. I'm mother to his children, a gift that delights me every day. Last night in bed, I read stories to my little ones as they snuggled with me, one on each side, and when we were done, Jason stood over us before taking them to their own beds. They were holding onto me, each little head on each of my shoulders, each little hand wrapped around my belly. He chuckled to himself. “Look at them, needing to be with their mama.” These days are fleeting, and I feel blessed to enjoy each moment.
There are so many facets to all of us. I love that being with him allows me the freedom to explore each one of the women that lies within me, the many personas – the the teacher, the friend, the woman who loves her family. The little girl turned woman who is safe with her Dominant, who craves his discipline as Jason's Girl. The romance writer Jane. Every face is different but each one is me.
How does he help me embrace those facets? One way is by not judging who I am, or what I want. Recently, I was holding back from telling Jason something, and I finally decided I wanted to talk to him. It wasn't a confession or something I had to tell him, but something a little different. Finally, one day, I told him. “I don't always like to confess these things to you, because I'm so afraid you'll think I'm weird.” I know he doesn't think that, but the fear really does surface sometimes.
He reached for my collar and tugged it a bit, smiling at me. “This says I don't think you're weird.”
Have I mentioned lately how much I love him? Being understood and accepted is perhaps one of the most beautiful gifts in all of this.
But there are other ways he keeps me happy, and helps me explore all that I long to be. And one of those ways is by keeping me in my happy submissive place.
The latter part of this week, Jason was busy and distant. It happens. He's not a robot, and he's not able to focus all his attention on me. I understand that, of course. But I am required to tell him when I'm feeling off, or I need him, so I did. Late Friday night, he came to bed, and I snuggled up onto his chest and tucked my leg up on him, getting as close to him as I could. He held me and gave me some space to talk. I told him what was on my mind, and he listened, kissing my forehead and really, doting on me. It was lovely and sweet. But I needed more. I was too tired, and so was he, to go to that place of more – a good, long, hard session that put me back in my place.
Usually these days I'm able to communicate my needs, or he knows what my needs are before I ask. Sometimes those needs can be met without landing myself in trouble. But sometimes, I slip. Yesterday, I slipped.
I was trying to make a whole bunch of pancakes...long story. I was flipping pancakes and the time was flitting away, way past the time I normally bring Jason his coffee. It was taking me longer than I'd anticipated (due, in part, to a whole lot of little hands helping). I finally made him his coffee, but my little ones were arguing again, and I sort of lost my mind. Many of you have written to me lately, telling me how you get in trouble if you have kids at home, because they make you lose your temper. I totally understand that. If my little ones are driving me crazy, I'm supposed to compose myself, separate them, go to Jason, or some such thing. They're getting older now and the crazy moments are rarer, but they still happen. I'm not allowed to lose my temper. Well, I did. I went in the bedroom and Jason was awake, quirking an eyebrow at me.
“I know, I know,” I began. Up he got, instructing all the kids to go downstairs, the older ones helping out the younger ones. They were happy to go see Saturday morning cartoons, giving us some privacy. With the air conditioner cranking upstairs and the kids on the other side of the house downstairs, I knew we now had the total privacy that he could do whatever he wanted me to. When they're on the other side of the house and the air conditioning is going, he can take his belt to me and no one hears a thing. So there's no escaping with a little spanking for me then. It was time for a serious spanking, and we both knew it.
I was not in my submissive place.
It happens. Many people who are in D/s relationships are either single or retired or have no children at home, and the focus is primarily on the couple. This is common, but there are many of us who are in between – small children at home, college-aged children in and out, extended family we live with, etc. And when the needs of the couple must be put on hold to tend to the needs of others, it only stands to reason that occasionally, reminders have to surface.
The heart of a D/s dynamic, no matter where it falls on the range of the power exchange, is the agreed-upon imbalance of power. To some, it's erotic and in bed, to others, a few rules that enforced with mild consequences, but to many, it's the expectation of obedience enforced with serious consequences. Our flavor is roles-based, so the ways he keeps me “in my place” are many and varied, some physical, some emotional, many sexual.
The mental gymnastics I do at this point are quite drastic.
I don't want this.
You'll feel better after this is done.
But it'll hurt!
He loves you.
But it hurts BAD.
Just trust him and it will be fine.
No, no, no, he spanks so hard.
You need him to spank hard!
I don't want him to spank me.
Yes, you do.
He began by making me strip.
That's always intimidating, being taken over his knee totally completely bare. He's my husband of fourteen years, devoted Dom for over three, I've been spanked hundreds and hundreds of times, and still, it's intimidating. He had implements out on the bed I didn't even see until I was belly down over his knee, restrained, and the first searing bite of something (the big huge eraser? God, I hate that thing. The sting is deep and intense, paddle-like) fell. (Edited: I just asked him and he said “Yup. It was the eraser. I like it because it wraps around you like my hand but stings more. Lawdy. Thanks, babe.)
He spanked me until I was begged for him to stop.
Part of me hates when I get to that part.
“Ohh, ow. Please stop! I've had enough. I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!” I'm crying now, sniffling into the bedspread as I grasp the covers in my hands.
I flail and kick my legs but can't get away and really, if I'm honest, I don't want to. If he lets me go now, he's not given me what I fully need. At one point he pauses, massaging my aching bottom. He says softly, “We're not done here yet, little girl,” and the spanking begins again in earnest.
I'm cringing and groaning, but I need more. I know I need more.
It's not a game we play. I'm not pretending to get away. I really can hardly bear the pain and I want it to stop. But there's a part of me that likes that I can beg for him to stop and try to get away but I can't because he's in charge, and it's not because I'm a masochist. It's because there's a part of me that needs to be taken beyond what is comfortable, far beyond my tolerance because that's when I reach my submissive place. It's not that I need pain to be turned on. It's that I need to know he's got the nerve to take me on.
He's man enough to say screw what everyone else says. It's in this surrender that I know I am strong, because I took that hard spanking and survived, and I accepted the discipline of my hardass, uncompromising man who's got me.
He's got me.
I cry and I cry until I'm done. Exhausted. Submitted. All my fears are swept away now and a weight is lifted. He holds me and kisses my tears away, massages away the pain, and when I'm calm, no longer crying, sweet and soft and at peace, he lifts me up, positions me on the bed on my knees, chest down, arms braced in front of me, and he finishes what he began, taking what's his.
My happy submissive place, I call it, because it's there, in that place of trust, that I'm truly free. Calm. Centered. The physical, mental, sexual, and psychological surrender gives me the space to be all the many things that I am, and all the many things that I long to be.
One time, we were snuggling up in bed, and Jason said, “I like when you're in your place. You know where that is?”
I shook my head. I had an idea, but wanted to hear what he said.
“Right here. Your place is right here, by my side. This is your place.”
My happy submissive place, exactly where I belong.