Some Safety Measures For New Submissive’s

Since I started this blog, one of the most common things I hear or read about from anonymous submissive readers of mine is that they’re in a emotionally abusive relationship with a man who either doesn’t fully understand what it means to take the mantle of dominance, he doesn’t care in the slightest or he’s just being cruel and manipulative.

Today I wanted to write about some safety precautions for the new submissive out there, in the hopes that it open minds and even helps in some regards.

Let’s start with the false dominant. To me, a false dominant is someone who is abusing their status in malicious ways. To some of them, dominance is just a thrill for the moment, something to be discarded with once they find a release.

In a relationship a false dominant might restrict their submissive’s communication to their friends, might demand access to their apps and profile to monitor their activities. They will make decisions for their submissive – in a relationship where that aspect has not been agreed upon by both parties.

These types of dominants can skip straight to sexual talk when you meet them. They usually flash some charm until the shields are lowered and they can tap into what they want, like a mosquito. It’s the thrill, you see. It can be intoxicating to them.

Some might even demand things of you before an agreement has been established between the two parties, ignoring your self or interests for their own.

Sometimes months can pass between communication and the submissive will find herself baring every inch of her body and mind while she is given nothing in return from this person. It’s not equal or fair, it’s purely that everything is in this dominants favour. And it’s disgusting and unhealthy and abusive.

Safe, Sane and Consensual.

The most important concepts a new submissive can reflect on is that, no matter how inferior you feel to a dominant or to yourself, that’s simply not the case. Not only is the dominant or submissive equal in and out of the relationship unless a specific hierarchy is agreed upon before hand, the submissive has the power to choose, to give their body and mind to the dominant.

After all, you are giving control over and they should decide who is worth that control. No one can boss you or give you orders or dominant you until you give consent. If they argue otherwise, they’re just a plain jerk and not worth your time.

When I think of consent and think of negotiating the terms of what that looks like in a relationship, things are…ritualistic for me. Documents are involved, long late-night discussions take place. How consent occurs for me is irrelevant though – the point is that it is a discussion that needs to take place whether you are Fuck buddies or entering into something long term.

Even if it’s an idea you’re not sure of, raise the issue first, don’t let it fall on the back burner otherwise it can create some disturbances later in the relationship. It could fester.

Do some research into what you want to explore, look into the safety of what you want to explore – and know the limits of your mind. If you’re not sure what they are, be sure to state that it for when you reach that point in time so you – and your partner may know. And in doing so, FORMULATE a specific safe word for your limits, soft and hard.

Fantasy / Reality

This is tricky, in the sense that wanting something in a fantastical sense might not be the most realistic option – or the healthiest. I like to write about some dark things – rape among them – but I acknowledge these as a fantasy and not that reflective as me as a person or as a dominant.

Your head and your fantasies can be frightening – alienating and dark and animalistic – but this doesn’t mean you’re disgusting or awful. The difference here is that, of course you’d want these instances to occur, if at all, in a controlled setting or environment.

Understanding that line between fantasy and reality becomes easier the more fantastical thoughts that occur within your head – because you become used to accepting them and dealing with them – and in turn they help you apply this method of critical thinking when it comes to relationships.

You have a say

Just because you’re submissive doesn’t mean you don’t have a say in negotiating or any D/s concepts. You have a voice and I guarantee you that you have worth and your ideas are worth talking out loud and exploring.

Trust me when I say that your own voice will be appreciated by the right dominant. I, personally, love the input of a submissive mind. I want to hear their thoughts on the discussion and when I was negotiating with my own kitten, hearing her offer her own thoughts and fantasies was not only welcomed and a breath of fresh air from thinking in my own head – but it was sexy as well to hear what was lurking deep in her mind.

That’s all from me now – if you have any questions, my email is always open and you are welcome to write any time.

Wave-Length

Her pain healed him as much as it did herself.

Through her gasps and moans, he felt a piece of himself coming back.

Through her tears, her whispered confession if her fears, heightened by pain, brought out by pain, he found another piece of himself in sharing that moment with her.

Suddenly she was not a stranger anymore, suddenly he understood her behaviour, suddenly it all made sense to her, the past weekend, the past days, the frustrating silences where her tongue froze, words stiff on her lips, things she wanted to tell him but didn’t because she doubted — herself.

He held the chain connecting the clamps to her nipples, he controlled the surge of her pain, opened the door to pleasure. The endless stream of consciousness funnelling itself from her mind to his. He understood the right amount and adjusted accordingly – and she…she understood to trust him, to allow him herself, to allow herself to let go of control, of the desire to hold back. No one had wanted her mind before, why should he? But no, that was not correct. That was something else, something damaging burrowing into her skull. She needed to fight back on that thought because he…he was there for her, and would always be there for her, through the bad and the good, through the pain and the pleasure, through the devastating cries and the moments of raw human vulnerability.

He needed to let go as much as she did, had wanted to before but always doubted himself and his place in her life. Each and every day.

Pulling the chain so that she rose, in anguish, in tears, in pleasure, took every aspect of himself, to look past a gentle nature, to take himself there to that secluded part of his soul she had always marked – and in turn take back there, to show her around the place, the place that was hers.

Through her pain they opened a wave-length only they shared. Maybe it was always there, this ability to communicate, but maybe pain was the tool, however controlled it was – or had to be – needed to take that communication further.

Sex, Death and Nightmare Fuel

You know what’s interesting? Why my brain mixes filthy sex in an absurd setting with the horror genre.

I mean, one minute I’m hiding in a factory warehouse with a beloved actress from her friend transforming into a werewolf she beast — and the next I’m driving an American car while a Greek woman is naked and grinding into my kitten from the passenger seat of the car.

If I were to tell my mother, the gentlest human I know, the woman who would literally wash my mouth out with soap for cursing, this she would stop and think a moment — and say ‘Well, you didn’t get this from me.’

So why, brain? Tell me, why.

I’m an avid horror fan, ladies and gentleman. If you’re a long time reader you may have probably picked up on that fact – I merge erotica with dark fantasy and usually horror and I can tell you right now that a lot of my stories are purely from dreams – there’s hardly any fat or any filler I add later, it’s purely dream or nightmare fuel.

But yes, I’m an avid horror fan – Be it through books or film or tv, I soak up any media. Less so since I’m growing older and softer — but as a genre it’s something I gravitate towards because it’s such a liberating genre in a way – an artist can take this imagination and illustrate it via writing or via a movie with effects or lighting or animation – and that creation and ownership of fear, of that feeling of dread, is exhilarating and such a purge of emotion. I mean the world stops dead. You exist in the moment with this piece of media, do focused by this fear.

And sometimes not – sometimes you’re watching a bad movie you’ve seen way too many times before. Sometimes it’s a different purge, it’s a killer and these teens are going to get it. They’re stalked in a build up that is unleashed in a violent climax. Which, by the way, was always kinda sexy to me in a way I didn’t want to talk about because I felt guilty and fucked up. It was very primal and in a manner of being predator / prey.

So why is my brain mixing horror with eroticism? I have no freaking idea. Maybe because dreams are a funhouse of thoughts waiting to collide in some kaleidoscope of colours that is dependant on what you absorb in your life? Which, in my case, is the psychology of sex and…werewolf movies? I haven’t seen any lately? But I do like a good tortured human / beast movie!

I could be here all day talking elements – Why was I driving an American car? Why a Greek woman? Why on my lady? Because – back off, stranger – she’s mine! And why in a warehouse harbouring a werewolf?

As a horror fan, in the waking world, I was always intrigued by how horror films stimulate in their own way – how pressure builds and relaxes, builds and relaxes. Especially in, say, a slasher film, where sex is so often associated with death. A cynic would say that’s all marketed to the teenage demographic – and that’s correctomundo – but so many of the people I’ve met and friends made along the way as I’ve handled this blog have been into horror – so there’s a definite sexual link there beyond selling tickets to horny teenagers. It’s been interesting to find, in my own personal journey, that people who enjoy slasher films particularly are primal, whether they are aware or not.

But! It’s 2:43am in the morning and my caffeine is wearing out so it’s totally possible that I am just overtired and over-thinking!

In Which I Muse On Dominant Stereotyping

For the purpose of this particular piece, I am going to discuss things pertaining to dominance and a dominant.

Where did this idea of dominance being defined by a man in a successful business – whether it’s being a doctor or a lawyer or what have you – come from?

It’s not from the 50 Shades of… series, surely, because Christian Grey, on the outside at least, is your typical cotton candy Dominant and that’s the fantasy – or at least a fantasy of a dominant man.

So it must be a very basic thing that appeals to people, right? The charming man who has it all together, whatever the case may be – I hate talking in variables because if I do I’ll be lost in one situation for the rest of the night. But that’s it though right? The man whose life is run like clock work, he has it all sorted? He’s worked hard and now he’ll play hard?

Now…I don’t mean to offend…really I truly don’t. I’m just some country bloke living in a big city now – but I feel like that’s, more often than not, a stereotype. A fantasy.

I’m sure there are men out there, truly driven by dominance that has led to them having successful lives – and that makes me happy. Any one out there who has worked hard and has built their life up deserves happiness and all the power to them.

I guess, where I’m coming from as I write this, is that it’s interesting that the men that I’ve met who identify as dominant are nothing like the brooding skyscraper-dwelling folk that comes with the stereotype. In fact, they’re house husbands, mechanics, the manager of the local supermarket.

When writing this, I do what I usually do – and turn to my lady and get her two cents. She is, after all, my best critic – brutally honest but not unkind. She even raised the point that some men who fit the fantasy might be just as sleazy than any other dominant – which never occurred to me until now.

You really cannot tell until you sit down with the person.

Anyway, that’s just something that’s been on my mind the past week as I’ve been scrolling the underworld of BDSM and have seen a bit of stereotyping to dominants. Apologies if it’s unfocused.

Catharsis In Darkness

He wanted to make her cry.

He wasn’t sure why, not exactly, he just knew that it was something that he needed to bring out of her.

When the cane came down across her breasts and a cry spilled loose from her lips, deep and raw, he felt that within himself. He felt that as much as he felt the residue of pain around his fist that clenched the wooden cane.

It was a sense that came to him crackling across his body like electricity. He needed to push her into a different place and space, in order for her to feel, to purge.

Was he abusing her? Taking advantage of her emotional state?

A thousand voices cried out in protest in his head as he brought the cane down upon her flesh, but not once, in her strangled cries, did she utter her safe word.

Was it, then, HIS responsibility to gauge her limits and decide? Or did he trust that she’d meet him half way. Did he have to let go as much as she was?

Something about that was thrilling.

Something about the way her cries squeezed out of her chest as the cane struck her turned him on. Made him hard. He had never heard that in someone – a desperate cry. He wanted more of it. He hit her harder and the rush came, for both of them it seemed. She tilted her head back and inhaled as if breathing for the first time in months.

He laced every strike with a slice of degradation intended to cut, intended to play upon her mind. She was a fool, she had made a mistake, she was a pathetic little horny bitch.

The words sliced at him just as much, feeling coarse on his tongue, yet seeing her body tense, her breasts rising as she took in a shuddering breath, made the act worth it.

He was addicted, some part of him knew, to her darkness and his own. He felt it tearing at his soul, pulling him under with every strike. He wanted to go, wanted to drown beneath the waves. He was tired of fighting back, of being good, of worrying if he was a monster or a man.

More importantly, he wanted to see welts rise across her breasts.

‘I am an idiot. Yes, Master.’

She recited back to him what he spoke to her.

‘I am such a goddamned idiot, Master.’

Somewhere in his daze, he must’ve told her to repeat after him.

Was he in control? Was he really?

He watched her turn, facing her back to him. His eyes fell upon her ass, her beautiful pale ass, so perfectly shaped, freckles sporadically lined across each cheek.

When he strikes her, she grunts shrilly, in a way he’s never heard her before.

His cock is fully hard, aching to the point of pain to take her. As if he will go mad any moment now if he doesn’t.

He stills his impulse to fuck, and strikes her right cheek.

She falls forward, not expecting it.

He pauses, waiting. Listening for the safe word, but she gathers herself. She straightens her back as she’s on her knees.

When he strikes her again, she is composed.

When he strikes her again, she makes no sound.

When he strikes her again, she begins to sniffs.

He listens for the word.

It never comes.

A Quick Note From Me to You

Don’t do what I did and settle on something that doesn’t truly fulfil you. Don’t linger in your life out of fear, don’t wake up and try to convince yourself that everything is okay, that you are really happy in your life or relationship or marriage.

Don’t you ever do that.

Because it will kill you, slowly and surely. It will eat you from the inside as you tell yourself that this is fine, that this is life, that this is exactly the compromise that people spoke to you of. If it gets to the point where you feel, what I can only describe as a restlessness, as an emptiness – I’m not sure that that is a matter of compromise.

I sense it more often than I like – people staying out of comfort or duty or some semblance of love. And I struggle with that. It’s none of my business, I’ll say. Walk a mile in their shoes before you pass judgement – there are countless variables out there, don’t let your own failed marriage taint your perspective.

Yet if someone writes to me, and laments – I can sense it so powerfully.That restlessness. It haunted me too.

And it’s tricky you know? You get tied up in life. If your anxious, you settle for a light rhythm to keep your mind occupied. If you’re shy, you settle for staying quiet because it’s easier then putting yourself out there. If you have kids or a partner or a house, it’s easier to swallow that bitter pill to live in that pocket of comfort.

Don’t get me wrong. I understand the reasons why, I lived that life. I would certainly never pass judgement on someone either, not a single soul.

I just want to tell, nay! Implore, that someone who reads this and is settling on something – anything – for whatever reason – that you don’t have to settle. That you can do that wild thing in your life – the thing that will make you happy.

I don’t blame you for hesitating. I did. I did for years. I was too scared to reboot my entire life that it took my ex wife to make the decision.

But I survived. I’m okay. I went so low that it was terrible and I felt I could never recover – but I’m okay. I made it through the tunnel.

And if I can – me, a lowly writer – surely you can too.