daily life with kink

Jan

2024

Current State of my O/p Power Exchange: ice cream sandwich

So we have the kind of intimacy I don’t talk about for all the many reasons I don’t talk about it. So I am suddenly unconscious, and then I am on my knees, and the water is spilled, and my tears are in my eyes and on His jeans, and I am looking up and I am declaring Love like it is fealty and admiring shock and awe like a weapon (and didn’t he once say…?). And He wields it over me or I hold it in phrases, give it over to Him anytime He demands. So then we are in the living room, this couch an island, the world just the two of us — but we are briefly coming back to it, back to what is outside of Us. And He’s going into the kitchen; He’s saying, I’ll get myself a popsicle and I’ll get you an ice cream sandwich, and I say, Actually, Owner, could I please have a brownie instead?

And He says, I don’t think I heard you right. Could you repeat that?

So I say it again and it feels weaker. My pores are already wondering if this is some act of rebellion somehow, if He didn’t hear me or if I just misspoke or if I’m just wrong, so I say, the soundwaves themselves disoriented, Please, Owner, a brownie? And now He is above me and I don’t know how He got there. So He bends down, locks on, looks in, and I feel reality flutter, the unmasking that takes us back to the pretty voids He has made for us. I am falling again, I am leaving, I am gone, and He says, What is it you want? And I think: what is the right answer? I think: I want to give You what I’m supposed to. And so I say An ice cream sandwich and He says I don’t believe you and I am smaller; He says, Beg.

And I do not know how. I have never known how. This is not a dynamic where I beg; this is a dynamic where He takes. But right now, I do know how, so I am wretched, I am louder, I am saying Please, Owner, please. I really just want an ice cream sandwich. I was wrong. I want nothing more. Could you just get me an ice cream sandwich? I just want an ice cream sandwich.

No, He says. No, I don’t think you do. There’s something… false in your voice. You’re not telling me the truth. What is it you really want? And I say a brownie but we both hear the ghost of a question mark. And He says, Yeah? Is that what you really want? And I say, No, I want an ice cream sandwich, please.

So He breaks the spell, walks away, says I’ll just get you the brownie. And I say, No, no, could You get me that ice cream sandwich actually? And He says, You don’t have to pretend. You did well trying, good girl. And I say, No, I mean it, and I mean it.

And it is the best thing I’ve ever had.

And so He catches me, eyes closed, and He smiles at it the way that He smiles when He catches me, eyes closed, all the time. And He says: So what is it you really wanted, property? And I stop, stop without swallowing. I look at Him and I’m sure it’s filled with fear or reverence, words I’ve long known well share a root in our mother tongue. They might as well be the same. And I say, Yeah, I really actually wanted an ice cream sandwich. And now, He says, But did you?

So I don’t know anything again. So I don’t need to. So I don’t know when and how this started. So still we have come back to reality; we do not remain on that island. So I had missed this one thing:

Reality was always in His grasp. I had missed that He holds it in the same way He can hold my skin between his nails, the thin layer of barely detachable surface His to manipulate, His to move.

So something changed. So I meant it. So I know I meant it. So He knows it too. So He smirks. So I wonder still if I ever wanted a brownie. I think maybe it’s that He always knew better than I could. And then I realize: no, I knew; I did — and then He changed what I could know. No. I knew everything about the world, and then I didn’t. No. I wanted an ice cream sandwich.

Jan

2024

scenes from a pandemic: ‘do*

[setting: out for a walk; my hair, in a French braid, is fairly newly dyed green and purple]

Him: Oh, wow! It looks so good in the light, wow!
Me: Does it?
Him: Yeah, all the colors together like that–!
Me: One of my favorite things whenever I dye my hair is the first time I get to braid it and see how it looks like that. I always think it’s so cool. I’ll have to see how it is in braided pigtails soon.
Him: Okay, buttttttt if you’re going to do that, you have to wait until my shoulder feels better.
Me: Is that so? Well, let me know. So I can try my hair out.
Him: Sure. So I can try your hair out.

Jan

2024

I’m better at service when I suck at it.*

As a service submissive, I’ve often thought “acts of service” is an inadequate love language category. Without knowing why service means something to you or your loved one, you lack the needed information to do it properly. If the reasons behind your appreciation for service are solely in time and labor spent, solely in the idea of putting in work for somebody else proportionate to care for them, this writing *may* not be for you.

But if you are in the many of us who engage in service because we want our loved ones to have (or want them to want us to have) nice things around, or lives that are somewhat easier and allow for more time for hobbies and each other, or no need to think about the small things that must get done, or something in that vein, I have a somewhat unusual proposition: the key to good service is to do it poorly.

My Owner had me learn to cook for Him. These days, I’m fairly in charge of everything related to what we eat, and while I’ll ask His input when I’m meal planning, what He really cares about is that we have dinner and that it’s relatively healthy.

But when I started, I thought that good service was the service that I put the most of myself in to. I made fairly elaborate meals with two sides every night, tried to make sure I didn’t repeat them pretty much ever, and saw more work as better.

And I always minced my own garlic.

Lives are tough. Many of us balance taking care of children or parents, health issues of our own, work, creative pursuits, community obligations and roles, and more. We go through bursts of being able to get it all down, or bursts of focus on one or two of these in particular. And we burn out. We have phases of “doing it well” and “not doing it.” Or we give up a category or three here and there, or become personally miserable.

Okay, and then what?
Are our partners’ lives still easier if they’re managing our stress breakdowns all the time, or if we don’t have energy left to give them our best?
Do they really have less to worry about if we are every so often going to need to lie in bed for a week recovering?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that you should slack off on what is expected of you. I’m saying that if the goal is an easier life for a partner or simply things being nice and put-together, what matters is that it gets done.

Back then, I never would have used pre-minced garlic. It comes in little tubes or jars. It’s not fresh. And it also takes like 200% less work from me. This is a small part of any meal (although make no mistake, there’s garlic in *everything* I cook) and it isn’t something my Owner can taste a difference in. But while no one ever had said if it would matter either way, it seemed like it did to me.

It seemed like buying the pre-minced garlic was a short-cut, which meant “bad.”
It seemed like pressing the button on the Roomba was sucking at service.
It seemed like a lot of things that *were all in my head.*

It’s interesting how many times I’ve heard people who are stressed out around service have total revelations at this. It just hasn’t occurred to them–because they’ve assigned their own ideas to the value service brings and never asked the person they provide the service to. And yes, for some, service is an expression of amount of work = amount of care. But for others, it’s the end result that matters. So why not take shortcuts when they make the rest of the machine run smoothly?

Five minutes to my schedule here and there adds up. Fewer repetitive wrist motions absolutely do. What my Owner had asked of me was to take care of meals. That was it. That didn’t mean “to the extent that it comes before your mental health and our ability to take time together.” That didn’t mean “and the amount of time that takes you is directly proportional to your Love and submission.” That meant “take care of meals.”

So, yeah. I use pre-minced garlic. And I’m providing good service; I’m providing what my Owner wants of me. And my food tastes fucking fantastic.

Jan

2024

Why be a masochist…? Why play video games? **

When I talk to masochists who want to up their pain processing, one of the places I start is: why? Why are you doing this? Why do you want to do it more?

When you examine your answers, maybe you find that you’re actually not someone that needs to “take more pain” to go where you want to go. Maybe you uncover information that your partner(s) can use to help guide you through difficult moments. Or maybe you find something that easily gives way to a mantra, a tone-setting ritual, or some other way of grounding yourself in the experience.

Or maybe it’s just interesting to think about every now and again.

Anyway, it’s a question people struggle with. As do I. My answer as to “why do you like pain?” is generally something like “I just do.” And true, some of us just have those crossed wires. But really, we don’t think too much about why we like what we like in life. It’s no different than if someone asks a gamer why they like video games. Probably, a lot would reply “I just do.”

In actuality, there’s research as to why (that I think my Owner actually participated in lol?) and it turns out there are individual, differentiated reasons for it. And funnily enough, I think many of them might mirror reasons why people enjoy pain. Now, these won’t necessarily encompass all of yours, and you’re almost certainly a combination of some, and they certainly can apply to other roles, and other asterisk-based statements here — but I think it’s a good place to start.

I’ve listed them below, with each description a real sentence from the article I found listing them with just a few words changed to fit our purposes. They’re just excerpts, so I recommend the original article if you’re interested in the gamer side of things. (Note: this isn’t the official research results—which I know exist somewhere—but it’s the source I used.)

Why people play video games–or with pain:

Competency / Measurable Progress
People like to progress. It feels great to work hard on something and see positive results. Some forms of pain are harder for some to tolerate than others – high level of difficulty to become masterful. However, trying those same forms of pain also helps beginners get involved by giving them positive reinforcement for the little good things they do. They get rewards the more they play. And the more they play, the more masterful they become.

Novelty
Novelty or variety keeps life interesting, fun, and engaging.

Building Relationships
Playing with others is a bonding experience. You feel closer to the people you play with because you share a common goal.

Relaxation
When the world around us is busy, chaotic, and stressful, immersing yourself in a captivating, relaxing or not-so-relaxing scene is nice.

Escapism
When it feels we can’t control our lives, jumping into a contained world is relieving. Maybe we are trying to get away from school or work problems. Or you don’t feel you have direction in your life. Whatever the case, escaping into a scene can relieve situational problems.

Internal Exploration
Play allows you to take on any identity you want. You can be a confident, strong warrior in a scene but feel timid and weak in real-life. Play can give you the space to be yourself and explore different personalities in a safe environment. This gives players comfort in being able to freely explore thoughts and feelings they might not feel comfortable doing anywhere else.

I’d imagine most of us fit somewhere here to some degree. Even if it’s entirely service for you, that’s building relationships, and even if it’s something that you feel “I don’t know, it just feels good”—okay. I’ll stop analyzing. We like what we like.

And of course, there’s the final one, and the most important: games are fun! Play is supposed to be fun too. Don’t let yourself lose that in the pursuit of more whatever. We like what we like—whyever we like it. Sometimes, that’s enough.

Jan

2024

scenes from a pandemic: affections*

Him: *comes home from work*
Me: Yay! You’re here! I missed You! I Love You!
Him: I Love you too, little thing. *punches me in the stomach*
Me: *likely an oof noise*
Him: Well, you were asking for it.
Me: I wasn’t…
Him: *punches me in the stomach two more times*

Jan

2024

Don’t Threaten Me with a Good Time: how do you say that you want to not want it?

Don’t threaten me with a good time.

No, really. Don’t.

It’s not that I don’t like being fucked or beaten. I like both more than I probably should. But tell me it’s going to happen, and I still may let life get in the way. Tired or moody, and I’ll ask to put it off a night or two. After all, even the lazy or depressed nights with my Owner are good nights, better than any I could ever imagine. Promises of good things I will let happen if I can. Having things I like done to me is… well, something I like done to me—but I may not dream about it for more than a few weeks, usually won’t text my best friend to tell her all about it (with exceptions).

But set the toys out I hate the most. Grab me when I really don’t want it. Strike or speak to me in a way that actually makes me angry—and it’s all I’ll come thinking about for months.

That’s all putting it lightly. Yes, I think about the time I curled up crying and wouldn’t touch Him as He uncaringly scrolled through His phone. Yes, I think about the blood on the hotel sheets, the challenge I was set up to fail, the question I was never asked before my speech was taken away. Yes, I think about nearly vomiting from pain in the old office chair and the things He did to make me retch more. Yes. Yes. Darker.

There’s a reason that when I’m not quite wet enough and His cock is hurting me, He simply mentions that very fact. I’m usually soaking and pliable in seconds. But I have to really have not been wanting it. It doesn’t work if I’m playing a role.

That’s the inherent problem in the way I do CNC: how do you say you want something without ruining it by wanting it? Not overall, that’s not what I mean—it’s more than possible to discuss this in long-term negotiations and still have days where you don’t want it enough for this to work. But in the short-term, when it’s what I want soon, *soon*. What are the options?

How I ask to not want it is the same reason we can do this at all: my unstoppable need to announce everything I’m feeling. My training to try to tell the truth.

I let my fantasies about the moments I have been most afraid of Him happen out loud, tell Him how momentous and ominous the strikes to the box that my head was in felt. I find opportunities to state my aversions out loud: electricity is the reason I couldn’t do this event. Being made to eat disgusting things is what might really make me quit. I describe my horrid nightmares and shudder openly at tortures in films. I send or say the kinds of words described in this universally applicable guide that’s actually about no-safeword tickling which should be required reading for anyone who plays like us, and then I trust I’ve let Him see enough of me to make it possible:

I’m not looking for a “yes, it’s ok to tickle me if I cry.” I’m looking for “hell yes, I want to be sobbing and I want you to keep going. Please don’t stop. If anything, go harder. Wreck me.” -@wren_

And because I also announce all the days I need my sleep, or when my joints are fighting the weather, or if I’m running errands or seeing my mother, my Owner knows both how to use my honesty and when not to.

I knew I wanted to write this, didn’t know if it should be poetic or a guide. But for me, there’s nothing more poetic than being known well enough to be made to suffer. So why shouldn’t it be both? Besides, I can’t really write a guide—because the answer is, “I don’t entirely know.” I’ve just found a few ways to dance this dance. I know what I do to try.

I voice the fantasies. I react fully. I show it all and say it all. When He says, “Are you too tired to be fucked?” I smile, and then I mean it when I say “yes.” I show Him pictures of things that make me cringe. I shop for the toys I’d rather run from. I tell Him what I can’t stop thinking about.

I put up writings like this one.

Jan

2024

Scenes from a Pandemic: protection*

Important context. A sword lives under our bed, and has been grabbed in response to bumps in the night before.

Him, coming in after a post-sex beverage: I locked the door because I realized I hadn’t done that yet.
Me: Oh, good. No sword-time tonight.
*rather long pause*
Him: Well, if you’re lucky, I might be feeling rapier soon.

Jan

2024

scenes from a pandemic: romance for fucked up disabled girls*

Me, after going over details of recent doctor’s appointment: I just get so scared and sad every time I think “I can never do ________ again.”

Him: You know what you can never do again? Leave.

Jan

2024

Scenes from a Pandemic: how this dynamic works*

Him [*singing*]: Once, I was a billion years old.
Me: I… I don’t think that’s true.
Him: Why not?
Me: That’s not how time works.
Him: What do you mean? Now, I’m a billion and one.
Me: Oh. Well, in that case.
Him: Do you think that’s how this dynamic works? That you can just question if I’m a time lord whenever you want?!

Him, a few minutes later [*singing*]: Once, I was a trillion years old.

Jan

2024

Scenes from a Pandemic: sunday morning sweet nothings*

[setting: bed, snug o’clock in the… morning. let’s call it morning.]

Him: Don’t move your left knee up any farther. I like my balls as they are.
Me: I like them too.
Him: Yeah. Humphrey and Bogart are pretty great.
Me: …I was going to compliment Your balls more, but then THAT happened.
Him: Aw. Who did what? Was it Humphrey or was it Bogart?

Him: When I was fucking you the other day, I must have been like this and thrust real hard at some point, because I somehow hurt my *toe*.
Me: You thrust real hard at several points.
Him: Yeah. Your vagina and your vagina.

Me: I vaguely remember telling You I was dreaming about us having sex when You came in, and You asking if it was good.
Him: Well, sure. It could have been a bad dream.
Me: I mean, it wasn’t anything particularly bad *or* good, I guess. It was pretty par.
Him: Oh, so spectacular. Got it.