Love Me Properly

So Strong and I had a candid post mortum tonight about the failure of our relationship and I made sure to be honest about where life has taken me. I am in an odd dilemma, to be loved, by many, but not quite in the way that I wish.

I find myself playing with hearts, accidentally. Perhaps spurred by Strong’s instance that I look elsewhere to get my needs met, my deck is overloaded with people who I’m afraid of hurting, with one wildcard that has to play himself. Tease and denial comes easily with dominance, and yet when it comes with suitors, excessive insistence of my glory sends me scattering. I hate the idea of having victims who aren’t willingly tying themselves to the post, but are doing it for desire for something more. Maybe that’s part of what makes me deeply suspicious of acts of service, more so than I should be?

And I had my heart taken, accidentally, as if it were book picked up by error, but then the borrower had become engrossed in reading what he found. Unfortunately that’s a situation that’s providing my least favourite thing in interpersonal relationships: waiting on someone else’s will and willpower. I am not, but nature, good at that kind of patience. Trust is not a natural part of my makeup, least of all trust and faith and others (not with my independence levels), nor do I like passivity. But, regardless, the situation the gentleman has is something where if I try to intervene I’m in the wrong. I can’t lift a single finger, not to push or to beckon.

It makes me think about love as it should be, for me. I’ve never been about being impressed with expensive gifts. The Ex, the one I spent six years with, compared my needs to being that of a pet rock- I never made demands, not for jewellery, flowers or fancy dinners (I like eating, but I’m not good at taking)- and honestly, I was an expert at self sacrificing care taking for him. And yet, my way of love has been about doing on the small scale. That doesn’t really fit stereotypical D/s femdom well- my ‘tribute’ wishlist is a joke loaded with beef jerky.

And yet, I bought myself tea roses this week, my favourite. Strong charmed me with unexpected chocolates, once upon a time, and once, a boy charmed me, by passing me a cheap chocolate egg. Compliments get me blushing. Somewhere is a chink in that armour. I want the romance, I just don’t want to feel it’s a big deal.

To love my properly, it seems, takes courage, self confidence, occasional capacity to cruelty, and yet acts of kindness. I need someone who can yield to me where I want it, but stand for me and with me when I need it. If that ends in me being a spinster maiden aunt in the end, so be it.


Shut up Tashi. 😛

On The Single Life- Or Why I Don’t Think Online Dating Is For Me

So things ended with Strong. Sadness documented in other posts.

We never had monogamy, but I never got further than play with friends and a spot of light molestation. It didn’t feel right, up until it was basically over with Strong, and at that point the relationship falling apart just meant I felt frustrated and neglected. And small amounts of drama occurred which I will explain later.

Somewhere along the way I acquired one of those online dating profiles. Under the general theory that I’m a tough cookie who won’t let a little setback having to break up with someone after many patient months get me down, I busily answered questions (allowing them to conclude I was much more kinky than the average, as well as independent and not very romantic, not sure how I feel about that last part) and took some flattering selfies. From there I set out to tentatively find out what exactly the boys were like out there with an eye to being open minded. My head’s a little messed up by stuff, but it couldn’t hurt, right?

For an extra oomph I seeded my profile with hints of my precise brand of kinkiness, and set about with the rating of profiles that okcupid gently nudges you to do. And lo and behold I got a message.

“Is your name [Pearl]?”

Okay. There’s no way that is going to end well. And no, it did not…

Read more

Well, fuck. (Breakups)

So, Strong and I broke up. No story this Friday, just a post mortum.

Leaving most personal details out of it, it just wasn’t working anymore, which makes me incredibly sad. More so since I didn’t stop caring about the poor bastard, we just lost the mutual connection. Somewhere along the way, it died.

Ferns basically has the crux of the challenge for dominants, that without submission there is nothing. You can have a relationship, but it’s a stunted one with an under current of frustration. Breaking up with him meant leaving the hope that if I was just a bit more patient he’d come back to me.

But there’s that bugger chemistry. When you feel like submission is being handed out like a cookie, and the person is too busy giving you what they think they want, you stop feeling that glow of empowerment. To describe the situation, of course, doesn’t give Strong a fair chance to defend himself. He tried to be what he thought I wanted to the best of his ability.

But the problem may also be a matter of style. Submission, for me, is seduced out or ripped out. I find I tend to be drawn to the switch-y ones, in part because of my masochism, but also because of that sense of victory. Ha. I bet I probably sound like a cliché. Every dominant likes to think they’re special and that their submissive does not fall easily.

(Well, actually I’m not so sure about that, since I fake ‘submissive’ really well and I do not act fighty)

But for me, a guy who is all service and obedience from the start makes me feel like I’ve been asked to scale a sheer wall of glass. When I met Strong, he was emphatically not in a submissive position. The chemistry grew up around his desire just for me and we created something that was unique to us.

And yet there’s the gulf that often comes up between expectation of how a sub should act and  what the dom wants. In his case, I think he choked, and got too focused on being the perfect boyfriend. We always had a problem that way, for example I would provide a rule I wanted to put into place and he would take it and run with it and turn it into something his. Which makes it not about me, but about doing things his way.

On the other hand some of this is normal. I may have been too demanding and distance is bloody hard. And I really need to feel like I have the person’s full attention when I want it, which may be pretty hard to pull off all the time.

Regardless, he was, in many ways, extremely good for me and I don’t regret that he was part of my life. He came in as a friend, and I hope we’ll stay that way after we’ve had a chance to lick our respective wounds.

Deranged Emails (Jeremy)

Usually I only get spam through the contact form for this blog. However, I must be doing something right- look at the crazy person who just sent me some fanmail!

Your hypocricy

Alas, spelling is the first thing to go when the neurons start to fry.

Being a jerk and sexism are discouraged. You right stories about arrogant, pervert SEXIST scum, you have tabs highlighting male suffering and feminism and you say sexism is discouraged. How would you define sexism if not through your sick, hypocritical garbage?Submitting not for you?

Come again? Yeah, I don’t really get any emotional fulfillment from subverting myself that way. I’m a masochist but a terrible sub. What’s that got to do with sexism?

In other words, your just a typical worthless reject fuckbag wind and piss who is about as useful as a cunt on a nun.

Because the only value of a woman’s genitals is their utility as a source of sexual enjoyment to others? Okay…

Pity YOUR junk isn’t locked up, although I suspect nature gave you the best chastity device when it gave you your face. Just be glad when nature gave you a face like a dogs backside, it gave you the substance that comes out of one for a brain.

Well then, clearly this guy doesn’t like porn stories and me being supportive to a friend who is sad his $600 chastity device broke. Apparently the only purpose women have, to him, is submission or sexual gratification. I’m pretty sure he enjoys neither in real life, but hope spring eternal on his part, I guess. Also, is he trying to neg me?

No tolerance of Male led D/s at all, or are you one of those feminist pigs who try to portryay Male led, M/f/ D/s reationships as DV? That’s domestic violence in case you’re too stupid to know.

So this person really, really doesn’t like femdoms, or maybe they don’t like people who aren’t switches. Or they simply can’t understand the difference between a sexual preference. Typically speaking “feminism” is like a dog whistle for a particular brand of fighty idiot who rapidly turns vile and violent, usually in a way that makes feminism inherently self justifying.

Sadly, the guy who calls himself “Jeremy” doesn’t limit himself to just me. Alas, femdoms across the interwebs are finding his bags of flaming shit in their in boxes, apparently mostly via twitter. Thus discovered by Goddess Olivia and last year, Girls Rule, Subs Drool.

Same modus operandi- screeches of “It’s not FAIR!” with a string of incoherent insults. Same email address with a generic name. Guess the group home lets them have access to computers to keep them integrated into society?

Other Places To Go Part III

It's been one of those months

It’s been a while since I did a link dump. Work and some emotionally confusing and exhausting life stuff have been draining my energy, including my creative output. However, I’m still keeping updating, albeit maybe a bit late.

Coming up on the writing queue is a review of one of my favourite writers of online femdom stories, who is making anthologies of his work, as well as a ebook called “How To Discipline Your Vampire”, a firmly tongue in cheek effort to cover all the book trends of the last decade other than maybe a girl rebel in a dystopia.

Now, the links!

Someone called Laura Brown at Divorce Darling made a ‘scoop-it’ page about ideas of what to do to your male submissive.

Becoming Her Slave has a whole blog devoted to pondering how to get women on board with this femdom thing in a way that makes it fun and non-pushy.

Submissive Guide aims to be a resource for subs to share their thoughts. It’s mostly femsub oriented, but they try to be malesub friendly too. Their sister site is Dominant Guide.

Friday Femdom Fiction: No Marks (Tickle)

The cuffs made the satisfying tearing noise of silk being shredded when she unwound the velcro from its coiled up shape. He was still smiling, the black silk of the blindfold across his eyes like a censor bar.

“Huh,” she set the first cuff around his wrist and considered precisely what she was about to do. The nylon weave straps ran under the mattress, beneath them, an X shape with each end terminating with a cuff. “There we go.”

A naked spread eagle gave her a chance to enjoy the view. He was slim, with the build he’d built up with daily 6:00 AM swim practices. She swung a leg over his body, straddling him.


Her fingers sought his chest, stroking in a glide over his smooth skin. He kept himself hairless, as if that could somehow help him glide through water better. She couldn’t leave marks, which was just her luck. Boyfriend with a perfect body, a high pain threshold and a hobby that meant wearing a speedo on a regular basis. But she would show him.

“What are you planning tonight, Mistress? You’re not going to spank me, you tied me face up.” His tone had a challenge. With everything they did and played with, he was always quick to hid behind his limits. She liked that edge of rebellion that never went away, even as she sought to grasp it and rip it out by the roots.

Her fingers curled as the stroke reached his shoulders, letting them brush along where the muscle connected chest to arm. She liked the way he fit together,and the way that when he lay on his back she could still see the way his back muscle extended like a wing, “Hush.”

“Mmm?” He clammed up, but there was a certain sort of seeking in the way he tested against the cuffs on his wrists, pulling on the straps.

“You talk too much Waterboy.” She leaned in close. “If you want to come, I don’t want to hear you make a sound.”

And then her fingers skittered over his ribs. He gave a gasp, getting the measure of her game instantly.

She found all the delicate, soft places, where the nerves could be teased. Armpits. Back to ribs, and along his collar bone. He shook. The more she brushed her fingers against him, the more sensitized she saw he got. She took care to change the spot, never letting him adjust.

The blindfold, being nothing harsh, had loosened itself with the way her was frantically moving his head from side to side, grimacing and giving little whistling exhalations and snorts. he looked at her accusingly.

“Don’t laugh,” she warned, in that syrup and cyanide voice. “Don’t you dare laugh.”

Then, to raise his helplessness, she ordered, “Stop smiling!”

The way a nervous mouth and a happy mouth both pull themselves shared enough similarities, that between her constant stimulation and verbal prods, that it was almost impossible for him not to grin. “….hhhhh!”

“Was that a noise?”

He shook his head briskly, with a look of panic.

“Let’s see what you’re made of, then, shall we?” She slid down his body, making sure he felt her soft nakedness against his, until she settled herself at his feet.

When she began to tickle the soles of his feet, she was thankful she’d strapped his powerful legs down. He was kicking frantically.

“Just a little bit more,” she crooned. He was at her mercy now. She knew if she pushed a little more, he’d break, and one of his chuckles would slip out. She laughed then, considering. Did he come tonight, or would he have to wait?