lemie


	lemiefantasie Male Submissive, 20, Newark, New Jersey	Lemieux5258 Male Dominant, 29, Houston, Texas

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	About lemie I have been told that I am a dichotomy. I am an overachiever in all aspects of my life. My only vulnerability is my sexuality, where I crave to relinquish control. I don't submit to Doms who command aimlessly or thoughtlessly. My threshold is considerably higher than most women. I respect intelligence, character, commitment and, above all, good grammar. I ache to be defeated, but it takes time and much effort to get there. I need a Dom who can respect me and understands how to bring me back to reality from the dream that he leads. It's a stark contrast between the submission of me before our time together and then the snuggling and discussions after. Be my emotional rock when you crush me. But be sure that you can build me up before you do. Trust does not come easily to me. Let's take it slow and keep it clean to see if there is chemistry. I'm looking for a Dom between the ages of 38 to 49. I tend to be attracted to those who have professional careers, who can handle the daily stressors in life as well as being inquisitive and concerned about mine, be an emotional confidant, and need this side fulfilled as much as I do. I am not looking for a FWB, NSA, "just a fun time" or a poly kind of relationship. This is a huge time and emotional investment for me and the rewards are too precious for me to be flippant or be shared with another sub. In addition to my journal, I am trying to transition to Tumblr, where many of my favorite kinks happen to reside. http://capturemementally.tumblr.com if you'd like to take a peek.

As I am laid up in bed, my mind hazy with Oxy, I am tired and my shoulder is stitched up like I am some kind of rag doll.

The pain is bearable with the pain medication but I do feel it throb. The bone and the ache of .... oh boy I am feeling sleepy again.

Will need to write more soon. I hope.

It's been a whirlwind of a month. Spring is already here and the buds are flowering. I am growing food again this year and we shall see what I reap. There is something to be said about toiling on my hands and knees.

This weekend I will be looking to plant in my garden and do some bike riding before I go into surgery to repair my shoulder's labrum next week. I wholeheartedly believe in medical science and am excited to be able to tighten up my 7 times dislocated shoulder. It's failed me for the last time.

Here's hoping that I will have a lifetime of healthy shoulder shrugging ahead of me.

"All right, pet. Get yourself ready" he says.

The subby pet stood naked with her legs spread and her hands dangling by her crotch. She slowly and gently cupped her labia lips and spread them enough so that her clit peeked between the folds. She then squats to spread her legs even more while her hands swing slowly behind her.

He was enjoy this. He chuckled and asked lightly, "Tell me again what would happen if your clit is not exposed for me?"

Her eyes dropped, then closed, and then she winced in remembering. She replied softly, "Sir will use the crop on my clitty for forty times until my cunt blooms"

Sir waits for more and was not disappointed. He is nothing if not a patient, sadistic Dom.

"And I drink a gulp of water each time I am smacked so that I feel like I have to pee. And if I pee or squirt, the pee will be put back inside of me ... " and the tears started to fall from her scrunched up face.

She wants to distance herself, he thought. We don't want that. This is reality.

"Look at me when you are answering my questions" Sir says.

His subby pet's tears trail down her cheeks and some drip onto her chest with others fall to the floor. Her heaves are beautiful as her breasts bounce slightly and her squat form quivers. She opens her eyes and match his.

These eyes show fear, hesitation, and emptiness. He thought. She is retreating emotionally. We don't want that either.

Sigh.

There's only a finite number of times that a sub can be defeated before she becomes numb or cannot get back up again. This Dom is different. He wants to build her up only to defeat her.

He remembered the time in the very beginning stages of her abduction that she was left alone in a darkened room. She had been so methodic with her discovery, slowly feeling around for any tool that can get her out. She was bound with her hands in front of her but she could crawl and she found a sharp corner of a table that she sawed her way out to free her hands.

He was more than pleased when he was peering through the night vision camera. She still had her clothes at that time and could crawl around without brushing up against any harsh elements. She found a small nail file in a dusty corner and started to work on the doorknob. It was reversed so the keyhole was facing her, and that was what stood between her and freedom.

At least, that's what she believed.

I am ritualistic in my nightly masturbation routine. I wouldn't call it an OCD trait as much as it's a desire for comfort. I feel the ache and I release and then I can sleep. It's my teddy bear. My sedative.

For a Dom to take that away would be more than inconvenient. I would be the dog with the cone around its neck. I would feel on edge all the time. Desperation would consume me. I wouldn't last half of a day. That is ... if I allow it to mentally consume me. I am not easy to break. I don't like giving in. I don't like losing. But I have to mentally crack to feel open and vulnerable. It starts with trust and ends with pain. To say that I've never had the pleasure is a truthful pun.

I imagine a naked subby tied to a chair. Her hands behind her as her fully dressed Dom carefully inspects her body and her mind. He is slow and methodical. He is calm and thoughtful. He touches her face gently and traces the outline of her neck and shoulders. He notices the goosebumps that appear and glances to her face. Her eyes are focused but are staring fixated at some object. She is mentally creating distance between them.

He takes his fingers and starts to draw out her nipple. He continues to progressively tug until he is pinching, and then twisting her brown flesh. The areola is scrunched in response. Not a peep from the subby, though. Pain can only be felt if she allows it. It's the last barrier. He looks at her face again.

"Look at me" he says.

She says nothing.

He walks away briefly to pick up a crop. He smiles softly, as he knows that she will not dare break her concentration to look. He waves the crop in her peripheral vision and see her blink. Was that a glint of fear? Her breath deepens, awaiting impact. She doesn't wait another beat when he starts to inflict pain with the crop.

Her breasts bounce violently away, trying to avoid being a dimpled force in the crop. Her nipples are taut and are blurred in the quick motions of avoidance. Her movements are, of course, limited by being bound, which allows the constant barrage of smacks to its targets. Nipple. Nipple. Breast. Open cunt. Labia. Thigh. Nipple. Nipple. Breast. Clit. Clit. Clit...

His subby's stoic demeanor immediately breaks. Her deep breathing become heaves and she is dancing for him now. She is desperately seeking his eyes for a connection. She squeals and squirms and with tears and broken language she spills the words that her mind would not earlier allow her to utter. Some are garbled sounds. Others are coherent and pointed.

Please.

Sir.

NO.

PLEASE.

OW. UGH. ARGH.

I ...

PLEASE STOP NO MORE PLEASE.

He doesn't stop just then because this is a painful lesson that she must learn and endure. He wants to be certain that she is ready to talk. She is open. She is ready to respond. She is ready to listen. She will look into his eyes. She is defeated. She will do anything for him, including giving up her body and mind.

It's a start.

He knows that her orgasms will be his to keep and to dole out. They will be forced and painful and deep. She will feel her cunt explode with squirt juice as she loses complete control of her body. But first, she needs to listen, respect, and obey.

When I feel a D/s connection being made, I can sense it. It may not be immediate, but I can eventually pinpoint it. It makes me smile because I know how special it is. It's a gift of yang to a subbie's ying. It allows the sub in me to continue to explore, and it piques my curiosity and is my drive.

Vanilla dating, however, was fun because the weight of sex didn't rest on me. I didn't feel the pressure of wondering if our kinks would match.

This is one of those meetings that happened last year.

His name was, oh, let's name him James. James was an engineer and a consultant. He was well dressed, carried himself well, and eloquent. As I sat in the coffee shop to wait for him, he comes in, orders and comes by and introduces himself. As he picks up his beverage, he beckons me over to his side. I take my things and walk on over, turning a side-by-side seat to face him. I put my bag on the coffee shop window ledge and leaned against it to drink my tea.

We talk and he is immediately dominant in his conversation while I am quiet and observant. He fires out questions and talks ... and talks ... and talks. His body language is also getting more aggressive. It started when my soft voiced answers could not reach his ears and he took it upon himself to put both his hands on the sides of my chair to pull me closer to him. Instinctively, I reached out my foot to the bottom of his chair to maintain his distance. He chuckles and says that he's not going to bite and he starts to ask me what kind of porn I liked to watch.

Oh, sweet, dear James. You have no idea, honey, what you're even asking me.

He told me that most women liked to watch porn with stories. Or gay porn, or girl-on-girl porn. At this point, I was done with our date. Not because our sexuality didn't match but because we were an hour into the conversation and he was confrontational, demanding, aggressive, and a boundary pusher. The only things going on for him was that he was the epitome of being tall, dark handsome and his body was chiseled. I can see the draw.

James took my hand and kissed it sensually. He said, "I am very attracted to you. You are gorgeous and intelligent. Want to go back to my apartment and have some fun?"

Uh, no. No no no no no no no. NOPE.

I stood up and told him that I had to get going and that I had only allotted an hour for our meeting. People were waiting for me. I had made sure to plan that ahead of time. He understood and leaned in toward me for a kiss and I turned my head. He told me that he will text me soon and he did that evening. I thanked him for an awesome time and that I won't be meeting him again because I didn't feel that we were compatible. He was completely fine with it and said, "No problem". I've never heard from him again.

Well at least I can see the difference between a Dominant and a person with dominant traits. I am glad to have met James, and I am even happier to have moved on.

At one point, I skipped over about 2,000 Tindermen. I am hoping that some of these profiles were not legitimate but that's a whole lot of swiping. Here are some that I skipped over:

1. There were profiles of men who posted photos of themselves ... from a decade ago. If your gal pal next to you is wearing a scrunchie and a black choker and isn't a sub, the photo is outdated. Oh and those profiles of guys who posted pictures of themselves as a baby? What should the appropriate response even be for that? "Oh you were posing so beautifully in that JCPenny portrait, you must therefore be my soul mate"?

And if you do decide to post old photos of yourself, keep in mind that I'm scrolling through them. Your profile may very well look like a flip book of an aging you with how fast I am moving through it.

2. Overused phrases that mean nothing in a profile:

(1) I want to just have fun/to smile/to laugh.
(2) Please be REAL.
(3) No drama!
(4) Looking for a partner in crime.
(5) Just seeing what's out there ...

3. I don't want to see a picture of your car. I don't care if it's muscle or classic or a Maserati. Your mode of transportation should not be profile worthy.

Okay, I'm done venting for today. It's time for porn and sleep.

Every day, we make connections. We make eye contact, smile, and hopefully hold doors for people. We Facebook and Instagram, tweet and consume. We may IM, text, or make short conversations. We may hold meetings and collaborate. And, if you're one of the lucky ones, you get to go home and find that someone special to touch. It could be a pet, a sub, a Dom, or even yourself.

When I dipped my toe into the Tinder pool last year, I had been flooded with connections. It was like the bukkake of dating. I had to stop several times so that I could pace myself. Being overwhelmed, I tended to just NOPE everyone, just to see if I could run out of Tindermen.

While I was fiercely swiping I noticed some things.

I skip profiles of men who blur other people's faces in the picture. Speaking of blur, taking multiple blurry photos of yourself is also unacceptable. Any profile that looks like you are hiding something in the photo sends a red flag.
Selfies really can be taken at many wrong angles. My first view of your face should never be up your nostrils. Nor should I be able to count how many chins you have. Any number greater than one needs to reshoot.
Profiles that consist of naked selfies in the bathroom showing a guy's face means that he wants only to hook up. Profiles that consist of naked selfies in the bathroom without showing his face means that he wants to hook up and is also attached.
Many straight white men love fishing and showing off the fish. I'm starting to think that the size of the fish should matter. If so, forget the height measurements and let's see how much that striped bass weighs, okay?
Any hand signs that aren't ASL, PSE or SEE is unacceptable. Men who show off their ringless middle finger tells me little. Besides, isn't it the fourth finger where you were supposed to wear the ring?

I will end this entry with what many have written in their bleak profiles:

"More to come soon!"

Months ago, my gal pal took me out to dinner and told me that she was worried about me. I'd kept my love life mum and she was probing. She raised her eyebrows and asked me if I was on any of the vanilla dating sites.

Tinder?

No.

OKCupid?

No.

Match?

No.

She stared at me. I know she means well but how was I supposed to tell her ... ?

I joked that I was asexual. That I had too much going on in my life. That I would rather binge watch "How I Met Your Mother", or read.

She continued to stare with eyebrows risen. We were in a dark restaurant and romantic couples were everywhere. I tried one more tactic.

"I'm a lesbian"

She immediately broke her stare and burst out laughing. Shaking her head, she asked me for my phone, to unlock it, and download Tinder.

"It will be fun" she says.

"You LIKE meeting people" she says.

"There is a guy waiting for you and you just need to be out there" she says.

Sigh. Fine.

I downloaded Tinder, and the subsequent FaceBook app and halfheartedly took a selfie to post.

"WAIT, oh my GAWD NO" she says and grabs my phone.

With two snaps and a toss of the phone back, she catches me half laughing and half exasperated. Apparently, a selfie is not good enough for Tinder.

Now I've never been a fan of photos of people. It's not who they are. I don't find pictures of men attractive. It's not who I want to date. I want to see into their minds. I want to see what they love and why they made the decisions that they did in their lifetimes. I need to know that they can care for themselves well. That they are emotionally supportive and self-sufficient. That they are in control. I mean, how else would they be able to take on a sub otherwise? A mere picture tells me none of those things.

So, my Tinder adventure began ...

My birthday has come and gone and I was lucky enough to celebrate with my friends and family. A few inquired ... what do you want for your birthday? Well, my tongue-in-cheek statement would have been to have a less toxic political climate but I refrained from my verbal tirade.

But that's a damned good question, actually.

What DID I want?

Not stuff. Things don't make me happy. I don't care about things.

Life experience is what I seek. As I get older (well that's a stupid statement, as age reversal isn't a thing yet) I appreciate relationships more and more. I had believed, deeply and truly that I was not a person who people should care for. I was desperately lonely but did not reach out. And that did not leave me open to feel connections. I was a robot who moved through life but felt nothing.

I have since shoved the emotional curtains aside and have thrown open the painted shut window. I am feeling the scorch of the sunshine and also its warmth. Pellet sized hail bounce off of my skin but I don't want to draw down even the protective screen. Not yet. I am feeling open and vulnerable, but also at an odd sort of peace, too. Because through the endurance of pain, calm awaits.

I am embracing my love of sex and bdsm. The Dom and sub dynamic. The delicious dichotomy of kink. Receiving physical pain during the aches of begging for pleasure. Sex makes me happy now. It's a connection, too. It's not an action that I am required to perform to make a relationship strong. It's a powerful craving that I get that can be satiated by the right person. By the right connection. By the right elements.

It's not wrapped but damn it's one hell of a gift. And I think I got it now.

My left side brain loves routine and precision. When I am pushing my body to the limit, my breath deepens and I become hyper focused. All peripheral worries fall away and I am free to move faster, reach deeper, and push harder. Is it possible to go into subspace while working out?

Whatever it is, it's self-inflicted pleasure and pain.

And it's delicious.

I woke up with a different type of ache today. I feel empty and the rest of my body is at attention. I brush my lips against the back of my hand absentmindedly. I need touch. I am starting to feel flushed and shimmy my electric blanket away. I am acutely aware of my surroundings and my own deep breathing.

Today is a beautiful morning.

This morning, I turned over in my bed and felt my poor muscles ache. For two days in a row, I worked out at the gym and gave it my all. At the time, I could feel my muscles spasm and my body almost lose control. When I was squatting with 30kgs worth of weight on my shoulders, I knew I would pay for it in the morning. I wanted to push myself to the limit. I wanted to see how much my physical being can withstand.

The little distractions are what hinders me. I can feel the tickle-trickle of sweat bead off of my shoulders and I want to drop all of my weights just to wipe it off. I can also feel it drip off of my elbows on to the floor and have to remind myself not to slip.

I am still nursing my weakened ankle and can't afford another injury. I feel it get aggravated and I'm annoyed at its inability to do its job.

Ah well, time to shut my eyes and look at porn.

Definitely not in that order.

I don't cry often, but when I do, my feelings barrel through like a train missing its stop, leaving behind a crowd of confused and dismayed passengers on the platform.

I don't cry not because I am tough as nails, but because those around me who know me don't know how to react. It confuses them. I am the one who listens. Who dispenses advice. Who gives encouragement. What happens when I get frustrated? I look for a quiet place and cry alone. And then I pick myself off from the ground, take a hot shower, and try to deal with the aftershocks of sadness.

I'll let the sadness wash over me for now because I know tomorrow will be a better day.

How, you ask?

Well I made some fresh chicken vegetable soup that will surely cure what ails me. It's in a dutch oven pot and it awaits my ladle.

In the meantime, my tears will drop where they may feel comfortable falling.

A mix of feelings come to me on this blustery day. It's been 2 years since I've lost my dear grandfather. Actually, I never had any relationship with my biological ones. My paternal grandfather died before I was born. The other met me twice before he passed. He was estranged from my grandmother. Well, everyone was estranged from her. She was a weird person.

Anyway, my dear Pop Pop was everyone's grandfather. He lived on the block for 55 years. He raised his own children, their children, and when his wife ran a day care, he raised those babies, too. He was warm, huggable, a great listener and advice dispenser, and a matter-of-fact war veteran.

The last conversation I had with him was around Christmas time. He guided me into the kitchen and showed me a pair of earrings that he had purchased for his wife (my non-biological grandmother, of course). With a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye he said, "I knew she was looking at these but I told her it was very expensive, so she decided to put it back. She will be SO surprised when she sees this!"

Their relationship gave me hope that there is lifelong love. I know I have a ways to go, (although my birthday is coming up in 10 days!!) but their relationship is what I aspire to have one day.

Whew, it's taken me forever to migrate the rest of my blog. I've been writing for what felt like years. I guess I didn't realize that they actually were years. I'm still in the process but I've been changing themes. This one looks good. http://capturemementally.tumblr.com/

Oh crud, now I've got to migrate this posting, too.

Damnit.

As I listen to the notes of the song "Auld Lang Syne", I consider the "old times" of 2016 and how much different I feel. I want to say that I'm starting fresh, but I don't want to start on a new slate. I want to instead build upon my experiences.

My continued goals and focus are to listen, to replenish before depleting, to eat healthy, go the gym as often as I can, and learn music.

So, when I listen to that same song again next year, I'll look at 2017 and feel accomplished.

This is a wonderful ending to a very hectic year. I am taking a moment to really feel at peace and to listen. I am staying in the present because the future is a potential land mine.

So what is certain? Certainty is the moment that I am lightly touching the keys on my keyboard. It is my deep inhales and light exhales.

I also wish you peace.

Happy Holidays.

Good morning, world! The sky is a beautiful shade of blue and a deep purple, and the sun'll come up ... eventually. I am taking my time to stretch. It's my first feeling of pain and pleasure for the day.

I love taking the train at night. I pretend that I am in a spaceship and the lights that blur by are galaxies and stars. I look around and people are bored and staring idly at their phones. Their slightly illuminated faces pay no attention to me as I steal glances.

My body was simmering tonight. Flashes of video clips and tumblr gifs danced where sugar plum fairies should have been.

I have so much I want to write, but I think I want to stretch my story writing muscles.

I've started a small blog in case CollarSpace (which used to be CollarMe but we won't go there) goes away.

The blog is: http://capturemementally.tumblr.com

If you have a moment and find a picture that you like, send it to me there and I will write a D/s take on it. It can be of anything. Be creative. I want to do this right.

Today I felt down. I shouldn't. I am back on my feet and I have an ankle brace that is keeping my foot in check. I even went to the gym today to test it out and felt fine. I am on the up and up.

I came home smiling but felt lonely as soon as I stepped in to the darkness. I ache for a connection that can last. Someone whom I can depend on when I cry. Someone whom I can run to when I am scared. Someone to share the details of my life with.

My neighbor's car got broken into last week, so this evening, when I thought I heard my car alarm go off, I ran outside. What was I thinking? I was armed with nothing in my hands and slippers on my feet.

I had to go, though, because I am my own protector.

Doms, I envy you sometimes. Please show me how I, too, can be confident and have strength to proceed.

Good news! After a few painful days of hopping around on crutches, I went to get my ankle X-Rayed and came up with no fracture, woohoo!

It's absolutely exhausting to get around this way, but at least I'm getting a good workout.

My supportive leg is going to be solid after this incident.

Some days, I feel good doing things on my own. I can overcome obstacles. I am stronger for it. Today was not one of those days. These past hours have defeated me.

While trying to hang a mirror, I cut myself on the glass. That in itself is not unusual. I am clumsy. I allow myself to bleed, literally and figuratively licked my wound and went about my business. I get a good two hours in at the gym and head to my car. The "check tire" pressure light is on. No biggie!

Cold air usually makes the air pressure lower. I start the engine. Bluetooth? Check. Pandora? Check. Paired? Check. I pull out of my parking spot and hear "thwap thwap thwap". Sigh. I get out and see a nail in my tire. Fine. Okay. I can at least use my warranty to pay for that. Hopefully my tire will last overnight in the parking spot until I get it to the shop tomorrow.

I trudge myself home and my trusty calendar alerts me that it's trash night. I tie up (teehee) the garbage bag and head outside. It's cool but not frigid, and the rain was light. I take a step down with the garbage bag in hand and felt pain as I crumpled into the concrete. As I flailed like a cartoon, the motion sensor light triggered my flood lamp and a spotlight shone on my instigator. I had apparently twisted my ankle by trying to walk on a round rock. My knee is scraped, my ankle is in pain, and I was hugging my bag of trash.

I hurled the bag in the direction of the garbage cans, shoved the offending rock to the corner and limped back into my home. I am starting to think that I should have reversed the actions because I would much rather have hurled the rock into outer space, where it can do less harm.

Tomorrow will be a better day.

I had been watching videos of a subbie's legs spread out, exposing her soft clit and folds. She is available and open. Completely bound or legs held high by two other nonplussed women. Some captives are unable to move, but others try to struggle.

It could be a crop or a whip or a thin switch stick. It doesn't matter. They all inflict pain.

If I could make a scene that I would like to watch, she would be made to split her slit even more with her hands, making sure that the folds extend and her poor clit completely in the open air for all to see. She should be humiliated as she finally lets go, and is reminded that it will be the last time that she touches herself for a while. She is also told to remember the softness of that last touch because the next feelings will be horrific.

Today, I got FIOS! I was getting sporadic service from Comcast and although degradation in sex gets me off, its poor internet service is not the type of pain I crave.

Tomorrow I will call Comcast. It will be so satisfying to cancel their subpar service.

Now I am watching porn speedily and I should be lashed for not having done so earlier.

"Bless us O Lord, for these thy gifts ... " I used to say this prayer every single school day before settling down to eat my lunch. I would recite the words mindlessly as I glanced over to the thinly plastic covered boxes of food. Would it be soggy tater tots today? Or perhaps over sauced salisbury steak with buttered mashed potatoes?

"... through Christ, Our Lord, AMEN". And in unison the lunchroom would be filled with noises of chairs being dragged over the floors as we would clamor into our seats. We would then gingerly peel the cover of our overheated cardboard boxes and dig into our perfectly portioned meal with our sporks.

Life is different now as a grown up. I have stopped saying the prayer of thanks but I am actually more grateful. I use my own money to buy the ingredients for the meal that I make. Farm fresh means that there are farmers who are working hard on growing my vegetables. There are truckers who ship the food and workers to put them in the stores. I am missing many roles of people in between, I know.

So, for this Thanksgiving, I don't want to utter another trite prayer into the air.

I am grateful for those who are on this Earth, and I will do my best to express that sentiment genuinely. So if you encounter a gal whose eye contact holds a little too long, who says a loud but throaty "THANK" with a trail of "youuuuu", it might just be me.

I want to write about something taboo, so I need to throw out the principles of being "safe, sane and consensual". Okay? Okay.

Foreplay for me is that moment that I know I am about to be taken. I love wrestling more than I like to admit. I like catching the eye of my Dom and being challenged. Svelte men don't do it for me. I am strong and I will do my best. If I can take the crop out of his hand, I am inclined to use it or to hide it.

I gain gleeful satisfaction even with a little bit of control. I can run into a room and lock myself in. I can dodge. I can shove. I can slap.

In what other setting would it be more appropriate to behave like a brat?

I was careless with my knife. I was too wrapped up in cooking. I didn't move my thumb out of the way quickly enough. I realized it the moment I felt the sharp pain. I am okay. T'is merely a flesh wound. Adrenaline flooded my system and I had to stand a moment to breathe while blood seeped out, my body desperately trying to start the healing process from the trauma that I caused.

I hadn't felt anything in a while, so even my pain was dulled. I am shielding myself from it all. This morning, I am sluggish and want stay in the comfort of my mattress. I feel a draft coming from my window and I love the feeling of coolness on my face contrasted against the warmth of my heavy blankets.

As I shift my feet to feel the softness of the bedding, my big toe reminds me that I am not fit to wear heels. Yesterday, I lost a layer of skin rubbing up against an unyielding part of the black pumps. Today, my every step will be a dull pain.

My angst has me running to someone I trust who can comfort me. I feel like I'm about to break down and cry. I am still angry although I am picking myself back up quicker than I had been last week. I'm having a down moment. I feel a lot of weight on my shoulders.

As much as I appreciate it, people telling me that things will "be fine" doesn't cut it for me. My mind demands to follow those points through. How exactly will this be fine? I am so unsure and so unconvinced. I am avoiding all news except for the weather, which is not easy. I used to be such a news junkie.

In this dark cloud, though, there is one silver lining.

Today, I have found another piece of my sexual puzzle. I somehow came across a site that really spoke my language. It put into words that I've felt in my heart and had images that I came to over and over again before I had even seen them with my eyes. It consumed me. I came hard and deeply and outwardly fisting my Gspot until I folded myself in half. I bucked so hard the floorboards beneath me creaked. I held my breath, gritted my teeth and tensed my entire body while it bucked.

I had lost control of my body, even though I had been the one masturbating it.

Self-sex is an amazing thing.

I spent the day making a hearty chicken vegetable soup and it came out so delicious. I shared it with my friends and family as part of dinner.

There are times that I wonder what it's like to be tied up and spoon fed, bit by bit. My Sir gets to say when I get to take a bite.

He is taking care of me and he is in control.

He gives and I take.

Today I am feeling better. I am talking to people and understanding their perspective. I am getting over being despondent. I am slowly getting over my anger. I want to be focused. I want to make sure that I am being open and supportive to those who need it. I can't do that when I am tripping over my own thoughts.

My body hurts right now. I pushed myself to the brink at the gym and just walked 3 miles home. It was brisk and beautiful. I turned off my phone and pretended that I am seeing my city for the first time. I admired buildings that I had never noticed before, and silently listened to conversations to those chatting around me.

I am home now, and freshly showered. For the first time in a while, I am going to indulge in watching some movie trailers (they motivate me for some reason) and then some porn. What a terrific ending to the evening.

I need to avoid the news today. I want to feel better. I want my sexual appetite back! I want to be able to watch porn and my only frustration should be of myself when I accidentally click on those screenshots of rough sex videos that take me to other links ... of other potential videos. Clickbait, begone!

Let the keyword searches begin.

I did it again. I went to the gym and didn't push myself hard at all. I didn't realize that I was watching a closed captioned version of Seinfeld for twenty minutes while on the treadmill. I wasn't breathing heavy, my trusty display tells me that I've burned a whole 50 calories and my heart just wasn't into it.

Too many people today have grabbed me and said, "Have you heard?!"

Oh yes, I have heard conversations. And read. And could see how hate is rising.

I just don't want it to be the norm.

I feel powerless and disgusted and demotivated.

There's a lot of anger and hate out there. I am trying not to get too wrapped up in it. I am trying to level myself. But I am distressed. My actions seem fruitless now. I am sluggish and I cannot concentrate. I went to the gym today and left earlier than I should have. Tomorrow, I will try again, but tonight, I mope.

There's not enough porn for me to get me going. No watching women squirting, no amount of watching men's cocks throb as their mistress giggles as they tease the precum out of them, no amount of nipples being revealed from disheveled clothing can get my body to ache.

Because my mind hurts now.

Today I came across a three wicked candle and knew that it was time for me to blow it out. The wax was still wet and the flames were dancing high and mightily. I moved the candle to the other side of table and picked it up by the base, swishing the hot liquid inside.

While I held it, I took a deep breath and tilted my face forward and blew it out.

"WHOOOOOOOOOO"

and I felt an immediate sensation on my eyeball.

UGH!

I rushed to the sink to wash my eye when I hear a colleague say, "Hey I didn't know you were into that sort of thing! HAHA".

I blinked at him as well as I could and made no move that I understood his inside joke.

It's all fun and games until hot wax gets in your eye.

I am feeling somewhat better these days. My iron shackles are becoming loosened. My feelings are getting more room to stretch. I am feeling more like myself. I gave myself a test. How much porn do I need to watch before my I need to start rubbing?

The other night, I watched for hours and felt nothing. Not even the old standbys would make my lower body ache.

Tonight it was better. I watched for an hour before I started touching myself and brought myself to orgasm pretty quickly. Oh, it was the compilation of watching women being forced to orgasm and squirt that brought me over the edge.

It's tough to find good videos of women squirting. The girl can't be doing it herself. That's boring. The girl needs to be forced. To be humiliated and displayed. And it can't be just a magic wand tied to stim the clit. The Dom or Domme needs to do the work. I need to see fingers or other objections of penetration to make it palatable for me.

I need to be EVEN more patient.

But in the meantime I need to sleep.

Today was a bit better. I felt some of the things, and am coming back to my usual self. Is it the weather? The pressures of work? Of life? Of the balance between the two? It feels like a tightrope of floss that I am gingerly walking on, with each delicate step swaying me one direction or another, and all the while digging into the soles of my feet.

I suppose it's okay since I feel nothing right now anyway. My feelings will come back eventually.

I need to be patient.

Contrasting to my previous post of highly sexual emotions, today, I was completely flat. I felt like nothing could get to me. Not even sex. Fingers were inside of me, and I just felt ... nothing. Kisses, intercourse, pain ... I felt bad for not feeling anything. I apologized for not being able to tap into those emotions. I wasn't open. It happens sometimes, and it's as if my brain just shuts it all down. No joy, no sadness, no fear, and no anger.

So, I just ate a pound of Old Bay dusted large crab clusters and am calling it a day.

Let's start fresh tomorrow.

Sometimes, instead of a good conscience and bad conscience character balanced on each side of my shoulder, I have a cupid-like fella reminding me ever so often that I am in heat.

"Excuse me ... " I'd like to tell him, "but can you please leave me alone? I'm doing non-sexual things right now and would like a moment of normalcy".

Of course this imp won't let me out of his grasp. He giggles and pokes at me more with his hormone tainted arrows.

Dammit.

I feel my body twitch and parts of me has a mind of its own.

Or rather, that my brain has a mind of its own.

For instance, today, I am walking down the street, minding my own business when hear a small yappy dog who is being cuddled by its blonde haired owner.

"NO" the owner says, trying to keep the dog quiet.

"Yap yap yap yap" was its only reply. At this point, I find it comical that the dog is much like the battery operated ones that used to call to me at the boardwalk. Only those dogs flipped and stopped yapping after the batteries run out.

A larger dog is walking proudly with its owner, also minding its own business on the same street when the itty bitty dog gains vigor and continues its hoarse barks. The owner, still clutching her adorable toy-dog, reaches down and tries to soothe it while also apologizing for the behavior of her stressed out puppy.

And while she was bent down, I saw the curve of her breast and her nipple, framed by her low cut shirt.

Downblouse, I think it's called.

And now the dog's barks and my hormones are demanding attention in unison.

Dammit.

I had never been in a labyrinth before. In fact, I had confused it with a corn maze. Or was that supposed to be "maize"? Hehe.

The weather is cooling and the autumn is unmistakably arriving. With leaves strewn about, we walk into a park-sized circular stone walled enclosure, with what looks like a maze pattern outlined with stones on the ground.

If I hadn't known better, I stepped into a religious site. It's one part spiritual and one part crop circle.

"Ready?" He asked. "Yes" I replied. "Want to go first?" He asked.

I shook my head. I wanted to follow in his footsteps and gave a respectful distance.

We walked in silence and followed the path between the stones that a group so lovingly placed. It was windy without being dizzying and so serene that I could almost feel my heart beating. My steps fell in line with his and although I didn't feel right about catching his gaze, I was very aware of how I was feeling.

It was peace.

As we walked through the hotel lobby, the music spilled over and washed over my ear drums. I felt the presence and history of this place. Its muted flowered paintings and its pixelated stitching on the lampshade. A boxed frame held opened books, reminding me of the libraries of long ago.

The room held two freshly made beds.

But they weren't for me. Not yet.

He strolled over to the office desk and switched on the light.

He wanted me on top of the desk. Legs spread, skirt gathered to my tummy, and no underwear, of course. His fingertips trailed all over my body and I swear I could feel the heat transfer, leaving a trail of warmth behind.

The bright light shone right on me and I was uncomfortable. I fidgeted, but it only served to remind me that my head was on an unyielding surface and my tailbone was making bony contact. His fingers dug into me and I gasped.

My instinct is to close my legs from the intrusion but he kept them open for me. I felt my body build and he ripped the first orgasm out of me. My head lifted off of the table and my hands tried to grab at the lamp that was hopefully bolted to the desk.

He knew my rhythm. He knew my buildup. He shoved into me over and over again while I bucked against the table and groaned and released in bursts that I could no longer contain. I could feel myself squirting hard and far.

I'd forgotten how forceful he could be but I was reminded harshly when he shoved his cock inside my mouth. When he grabbed my hair. When he whispered to me orders that I could barely comprehend in my muddled mind.

I was open and vulnerable and was his toy. I could feel his throbbing cock inside of me when he fucked my cunt without abandon. I could feel myself getting filled. I could feel his balls slapping up against my skin. I remember his scent. I remember squeezing his cock when I came. And I could feel myself leaking what he had left behind.

At least, when I knelt in front of him, with my cheek resting on his body, he stroked my hair. I felt like that was where I belonged.

Spoiler alert: no D/s references coming up. The following blog entry is just pure, clean fun. Skip ahead for genital twiddling material.

I just got back from a short trip to Vancouver and I had the best time! What a beautiful place it is, with its lush lands. There's gorgeous trees all about, veggie gardens galore, and mountainous views and water sports (haha you know the kind I mean).

I wish I got to spend more than 48 hours there. I was in the air for as long as I had awake hours. I didn't want to go to sleep. The air was cold and crisp and I didn't care that it rained for part of it.

It was breathtaking and I will be back. Oh, yes.

When I watch porn, I always go to the "good stuff". I skip around. A lot. When I read porn, I do the same. But I find it interesting that each medium turns me on differently. And therefore I orgasm differently. It takes me longer to find something visual than it does for me to tap into my imagination, I suppose.

I remember I used to print out stories on the smallest font on a dot matrix printer to save ink, save time, and avoid over the shoulder readers. Considering I was always reading while I was on my bed, I am pretty sure I was being more than a little careful on that last point. It's funny that I used to keep the pages attached to one another and would find myself having to gingerly refold my porn pages back to its correct zig zag state like a road map post orgasm.

Advancements in porn delivery has sure come a long way.

With every piece of artwork I take down, I feel the walls of my apartment becoming more barren, and the sound of my voice resonating differently than before. The carpeting has been removed, the furniture is sparse, and the warmth is completely gone from my apartment. I am going to miss this place.

But life moves on, and apparently I need to as well.

When He places his hand on my chest, I am stable and grounded. My mind is blank and wanders. His other fingers are invasive and forces orgasm after orgasm out of my body. His thumb prods me and my hips try to buck him off to no avail.

I am to endure.

Some people are visual learners while others learn by touch. Sexual stimulants can also affect people differently. I'm learning that physical stimulation is not what turns me on. No amount of rubbing or kissing can put me into subspace.

It's the words and nuances that get me there.

We were sitting across from one another and having a perfectly vanilla conversation when I felt myself lose control of it. The tables were being turned and his eyes matched mine steadily. I felt myself lose concentration and I started mentally stumbling. My focus dulled and a mental haze set in.

My body started reacting as my brain shut down. I was acutely aware that my core was aching with desire. It slowed my reaction time and I kept at his pace but lost direction. I stumbled while he guided me by using his hand to harness my neck.

He leads.

I follow.

Do you know that moment when you realized that you've had too much to drink? That you know that there will be hell to pay tomorrow?

Subspace is something like that.

Only this sub doesn't have control of how much she gets to consume.

Was it the slap on the face that I took for closing my legs? For being lead around by my hair to kneel before a cock that demanded to be sucked? Was it the pain that stung from my bare butt for misbehaving? Or the soft kisses that transitioned between the harshness?

There's more to write but I feel a pull to be alone to lick my wounds and pretend this day is over.

I hear the echoes of his urgent command that forces my body to throb the dull ache that I cannot ignore.

"Open"

It is simple and concise and my hazed mind tries to obey. My legs are spread but want to close. He was intrusive and has found the right rhythm to fingering me. He can take me to the edge and over. I've orgasmed hard while he kept his other hand on my chest, pressing me down, anchoring me. It tells me that I am safe in his care.

When he hand is on my neck, I am shameless. My desire becomes a need and the denial of that becomes a craving. I want him. I want him inside of me. I want him to shove his hard cock inside of me. I want to feel the bulbous head pop inside, taking over my body and my soul one silkened sheathed millimeter of flesh at a time.

"No"

I am denied this and my submissive training has taught me to keep my mouth shut. But I lapse. I beg and I plead and I feel guilty now for that act of disrespect. Subdrop has a way of inviting the monsters of insecurity to party in my head.

He will when he is ready.

"Say it" he prompts me in the car and I dip my head ever so slowly as I fall back into my role. I repeat the words he wants to hear very softly. I cannot remember what they are now but just like that, my breath deepens and my heart quickens.

He cruised easily with one hand on the wheel while the other caressed the exposed skin of her thighs. She chided that he should keep both hands on the wheel but he ignored her passive aggressive request. She glanced at him coldly. She didn't feel submissive at the moment.

They parked at an old favorite in his hometown, a horticulturalist's neglected backyard. Her house had been abandoned years ago and nature is slowly swallowing up all manmade creations in its growth path. He took her hand and lead her along the uneven stone slabs.

Her vanilla self was impressed at the hauntingly lush scene. This is probably where Danielle Steele got inspiration for her novels, she noted. She felt soft as they stopped at several areas and kissed. They chatted easily, despite the stagnant humidity that fell on them that cloudy Saturday afternoon.

The path ended at an opening to a few benches framed by stoned pillars. He sat down and invited her to do the same. As they kissed more, she felt an intensity slowly build. He spread her legs under her skirt and she had, of course, obeyed his order to keep her underwear off so that she can be open to him for whenever he desired.

He probed and her body responded. He pushed his fingers in her and moved at a rhythm that sent her down the path of mindlessness. She squirmed and he responded with kisses. He held her to him as she buried her face to muffle her groans and protests. His other hand laced a fistful of her hair and she felt herself losing control of her body. She tried meekly to stop herself from orgasming but she couldn't. Over and over she felt herself being tickled from the inside out and squirted. She soaked through her skirt, wetly staining the wooden bench, which spilled through the slats onto the ground. After she stopped bucking him off, he continued to kiss and probe even more. She could hear the soft splash of her squirt juice land on the ground below.

Eventually, he held her hand, helped her up from the bench and they continued to walk. He stopped only briefly so that he can inspect her skirt, and she had to stop so she could wipe away the evidence that dripped down her leg. They saw nobody but she was flushed with humiliation knowing that her legs were spread and cunt exposed for him to do as he wished in public. And that she came multiple times as he held her painfully by her hair.

As they slowly strolled out of the park, she remembers a text he had written to her the night before:

"I'll drag you by your hair across thorns to bring your pussy alive"

She's starting to see that he just might be serious.

The sun is a brutal beast. It's scorched my back and I can't seem to keep up with the sunscreen. I wore a back crossed sports bra today and worked out with a great deal of discomfort. The color of the skin on my back is contrasted to the rest of my body. As much as I tan, I forget that my skin also has its limits. And its deep shade of red is telling me that it's angry.

I am in Maui and am enjoying its majestic natural wonders and its sun ripened pineapple topped pancakes. My hour's hike today yielded me a scene from not of this Earth. I was surrounded by blackened, pocket holed pumice rocks. I felt enveloped by the rain forest surroundings and its wild roosters crowing about my feet as I looked ahead for a good snorkeling spot on the beach.

Maui is both picturesque and wild, and commercialized and native all in the same setting.

I'm not sure if I'll come back, but damn it's good to be here right now.

When my gal pals chat of good looking men, I nod and smile and agree. I mean, sure, who doesn't like an on screen actor's chiseled face speaking the well written lines of a character tailored just for him?

Okay, well, I don't.

I see and I probe for intelligence. And when I find someone who is well spoken, well read, and smart to boot, I am instantly drawn to him. I want to know more. I want to know everything. But then I go beyond. I start pushing boundaries. Have I fazed him? Is he out of control?

And I try to top from the bottom.

I have a crack in my tooth. Don't ask me how it happened. There was no defining moment of which I felt that I had tried to chew on something that refused to budge. I had no idea when it had in fact offended the tooth instead, which so was just doing its job so dutifully.

In any case, the cost was high and before I knew it, the long needle went into my gums, numbing the nerves. Did you ever get this feeling of anxiety after the needle goes into you? Well did you know that they put epinephrine in it as well? And here I always thought that it was due to my anxiety that made me feel like my heart was racing after an injection.

Well, two hours later, I have a temporary crown and a permanent one on that way.

Ow, my mouth has a dull ache you wouldn't believe.

I don't get tickled very easily. My feet, my underarms, my sides - they are all pretty numb to being tickled. I mean, I have to really block it out of my mind, like I can do with pain when I am strong enough. I can concentrate and let my body just take it while my mind stops receiving the signals of this fresh torture.

The only one I can't seem to get out of my mind is the tickle from the inside out. When I squirt, which gets to be often, I feel a tickle that makes me hold my breath and cough out. I am convinced that I can pass out one day from oversquirting. It's the oddest feeling, and I can't tell if I am orgasming or not when it happens. I just know that it feels like an urgent need to pee and then the forceful liquid shoots out of me and then I squirm like crazy.

I hate being tickled from the inside out.

I am the sky. Rain clouds may cluster around me and lightning may strike but it will pass. I will see sun soon enough.

There is a great power in saying the word "no". There is also a great effect in hearing it. My Dom at the time used to say it to me. When I was clawing at the sheets, trying to find release from the buildup of orgasm, there was no heightened feeling than that of Him saying simply that he will not allow me to orgasm. I am stuck in the moment and cannot enjoy it because I am too self-absorbed in my desire to push over the edge. Meanwhile, he is emptying and filling and chuckles at how desperate I have become.

In spinning classes, I feel the intense pain in between my legs as I lower myself from a standing position back to the "saddle", as the instructor so eloquently says. My quads are on fire and I am heaving with every breath. My heart is pounding and my body feels like it's about to shut down. Or throw up. Neither direction is going to be good.

The instructor, fit and sweaty, doesn't skip a beat as she teaches her second of the two back-to-back spinning lessons. She tells us to go to standing position and we continue to cycle in unison. One, two, one two, one two, as the latest Nicki Minaj song blasts. I try to focus on the legs of the instructor. I see her feet move and I try to follow. I furrow my brow and I see the guy next to me, dripping with sweat. I mentally slap myself and refocus. I tip my face down so that my own sweat drips down to the floor instead of trailing down my face. A collection of sweat is accumulating between the valley of my breasts.

I push and push because that is how intense I want to be. As we move up and down, I slowly lose control of my legs and each time I lower myself back into the seat, I feel pain. Eventually my bottom half gives way and I slap the middle of my legs down and I wonder ...

Is this what the wooden horse feels like?

Yesterday in the gym shower, in my post workout haze, I reached into my toiletries bucket and felt a sharp sting. Pulling out, I start dripping blood and saw my innocent razor, unprotected and unceremoniously deciding to take a bite into my fleshy finger as it probed for soap. I must have been in an endorphin high because the amount of blood that started to seep out made me concerned but not pained. Wrapping my finger in the gym towel (sorry, gym staff for having to take care of my blood stained towel) I continued to wash up.

During this time, I waited for my body to remind me that I had a fresh cut but the alarm was never sounded. I dried myself, got dressed and continued to apply pressure to the finger, giving it time to clot. By the time I walked to the front desk, I unwrapped the finger and the front desk person immediately saw my situation and started rummaging through a black briefcase. Now I must say that I am used to the typical white box with red letter of "First Aid" but hey, I will take any unused and still-in-the-wrapper bandaid.

I thanked the gentleman whose typical job is to assist with scheduling and incoming guests and not clumsy, bleeding patrons and went on my way.

This morning, after gingerly unwrapping the bandaid and waiting for the pain to come, I can see that I was not tending to just one cut, but to three cuts, which, of course, was brought on by the fact that I was using a multi-blade razor. I quickly replaced it with another and it has been there ever since.

I refuse to give my wounds the air that it needs to breathe tonight because I am scared to look at it. I worry that seeing it will finally tell my body that it is indeed broken and to sound the alarm of pain.

Sorry bandaid, please allow me to be ignorant one more evening. Thank you for your protection.

Someone just messaged me and asked me if I wanted to Netflix and chill. Now if D/s was as easy as that then it probably won't feel so satisfying to have. I feel like there's a lot of work to build that trust and doing those two things just doesn't honor the BDSM lifestyle.

There is something so appealing about having someone whom I trust to dominate my soul. Someone who can turn me inside out and expose me to him. I want to feel like I am trapped and forced to face myself. When he is on top of me, behind me, biting the skin on my back, I will feel the need to whimper and become docile to his power.

I used to fantasize about being in the dark and being followed. I walk briskly and he does the same. I slide my hand into my purse and grab my phone with one hand and the other take the strap off so that I can throw it away from him, toward the guy following me. And then I bolt. To my dismay he runs past my discarded purse and he jogs after me. He's not in a rush to capture me. He's enjoying this game. I feel my heart beating in my ears and a dull ache in my head as I plan my next move. My cell phone is trying to connect to the cops and fails. It's my lifeline to the world and so I tuck it snugly in my bra and watch where I am going.

I feel like he's not there anymore and I stop at a bar. It's dimly lit but it's a stripper joint and there's got to be lots of women who will be able to help me, right?

I go inside...

As I walked by a park today and see couples closely snuggled, I wonder if I can ever find ... well, that someone whom I can have a longstanding relationship along with the D/s piece? I mean, that is the dream, right? To have that person whom you can relate to, whom you can trust with your secrets, and with a sexual Dom side that would reveal itself during sexy play, right?

But how does it work when there are so many real world tasks in the way? So many life functions, so much pressure to thrive in the social norm. How can you make sure that the bedroom play stays intact? That you stay connected? That power play comes only in the bedroom, and respect and love comes after the session is over?

I should make it my goal to find out.

I am finally resurfacing from being gone too long. I miss writing, and I miss pouring my submissive soul out. All that said, I must admit that there is something so freeing about being unplugged. Sure there is a mountain of emails from my friends who have already moved on without me. Their lives busy with big and little events that I had to pass over.

Work has unbalanced me, and there was, as with all organizations, drama to be had. I try to avoid it but it's always there, waiting for me. And so we clash, each one of us trying to do what's best for our team.

I'm probably one of the most aggressive subs in the world, giving what we had to go through and what I had to say to justify what I need.

Work has sucked up my time as quickly as I would a savory bowl of noodle soup. These 16 hour days are just brutal. I can't leave because I feel like there is so much to do. And yet, there it is ... just work waiting for me. And I don't feel like playing the political battlefield just to cross off one t while there are so many i's still left to dot. And when there's so many t's and i's all together ... well, you know there's bound to be a lot of work that needs to be completed.

I'd probably work myself to death in the post office.

I was reading some forums and I stumbled upon a subbie girl whose Dom has left her. I remember that heartbreak. It's pain like no other. I remember, years ago, when my Dom left me to go back to his country, I was determined to go back into hiding. The emotional toil was just too great. How can I open up again? How can I show my weaknesses, and submit when it all seems to end so brutally?

He assured me that I will be okay. He told me that there are other Doms out there who will make me feel like I am a slut, but at the same time respect and care for me. Someone who can handle my emotions. Someone whom I will ache for and want to spread my legs for, time and time again, no matter how humiliated I am. He said that I will go back to this lifestyle, because I am finally getting comfortable being who I am.

The cold medicine just wore off and now I am wide awake. Buzzfeed, please put me back to sleep where I belong. And if that doesn't work, then a few Tumblr sites will do the trick.

It has been a long time, and I have had to throw myself into work because it demands a lot from me. Unfortunately, I have lost sleep, been stressed and caught a nasty cold, with chills and fever and congestion. I want to snuggle and cry and go to someone whom I know can care for me. Yes my body and my soul can be Dom'ed, but when I am broken and melted, I wish to find a force stronger than me, to heal my broken emotions. I am raw and sad and a tearful mess. I know I am stronger than this but right now, I just don't have the strength.

I am torn between writing about my laser focused desire to touch myself and doing it.

I'll do the former later, and the latter immediately.

So I bundle up and go outside with my broken metal shovel and start hauling some serious snow to the side. After about five minutes, I hear

"Hey little lady, why don't you let us do that for you?"

I turn around and see two smiling faces with shovels over their shoulders. I politely decline and continue my work. The one guy continues his sales pitch,

"Come on, let me knock this out for you. My shovel is bigger than yours and can leave a lot cleaner of a path".

I reply, "No thanks, I really could use the exercise".

He says, "You look good to me. I don't see any fat on you."

I reply, "Oh, trust me, I'm all chunk underneath this jacket"

His quick witted response, "Well how about you show me after I'm all done shoveling your sidewalk? We can talk about it after we warm up and sip some tea. Come on, I don't want you hurting that lovely back of yours, let a man do this"

"I'm stronger than you think!" and I continue on, ignoring the two.

Okay, so I have a competitive side of me that I turn on when I need to. I am proud to say that this morning did not bring on any back pains and this "little lady" went on to buy two Le Creuset items because they were on sale and because, well, I can be "man" enough to shovel sidewalk snow and "woman" enough to love cooking.

I may not be good at either, but dang I'll try my best at both.

I have been on such a tumblr kick lately. There's something about watching the best parts of a scene over and over again. It's so arousing to scroll, scroll, scroll. I watch the animated loops and my body responds. If the search is right, I don't ever go beyond the third page.

If it's not, I need to submit better keywords.

I feel the intensity at my workplace and I love it. I am not one of those people who clutch their mugs of coffee, complaining about the daily commute. I am here put in my best effort, and it pleases me to see tangible results. I hone and appreciate precision. I don't do well with people who cannot be motivated. I find it exhausting to keep up with those who are extroverts, although I highly respect their outward energy.

As much as I shy away from attention, I want to be the wallflower who observes.

T'is a new year and, uh, I'm not really about resolutions but I would love to stay healthy, be healthy, and eat healthy.

Today, I went to the gym and after that, I had a salad.

Baby steps!

This morning, I woke up and felt my stomach churn. Was it a strain of flu that bypassed my flu shot? That questionable food I had last night? Was I just run down? I made a big girl decision to throw up, so I went to the bathroom and did my thing. I need some fresh air. Outside felt like a cool fall day. The air was crisp and fresh. I can hear the calls of nature. I can see squirrels maneuvering in between trees, protecting their territory. They don't even scurry when they hear the occasional car drive by. I feel so alone at times like this. I wish I had a Dom here to hold me afterwards to make sure I am okay. To give me that reassurance that, although it was scary, that he would let me lean on him. Be my rock. Be my beam. Be my navigator. As much as I am the strong gal, when I am at my weakest, I need to be recognized as such. I need to surround myself with those kinds of people. But for now, the squirrels will be my distraction. I am not alone, even now. The birds are still chirping and the wind still blows.

Merry Christmas, and I hope that you get all that you wish for. And, if Santa was not able, then please take the time to find something nice for yourself.

Upon hearing wails and screams, the startled woman pushed ahead of the tour group and notified the guide. "I heard them! Oh these poor tortured souls!" she cries breathlessly. Nonplussed, the tour guide replied, "Ma'am, don't worry, these people were tortured all right, but they quite enjoyed themselves. Those screams were commonplace back then". He smirks and continues the tour. -Written hundreds of years from now in the Kink.com Armory.

Pain comes in all sorts of ways. In the D/s world, physical pain can convert into something intense and pleasurable. Right now, I wish I could translate that pain to something more palatable.

People in my office have been taking sick days off and I think I've caught something going around. Despite all the sanitizer gels and cans of Lysol placed about. I did, however, feel like I've lost some much needed brain cells, though, breathing all those fumes in.

But now, I am feeling flushed and am resting. I made chicken noodle soup and am nursing my body. Despite the unseasonal warmth (thank you, El Nino) I had my groceries delivered so that I didn't have to go out. I'd much rather have a whole chicken simmering with fresh vegetables on my stovetop than a can of Campbell's soup, although I guess I'm not that sick because I am sure that would've been just fine as well.

I've had a flu shot, and from what I remember having the flu as a child, this is nothing close to what it could be, so I am happy. I am well enough to write, to cook, and to wrap gifts. I'll see if I am ready for the self-induced spasms of orgasms tonight.

For now, though, I need another bowl of soup.

Silly words for English nerds

To hear is to have heard, while to bear is to have ... beard born.

To use a washer, one will get clothing washed, while using a dryer will get those clothes dryed dried.

To fry taters in a fryer makes fries, so why not make fries in a "frier"?

If I can lay a lei on a liar, it means that I've caught them lying.

- by lemie

So the funny thing about the holiday season is how there are so many get togethers to celebrate.

The funnier thing about the holiday season is how many people I get to meet during these get togethers.

The funniest thing about meeting people is how they like to immediately take to a handshake after an introduction.

The not so funny thing is that my pinky, still scraped up, is getting crushed each time someone joyfully takes my hand for that firm connection.

I smile through the pain as I quickly let go to continue on the conversation. Why?

Because I keep forgetting that my wound is there and extend my hand out anyway.

Every. Single. Time.

Okay, you may laugh now.

I knew that pain was going to result. There was no doubt about that at all. It was a split second decision, but a decision that I made purposefully, if not thoughtfully. I saw my little heater about to fall off its shelf and jumped into action. I knew it wasn't going to be a graceful Superman-catching-Lois kind of save, but more like a clumsy greased up-pig-grabbing event kind of action. It ain't gonna be pretty.

Yet, I went for it still and decided that my $50 Amazon.com space heater was worth saving. Even if it meant that there might be potential for injury. I couldn't just stand there and do nothing while it fell from its shelf to its demise. I couldn't bear to hear the clanging of its metallic parts, shattering its connections. I couldn't bear to feel the disappointment when I turn it on only to hear its sad clicks as a response. No. I must prevent this if I can.

So I swore. This heater, I said to myself valiantly, was not going to go to a landfill due to my negligence in its proper storage up on my office wall. Nope. Not on my watch.

And so, I heroically grabbed at the thing, keeping it from crashing down onto earth. I was able to grab the bottom half of it successfully, even with its power cord falling behind like a suicidal snake. I was thrilled to have sprung into action and felt deep satisfaction to have prevented this great tragedy. Until, that is, I felt an OUCH coming on.

PAIN! PAIN! My mind alerted me. I assessed the situation and quickly found its source. My pinky had apparently lagged behind. I had given it a good skin scrape and a splotch of blood started to seep out. Yep, this was bandaid worthy, no doubt about it.

As I nursed my wound, I saw my little space heater on the floor, having been cradled lovingly just a few moments ago, and noted that yes indeed it was worth saving. Because, even in my office I knew.

Winter was coming.

The introvert in me needs to replenish. I have apparently exhausted my extroversion.

I am a playful kitten sometimes. I like to get out of my bondage and I like to nip. I like to bait and play and smile mischievously in public. I overcompensate in my discomfort. I dislike blushing and feeling stupid and flirty and blank. I am stronger than I look and definitely more than how I feel. I am confident and I can put on a warm demeanor, or a cold stare. I never waver and can cut you with words before I dismiss you. I hate people who can see through it. Don't you know how long it takes for me to get myself emotionally done up in the mornings? Tsk.

Whew, what a week. I'd love to say that this will be a restful weekend, but it won't. I am methodic in noting all of the items that I must do, and it satisfies me to see when each task is accomplished. There are some cleaning tasks that I like more than others. Some mundane tasks that I would much rather avoid than others. But they all get done. Eventually.

I am so tired, but sleep eludes me. I feel my heart beating within my chest, and I am breathing deeply. My body aches from working out a little too hard for too many consecutive days. I downed the recommended dose of acetaminophen but that was 14 hours ago. I guess I'm due but I'm too pained to get the bottle. Oh well. I suppose I should just enjoy the pain. I am stretching so that I can have a better tomorrow.

Today was a challenging one.

I love men. Okay, I take that back. I love being friends with men. I've always been closer to them than of women. Men are more outgoing and it keeps me from having to entertain them. Men's problems are short, sweet and so simple. I know we don't get beyond scratching the surface of some problems, but with a good drink or two, there is always a good time.

I like men because I know how they think. I'm in a male dominated field of work and like that I am well respected. It's disconcerting when I bump into a Dom whom makes me feel uneasy. It doesn't happen often, and I am glad that it is so. I hate giggling like a brainless flirt. I hate looking cute. I want to be respected. To have my voice be heard while they become quiet around me. I have sharp words and I don't mind using them.

Damn, I would've made a great Domme.

I have been scrolling at tumblr pages. I am running out of key words to search for but what really gets me is the visuals of men, submissive men, who are locked up. Some have their parts in clear casings. Some have physical locks. Women dominating them, laughing at them as they helplessly squirt. They are unable to help themselves and have no more control of their most sensitive parts of their bodies. It's quite a sight to see. I love the visual frustration. I wonder if there is a female version of that. It's probably not nearly as interesting to watch. I like seeing edging and ruins.

Ah, the bliss of having a day off. A day with family and friends. A day to celebrate, chat, and live the vanilla life. Sure, naughty thoughts may run through your mind often, but it's also good to give warm hugs and take your time with people. Make true eye contact. To give up the virtual and to touch one another's lives with conversation that requires no emojis.

Happy Thanksgiving! May your turkey be finely trussed and your red cranberry sauce remind you of the angry welts you have left behind.

I love laundering clothes. I didn't have a washer and dryer growing up, so I always dragged my clothes to a laundromat. There is something about seeing the neat pile of clothes that makes me feel like I am ready for the week.

I can only imagine what it would be like to do laundry for Him. Wearing nothing but his t-shirt and folding and ironing clothes for Monday.

Every few minutes, I think of myself taking a break to stare at the belt that he likes to use on me.

It looks so innocent without its owner.

The temperature is falling. The sun is down before I leave work and some people say that it's depressing, but I don't mind it. I enjoy seeing the twinkle of planes and the brilliant sliver of the moon. Lights are starting to be strung. Some are already ready for the holidays. Some of the stores have been selling Winter decorations since Halloween, so it feels like Thanksgiving is too short to buy merchandise for.

I am, however, surprised that I haven't seen any Easter Egg decorations out yet for sale.

Tenderness is that moment when a Dom slowly loosens the restraints after an intense session. I am free to lay still and although no longer bound, I absolutely cannot move. I am breathing hard and deeply, catching up on oxygen. The gag is out and the tape is slowly and lovingly peeled away from my eyes. I vaguely hear his breath, too. I am so acutely aware that he is present, taking great care of me.

His focus is all on making sure that I am safe, after administering painful spanks, clamps and knots that only a sailor would know how to make. Blood is coming back to my limbs and he caresses them. He makes no sounds. But I do. I whimper as the rope accidentally brushes up against my painfully erect nipples. Only moments ago, clamps had bitten into them so deeply that I cried tears through my taped eyes. He apologizes, his deep voice is soft and reassuring.

Such contrast to the person he was only minutes before. Once he is done, I am draped in his arms like the girl in King Kong. He lifts me easily and lays me on the bed. I still cannot move. Without warning, he shoves three fingers inside of me and his hand covers my neck, squeezing. I buck and spasm and release and lay limp once again.

I whimper as he continues to force multiple orgasms out of my body. "I have nothing left!" I want to scream. "You have taken it all!" I can't say anything but I know that he already knows this. But he still manages to tap into a reserved space that gives me the energy to convulse.

I am not sure when he stopped but when he did, I mustered what little I had to embrace him. My arms cannot seem to go all the way around but I clung on to him and pressed my whole body to his. He ran his fingers through my hair and I can feel his body heat start to warm me up.

I don't know if he fell asleep but I did. When I awoke I see him watching me and kissed me on the forehead. I speak and realize immediately how hoarse my throat is from the muffled squealing. "Sir, I ..." but I didn't know how to finish. Luckily he understood that I didn't have to.

He knows. He was there. He made it happen.

What is it about having my arms above my head that makes me feel so exposed? So vulnerable? Is it the proverbial kitten's belly? Because it gives better access to the points of my nipples, swaying softly from the thrusts? Is it because it makes me feel like I am pinned and I have nowhere to go? Sometimes, in reaction, I turn my head instinctively and shut my eyes tightly.

I feel another hand, but this time it's on my throat and I gasp. It's another reaction. One to take as much air as I can before he applies pressure.

I feel the rest of his body on mine. His clothes against my fevered skin. I feel his tie pressed between my breasts.

My mind is swaying and if I weren't trapped, my body would be following.

Sometimes, I just don't feel motivated. I try to rev up my inner workings to get myself to the gym. A two hour workout session would be great for me, but my mind has given up on me. And where the mind goes, my body follows. I am laying in my bed, in darkness, and with a slight glow of my monitor. I don't even feel like watching porn tonight.

I must be sick.

When a man dresses well, it gives me the chills. I watch men in their suits as they walk so nonchalantly by. When a man is humbly intelligent, it shows me that he is secure in what he knows, and an encouraging step for me to know that he is able to communicate clearly as to what he wants. He needs to accept that he has weaknesses too, and is willing to learn from me, as we both have lessons to teach and so much to learn.

I can sometimes be wily. I want to sometimes fight back. I want to make you angry and laugh, all at the same time, at my feeble attempts to escape. You say that I am very cute and can manhandle my legs apart to see the wet spot on my panties. I ignore it and take the opportunity to loosen your grasp.

In the end, though, we both know I am going nowhere.

It's been a while, I know. I've been busy. Actually, strike that, someone else had been busy. I had to deal with a stalker. The same man I met at the grocery store 3 months ago decided to find me at my workplace and showed up uninvited. I declined coffee, but he shows up a few days later, chatting with my colleagues, after I had left the building for the day, asking about me.

The next day, I get a phone call, again asking for coffee.

I told him "No". He continued to stalk me. I finally went to the authorities and ended this.

I forget sometimes how not all people respect the same boundaries.

Now I'm constantly looking over my shoulder to see if he's still there.

I'm still creeped out by his giant grin.

It was a whirlwind and now it is over. I bid a fond farewell to Moscow and blew kisses as my mini cab took me to and from Heathrow Airport. I went to work, put out a few not literal fires and felt the hours slip through my fingers as I tried desperately to catch up. I spent a few minutes debating on whether or not I should even allow myself to write tonight, but I needed the moments of stillness that writing freely does for me.

Today, the sun came out as usual and the people started their day. There was no huge catastrophe. The banks were opened, the cashiers looked bored, and a group of teenagers shared a bag of chips, whispering together in delight.

My problem, in the grand (or even not so grand) scheme of things, is a drop in the bucket. I am okay. I will be okay. I just need to give permission to enjoy myself instead of feeling guilty or wondering what I could have done differently, and how I can fight back.

Tonight is my last night here and tomorrow I will be in an English speaking country so I won't feel so useless, so vulnerable.

I am okay. I am on edge, but I am okay.

Despite my calm, easy going demeanor, I have anxiety. Spiking, breath taking, pounding in my gut, sweat dripping down between my breasts kind of anxiety. When I am faced with a tough situation, my mind whirls and my fight or flight response gets triggered.

Unfortunately for me, that anxiety usually tells me that I need to argue. To fight. To gain back what is mine. When that decision has been made, when I feel like I am going to say something, I have learned that I kick myself harder later for things not having said, instead of regretting saying harsher things later on.

So today, I felt that I was swindled by a travel company who booked my hotel stay. They charged me months ago, when I first made the reservation, and they "guaranteed" my reservation. I checked in with no problems.

That is, until the hotel I am staying in tried to charge the amount due. They charged a card that had the specific funds on it, and received an error due to the fluctuation in the exchange rate. I spent hours on an international phone call back to my home to try to fix this issue. The hotel decides to charge me for my stay as well, which now costs me twice as much as I had originally planned.

The travel company? They said that it was the hotel at fault because they cannot charge USD and instead wanted to charge their local currency. Now, I don't expect the Russian hotel to charge dollars anymore than I would expect a US hotel to charge roubles. Talk about shady. So now, during my vacation stay, this travel company has literally put me out in the cold.

But, this is not the fault of the hotel. This is poor business practice of the travel "agency".

So, to my dear readers, whomever you are ... for the love of what is sacred to you, do not ever use Priceline.com. When I had asked to escalate the problem, they refused. I asked whom I need to complain to and they told me to "write a letter". Really? I am in another country and you are telling me that when I get back home, that I should write a stern, registered letter to complain?

I hope your company falls to pieces.

So I am in Russia at the moment. It's delightfully chilly and I can see the air of my breath. I feel like a dragon and I smile as I open my mouth to create more of my "fire".

As I do, I've noticed that Russians stare. Then I notice it when I am just merely walking across their path. It lingers just a beat too long. With stoic faces. There is no smile or frown. No indication of why they are so watchful. I can feel the stare and match my dark brown eyes for their light ones. They quickly look away.

For the first half of the day, I was sure that I had food stuck on my face, like a pie had somehow splattered onto me without my noticing. But nope. I checked on my phone, in the bathroom mirror, and glanced at reflective surfaces on the shops.

I spoke to a friend, who confirmed that there is much staring going on. So now, I walk through these streets with an ounce of knowledge and more self-confidence that I am more comfortable.

There was quite the epic thunderstorm today. I stood under some shelter and reminisce about that time that I ran through a terrible storm, about 2 miles to get home. I had no umbrella, but it didn't even matter at that point. The wind would have whipped it (no pun intended) into the night anyway. It was dark and raining so hard that I couldn't even see the puddles anymore. I just kept running until I was out of breath.

My face was completely soaked, and my hair was plastered to my head. I had to put it into a bun because a soaked ponytail would have hurt like the edge of a wet towel. As I ran, I heard thunder and saw the neighborhood light up. It was dangerous and chaotic and so exciting.

When I made it home, it was the ultimate finish line crossing. After chucking my soupy shoes by the door, I ran upstairs, unrolled the clothes off of my body, and took the hottest shower my skin would allow. As I felt the dirt and sweat fall off my body, my heart was still pounding like the raindrops outside. I had made it! I had waded through mother nature and gotten home safely!

But then I bring myself back to the present storm and enjoy it from the inside this time.

I sometimes wonder how the other half lives. What turns vanilla women on? Is kissing enough to make them orgasm? A single thrust? How do you know when it's too much for her? I feel so intense when I am in my element, but I feel like I am always craving and eagerly doing more. Are soft touches enough for the vanilla girl?

I've wished many adult birthdays to be vanilla. I behave like it outwardly, so why not sexually? I am an upstanding citizen. I pay my taxes and do volunteer work. People look at me and ... well actually I don't even think that they do, with the exception of a certain elderly man shopping at my local grocery store. Usually, I just kind of pass quietly by. I am that boring. I don't dye my hair. I have no tattoos. I have just one earring hole in each ear. My hair is usually in a ponytail or bun. I don't stand out.

But I wish I were that plain in other ways, too.

I smile more now that I know a secret of myself that I used to suppress. Ironically enough, I'd like not to emotionally box myself in anymore. I want to be free.

Contrasts. Life is all about them, and BDSM is no different. The range of harsh, dominate, forceful, consumption for the sub who is giving herself wholly. Back arched and nipples standing, legs splayed and all of her is presented. Mouth agape and tongue just tasting the air, only before it becomes stuffed with whatever Master desires. Breath deepens as the head swirls, utterly compliant.

There will be searing pain that comes. She will gasp sharply and bite her lip to keep from crying out. Later, there is too much pain and she cannot hold back. Screw the social norms. She squeals like a pained pig when her brain sends off fireworks of signals. She knows it pleases him. She knows that she needs to take it all, but there is no thinking now. No planning. No wondering. She heaves, and her body spasms he eventually subsides. She breaks down to cry as he continues. Her orgasms are limitless. She bursts and twists and folds herself in half. He pushes her back down, anchoring her and continues.

He will eventually subside. He will eventually interlace her delicate hands with his large ones. He will eventually spoon her while she falls into a blissful sleep, snoring just loud enough for him to chuckle.

I went to the gym today, only to go through the warmup and 10 minutes when I get the phone call ...

Embarrassed, I had to walk from the front of the class to the back to put away my weights.

False start. Oh well.

Back to the office I go.

I love the chilly air of autumn. I am not going to lie. I hate summer. I detest the mosquitoes that seem to think I am here on this earth merely to quench their thirst. I don't enjoy slathering on sunblock and loathe the humidity that makes me sweat.

The way I figure it is this: In the cold, I can wear all I want. I can't do the opposite.

Was chatting with a woman on the subway. She says that she owns a spa in her basement.

Nevermind that she is 90 years old, Asian, and generously offered me a massage by her masseuse.

It was her soft spoken offerings of a colonic in that said basement storefront that chilled me to the bone.

It's getting hot in here. I look around and all I see is darkness. I am under a desk, and chained, but Master is right there with me. His legs are splayed and his cock is soft. I gently reach out my mouth and start to suck slowly. I see his breath deepen and I move a little faster, until I feel a tap on my head. I know he is telling me to slow down and I do. I know he is working and I should not distract.

And so I do what feels good to me at the time. I suck his soft cock like a pacifier and I fall asleep on his warm leg.

When I wake up, I realize that I am in my own bed again, with the covers strewn about me.

I must thrash in my sleep.

Oh, to be safe in the arms of her Master. To be able to feel open and vulnerable is what I crave now. I've always been closed. It's easy to do, and to keep others at bay is even easier. My inquisitiveness allows me to probe into people. But once I figure them out, I can see too much of them and it makes me want to leave.

It's self-defeating, I understand. But there are some Doms out there who are not too obtuse, and not too pretentious, not too confident. Someone who has a serious drive, who keeps His promises, and acts transparently and isn't afraid to be vulnerable with me. I need Him to be able to take me down, verbally and physically. But it has to mean something.

I can't bow to someone who I believe is manipulatable.

I hate being tied so tight.

I detest being suspended.

I loathe feeling my breath restricted.

I moan and my breaths come out as pants.

I am trying not to hyperventilate.

I shut down. I give up. My body droops even more. I am still and I feel acceptance that I am probably going to pass out.

My Master is behind me, still adjusting the ropes. He feels my emotions leaving my body and he stops. He strides around me, with his blue eyes glistening. I look up at him. It takes effort. Everything right now takes effort.

He says, "You do know that I will never, ever hurt you, right?"

His eyes are so honest, and I wanted to agree.

I wanted to believe but I wanted to breathe even more so.

He is patient while I give my answer.

I don't know how it's possible, but he sees me.

I start fading away again and he tilts my chin up to his eyes again.

He asks me again and then says something ... I feel dreamy and can't understand.

I finally nod and almost forgot about the ball gag keeping me from saying, BUT ... BUT BUT I can't BREATHE, Master!

He taps between my legs and I sharply inhale and my body starts to shiver.

I can feel my emotions surging back to me.

And I cry long and hard while he makes me orgasm.

I am a mess.

There are days when I just don't have time to get into it.

I can't break out my toys. I don't feel like cleaning them after.

And so I just rub and go for the goal.

But the feeling comes back so soon.

Oh how I remember...

Flick. Ow.

Flick. OW.

FLICK. OWWW!

I scrunch my face up and bite my lip as He casually flicks my right nip until it is hardened. I breathe deeply to do away with the pain, but He seems to want something out of me. How will He know when to stop? I start squirming and I am shifting my torso left and right, but my breasts only sway so far.

He flicks my nipple on the way back from a swing away, and I distinctly feel the edge of His fingernail make contact with the side of my sensitive nub.

I start panting now and my body starts to shake involuntarily. It can only handle so much pain before the adrenaline dumps it all. I move my torso up and down now, like a slut begging, only I am asking for no more pain to that specific spot.

Please find something else to flick!

He is so casual about it all, and continues to flick. I can't seem to find my safe word, and my nipple is now darkened and angry. It doesn't deserve this abuse. I start tearing up and before I take a breath I start to heave one instead.

He stops.

He kisses my lips tenderly and my nipple is crushed against his hand.

He is done. For now.

But my left nipple grabs his attention.

FLICK.

It hangs over me like an angry mosquito bite that I can't quite reach. It is hot, and it throbs and it reminds me that it is ever present. I shift in my chair and hope that nobody notices. I look down and stare at my notes. Can people feel my agitation? Am I breathing too loudly? Should I stop blinking so much?

My body needs touching. It needs attention that I cannot give it right now. I am only partially listening, and it's annoying me because I care about what my colleagues say. And for goodness sakes this is a round table meeting. And everyone is supposed to contribute. At this point I am getting so desperate that I imagine myself straddling the edge of the chair to ease the ache.

I start staring at the thickness of my pen...

He was in his late 60's. He was a gregarious older gentleman who gabbed on endlessly. And he cornered me in the eggs section at my local grocery store. I was trapped between "Jumbo large brown" cartons and the rounded dessert table. I was polite and listened. My upbringing has taught me to respect my elders deeply.

He continues on about how is in "the business" and how he does voice overs. I follow up with a cooling "Oh, what agency do you work for?" and he goes on about how he does most of his work in NY and names an agency that he's been with for years. I know of it.

He rambles quickly so that I can't seem to break off the conversation.

That is, until he says: I don't mean to be fresh, but you have an amazing face. It's so beautiful and honest, and so warm and just so open. Your smile is genuine and I have a project that you are perfect for ...

And that's where I found my opportunity. I tell him that I am flattered and thanked him for his kind words. As I started to walk off, he pulled me back one last time with his words: May we get coffee?

I stood there, at 9:30 PM at my local grocery store, amongst dozens of shoppers and energetic hipsters stocking shelves, and got the man's digits. Written on a library card. I took it as he walked away, happy.

I took a stride in the other direction, confused as to what just happened, and saw a guy handing out samples smile cluelessly at me as if to say, "Congrats! You just got hit on at a grocery store on a Friday night!" as he handed me a small biodegradable cup of crunch battered mushrooms.

I took it gratefully, and thanked him. It was certainly hard-earned.

I wake up with a stir inside of my body. I'm hungry. It's the first thing I think about when I am conscious in the morning. It's like a dull ache, and it craves. It demands attention. I am too physically tired to tend to it, but it'll get there. My mind assures my body that it will get taken care of. My body is not convinced and throbs in response, as if to say, "NOW".

I go about my morning, doing the usual routine of showering, to clear the stale layer that I collected during my slumber. I feel refreshed and head to the kitchen and make myself some breakfast while I go over last night's deluge of work emails.

Once my belly is satiated, my body still throbs in a dull way.

"Yes, yes" my mind says, "I know you are still hungry but you will have to wait for tonight".

And so, defeated, my body continues to throb hungrily throughout the day. It waits impatiently for my evening routine that will satisfy its hunger.

Today, there was more work than time. I am envious of those who complain, "Oh, it's HUMP day" like it's something to get through. For me, it's a race of how much I can do for the time allowed. I am diligent about leaving my work behind me, and only allowing on-call calls to ring.

I remember working as a child in a sewing factory. It wasn't a sweatshop as much as it was my desire to help my poor mom. Every article of cloth my mom would sew would gain her 5 cents. She would meticulously count each item in the bundle and noted it on a yellow notepad.

Whenever she messed up because she used a wrong pattern or the wrong string, I would have to fix it. I remember the carts that would wheel thousands of articles, and how heavy they would be to lift, like bales of hay. There was dust everywhere, all coming out of the frays of fabric. It would take me days to correct all the articles in a pile. I felt such accomplishment when I was down to the last piece of cloth.

But there was always more.

I've seen so much porn, it's all starting to look the same. I need a story behind these scenes. I need the D/s moments. And no, I refuse to watch that silly mainstream Grey movie. But I do want to know why the guy wants the girl. And what the girl wants to do to try to get away. Oh, and what the guy does to overstep those boundaries. I want the mindfuck, not the, uh ... bodyfuck?

Ah, but perhaps there are so few people out there that production of such a thing is not marketable. But c'mon, how difficult would it be to take a good sex story and put it to the screen?

In and out of an organ in another is too sterile. I don't care that the girl is hung upside down with a ball gag in her mouth. There's no backstory to a gangbang where men are just in line waiting to have sex with her.

Yawn. A rerun.

I enjoy going to the gym. I like pushing my body to the limit. It calms my mind. The next day, when I can feel certain parts of my body ache, it's confirmation that I have treated my body well. Or, that I have abused it to the point where my muscles have micro tears in them and it will need time to heal.

Pain now, gain later.

I never used to connect with people sexually. I don't care for any actors, nor have I ever met anyone I felt like I wanted to, well, you know.

But now, something has changed inside of me. I've recently been able to picture someone holding my hands above my head and kissing me. I've been staring at, er, I mean noticing women with their buoyant breasts, especially those girls with dark hair and no bra and nipples that poke through a thin, stretchy fabric.

It's kind of distracting, really. Stupid Spidey senses.

I've found myself more focused on my breath these days. When I inhale, I can feel the power within my lungs. My body is strong! It is healthy! And I exhale deeper. I force my body to relax, especially during meetings I have to bite my tongue in. I have a constant desire to try to convince people to do things my way, because it is the right way. But will we have enough resources? Will it be a good lesson for my colleagues? Will my team have to suffer for it? Will they believe me if I laid it out for them?

And, lastly, if I become an expert, is that necessarily a positive move for me, or will that just cause me more mental anguish?

And so, I keep my mouth shut.

When I think, I cannot seem to feel. When I feel pain, my mind cannot comprehend. Humiliation taps into a part of me that revs me up. That coupled with pain is what it takes to drive me over the edge. I need that escalation. That mental hold. I need that chemistry, that ability to feel that invisible leash that keeps me with Him.

I remember my very first kiss. Actually, strike that. I remember my very strong desire for my very first kiss. I did what every nerdy prepubescent girl would. I bought a guide book about what it's like to be kissed. I read about how not to slobber. The fact that dental hygiene was so important. How the feelings would stir up emotions in me. How kissing is a deep, spiritual connection. And so, I was all prepared for it to happen. I waited and met my first crush who liked me back. And we did it. He kissed me!! But it was nothing like the book says. I thought I would going to feel... Something. And so, over the years, I realized that kissing was just that. Two pairs of lips rubbing up against each other. Sometimes the tongue gets involved and rubs up against yours. It wasn't anything noteworthy. Funnily enough, I found a true mate, as my Dom doesn't like to kiss! We met a few times but he didn't seem remotely interested in kissing me. When asked, he replied that it was because I didn't want to. And that the only way he would kiss me is if I felt like I couldn't let another moment pass by without kissing. But then it happened. During our last meeting, the intensity of his pummeling his cock inside of me made me lose my mind. I was floating. And, as a reflex, my lips parted and I became super aware of my tongue. My Dom placed a few fingers in my mouth and I sucked and licked eagerly. He clamped his hand onto my face and I lapped his palm with my tongue. I licked everything that was in front of me. I tasted the saltiness of his collarbone, and the course hair of his goatee. And then, I sought his lips. My mind was still gone, and pleasure was all I could feel. And I realized that I wanted to feel his tongue. Badly. He pressed his fingers downward on my chin and parted my lips more, so that he could gain better access to my mouth. It was all too much emotion to bear. I started feeling things. A rush of something was stirred up inside of me. I started crying. Heaving and uncontrollable tears. It was the most intense feeling. I understand what a kiss means now. And it's nothing like what I've seen or read.

I have a gift. People have told me this since I was a child. When all of my primal needs are met, I think quickly on my feet. Now I choose not to use my quick wittedness for anything evil. But I do use it to get what I want.

You see, I use this developed skill to feel out the person's personality. I have the ability to steer conversation. To read faces and body language. And I will typically win a person over eventually.

But this Dom, you see, seems to be able to see me transparently. He says, "I can read you because you want me to". I'm not sure that I can hide, even if I wanted to. My body betrays me. I become slow around him. His touches leave an imaginary trail behind. I swear I can feel it for hours after we part. His painful spankings break me. I've noticed that he hits a spot for the first three times, which I can block, but it's the repetition of pain that gets me to yield. And then, the adrenaline kicks in. I start to shake. My teeth chatter. My body is telling my brain that I can no longer handle it.

And my mind warns me not to disobey again. I can tread water, yes, but it doesn't take long before he catches on. And I will pay for it. Dearly. Ow.

"You are just a hole" he says. A hole that gets filled. And meanwhile my brain ceases to perform its main function. It is then when I am no longer consciously scheming.

It is then when I am flying.

I do not like Dom profiles with faces on them. Maybe it is because I don't like any of them. It's easy for me to critique in a split second. Oh, this guy's bald. I can't see myself being with a bald guy. Oh, this guy has facial hair. Bleh, I don't like guys with facial hair. Oh, this guy's too fat. Too skinny. Too unkempt. How can he Dom me while he can't take care of his own body? It's the reverse for men, I know. I've done a reverse lookup of women and I'll have to say that I'm pretty surprised at how open they are in this lifestyle. Nope. Not me. I am too vanilla on the outside for this place. I will only show myself if I feel safe. I've got too much at stake. And I want my partner to be the same. I've found that the highly educated ones, the ones who are successful, and completely driven are the ones with too much to lose to post their mugs. Those are the ones whom I seek. They are the ones I'm most drawn to. I'm too emotionally strong. Too stubborn. Too mischievous and too nuanced for most people. I love in my vanilla life that I am seen as a tough gal, despite my warm smiles and my supernatural ability to make people feel comfortable around me. I hate that I can use those tools to distract my Dom. I need him to be able to see through all of that to the little girl inside. I suppose that is ultimately why I care not for headshots. If he only wants to show his face, and expect to see mine, we'll never get past the outer most shell. And there's the toughest one to crack.

He wrote me. He needs more time to clear his mind. He says he misses me. He wants to discuss our relationship soon. The reasonable minded part of me understands. He wants to be clear minded to move ahead. So, why does the anxiety ridden part of me want to rush him? We could potentially have a lifetime together. Okay, so my mind is not convincing my emotions effectively. This must be the addictiveness talking. The desire to want to be held closely, tightly, and to be left with no room. From someone who can support me, love me, and care for my emotional needs before I am conscious of them. I am grateful that I have someone whom I cherish in that way. I just have to wait for him, and to ignore the tiny nagging voice that says, "He no longer wants you". My insecurities knows no bounds.

When my dear Dom approached me after a two week respite, I couldn't register that I was even seeing him. My heart quickened and I smiled with excitement before I could suppress it. Not that it's a conscious effort really, but I am much more mild than this. My strict upbringing has forced me to keep myself in check. Great for high stressed situations of my career. Not so great for showing my core feelings. At the first chance I got, my guards were down and I rushed to him and wrapped my body against his. How I've missed his words, his touch, his presence.?

I was encouraged, however, that my dear Dom picked up exactly where we left off. He still wants me. He still likes me. He still thinks I am pretty. He noticed that I had lost weight. It thrilled me, as I worked out as often as I could so that he can play with a fitter body. So many days I had looked in the mirror and wanted to shake that extra weight off. That's why I welcome the high intensive cardio training. And all that weight training. Now if I can only have enough discipline to eat smaller amounts! Ah, well everyone has a weakness I suppose. Food is certainly one of mine.?

My dear Dom wanted me to show him how much I had missed him. I blew warm kisses over his belted pants.?

"That's it?" he asked.?

"May I take it out?" I inquired.

"Yes, you may."?

When I was maneuvering through a busy marketplace, my Dom-at-the-time and I were grabbing some lunch before a much needed session. I shadowed his tall frame as he seemed to cut through the waves of people easily. He paused for a moment and looked down at me, saying, "In every crowd, there are people just like you. A natural sub in nature on the inside, and incredibly vanilla outside". As much as I wanted to believe him, I couldn't. Even though the person whom I see in the mirror every day is precisely one who blends in crowds.

"I will not be your boyfriend" he says. I reminisce the days when I had one. There was desperation in me to fill an emptiness, and I never had trouble finding a long term commitment of one. But with each relationship, there was something that didn't quite fit about our sex life. I was convinced that I didn't love the guy (or gal, in one case) enough. That there was something medically wrong with me (yes, I need lots of lube because I tend to be dry down there), or that I was just plain not sexual. Then I tried different kinds of sex - friends with benefits, a threesome, making out with a girl, rough sex. Nope. Nada. Nothing.

I realize now that I need a specific type of Dom to complete my life. Someone who has the ability to make me feel submissive, control me mentally and overpower me physically. Someone who watches me intently and knows intuitively when something is off, even when I try to distract, deflect, or manipulate the situation. Someone intelligent and successful whom I can deeply respect, and won't let me get away with testing him. A Dom who puts my well-being before, well, my own. Because, let's face it, I don't know how to care for my emotional needs, despite outward appearances. I fool everyone.

But not him. Under his amused and watchful gaze, I feel safe to submit with no pretense. He "is human", he says. He "doesn't know everything", and is quick to ask questions and waits patiently for an answer. He gives praise without giving "lip service".

What he isn't is a "boyfriend".

He is a Dom.

Perfect.

He wanted me in a thong and a shirt with no bra. He fingered me, spat on me to get me lubricated and rubbed. I squirmed as he pushed into my gspot. I felt like I had to pee. At the next pause, I asked to go to the bathroom.

He denied me.

He then followed up with, "Let's learn about anatomy..." and started to press right above my shaved mound. He used his palm, his fingers, and at different pressure. I felt a peak of sensation. Like I had to pee but I couldn't. He moved his fingers around, making them dance. I groaned with the feeling of wanting to explode. He told me to "shut the fuck up" and continued. I writhed and his large hands slapped my inner thigh. I gasped in pain. He told me to "greet him" and I started kissing his cock, over his pants. I blew hot air on it and he murmured his pleasure with me.

He told me to take his belt off, and noted the weight of the belt buckle. He held my neck and pulled me to the ground, on my knees, while looking up at him.

I kissed his ass and balls from below while he wrapped his belt around my neck.

"Walk" he said.

I started to get up, but the belt constricted me. He replied, "If you are a bitch, you walk like one". And I followed suit. I walked on my hands and knees to the bathroom. He lead me to the toilet, flipped the seat up and put my hands on each side of the wall. My legs were straddled over the pot but not sitting.

"Pee" he said.

I couldn't. I turned my head. Pretended he wasn't there. That he wasn't swaying the belt absent mindedly, gently reminding me that he was ever present.

"I can't" I said. He replied, "okay, then I will. Open your mouth" and he opened his pants.

Oh my God. I pushed my bladder but nothing would come out. I didn't want to taste his pee and I just couldn't focus. It was torturous.

He grabbed hold of the belt and pushed me downward, where I was squatting but not sitting. I clamped my eyes shut again and, to my relief, I slowly started to trickle pee. I had never peed so slowly in my whole life. It was as if it couldn't come out. And so I was squatting there, bracing myself on the wall, with a belt wrapped around my neck and completely vulnerable and open.

I finally finished and he had toilet paper to wipe me. "See? I take care of my pet. I need to make sure that her needs are met, and not have to pee the bed". I didn't know what to say and he yanked the belt to the floor once more, urging me to be on my knees, keeping up with his long strides. The carpet was rough on my knees but I continued. He faced me to an open laptop screen....

I yearn to fall into submission. To stare into the steady eyes of my Dom while I quiver. I want him to break my spirit, to prove that he can hold the both of us while I lose control. Until then I am stoic, steady, and distract with humor and intelligence. Once I am pushed, though, to humiliation, I may falter. If I am goaded to reveal my true self, I may either turn and run or face you and fight. Are you prepared to dispel those fierce emotions of mine? Can you push me to finally give up and fall into you? It takes a delicate balance to do this dance with me. To most, it's not worth it. I am not a woman to give anything up easily. That is fine. Move on and I will wait. Until then, my days are consumed with other activities that are just as important. Life goes on.

The search for a Dom is always a constant negotiation and makes for a tumultuous journey. I see who fits me and it's a difficult find. I am keeping an open mind, but I do gravitate towards intelligence. Someone who will respect me and can hold me in high regard and yet can eventually reduce me, to humiliate me in a safe environment. I tend to flip past profiles of people who are looking for "fun", seeing "what's out there", or "needs to explore". I consider this a serious relationship and am treating it as such. I have time and emotion to invest. I don't find this to be a game because when I am in it deeply, I need to know that my Dom can care for me.

It saddens me when I am emotionally flailing, without a Dom whom I can please. I feel useless which is worse than being hurt. Typically, outwardly, I don't care. My demeanor is one of independence and strength. I need nobody. I care for all. I can weigh it all on my shoulders without breaking a sweat. But underneath the layers, I yearn.

LeMaster Male Dominant, 57	lemonhead Male Dominant, 37, Chicago, Illinois	LeMartyinfl Male Dominant, 57, Pompano Beach, Florida	lemmigo2 Male Switch, 40, Indianapolis, Indiana
lemmec Male Dominant, 35, parma, Ohio	lemoa Male Switch, 43, melbourne	lemut Male Submissive, 49, Birmingham	LeMis Female Switch, 55, CentralWestCoast, Florida
leMunuc Dominant Couple, 62, Nashville, Tennessee	lemagnam Male Dominant, 46, London	lemire Female Dominant, 30, Montreal	LEMAITRE Male Dominant, 34, paris

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