Musing

i saw on someone’s blog (i’m sorry, don’t remember whose) that she was having trouble being submissive after the election – that she thinks this is a time to be strong.  And i thought ~~ yes, oh, yes ~~ and

~~ being submissive is strong.  Being submissive makes us stronger.

i think.  Doesn’t it?

But i’ve never been submissive where my Dom really told me what to do.  i mean, beyond minor things.  i don’t guess for real i ever would be.  If i try to picture myself making career decisions based on what someone else thought was best, or having my spiritual beliefs dictated by someone else?  No. Can’t see it.   Not financial choices either.  Input, yes, sure, but i have to follow my own path.

i don’t know if i even exactly remember what it’s about for me.

But it wasn’t about being “less than.”  It wasn’t about that.

So sending love to whoever that was who was worried about it.  Because you can be submissive and still want to crush the patriarchy.  i’m convinced that’s true.

Love and light to you all.

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Cookie Time!

On Wednesday, December 7,  Jz at A Reluctant Bitch will once again host the:

Great Online Cookie Exchange Extravaganza

If you want to participate, you need to let Jz know by December 5.   If you let Jz know, then you just post a recipe on December 7 for your cookies – or candy – or dip – or whatever holiday goodie you want to share – on your own blog.  With pictures if you have them.

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Jz posts the list of people who are participating and many bloggers will come to ooooh and ahhhh over your recipe.  Of course, you will also want to make the rounds of Other People’s Blogs to see what treats they’ve shared.

This will be olivia’s first time participating, so i’m very excited!!  i already know what i’m making.  At least i think i do, i guess i could change my mind.

You should go read Jz’s post about it, but in any case, she says:

“You must contact me (Jz) by Monday, Dec. 5th, with both your name and the address of your blog. (I don’t mind if you do this through the comments section below, but if you do, please make sure that you include an email address at which I can reach you. << why I prefer an email – two birds with one cyber-stone.)”

so don’t forget to do that, or you will be disappointed when the list comes out.

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Love our Lurkers

Most of us start out as lurkers – i know i did!  And when i left my first comments, and got a response, when i got my first comments on my own blog, i was thrilled and anxious at the same time.  It was like having movie stars step into my home.  (And i’m still friends with those first bloggers i met!)

i love getting comments – i imagine all bloggers do.  So today, you, Gentle Reader, are invited to step out of reading mode and into commenting.  No pressure, of course.  Just a friendly invitation.

You can just say “hi.”  You can comment anonymously.  You can make up a name.  (Full disclosure:  “olivia” is not what i’m called at work.)

BDSM is not just about kinky sex.  BDSM is about connection.  So if you’re not connected somewhere with people who won’t judge you – in real life, or with your own blog, or by commenting on Other People’s Blogs – here’s your chance to step out and say a few words.  Let us begin to get to know you.

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You never know

Someone reached out to me tonight to ask how i’m doing.  To remind me to take care of myself.  i can’t possibly tell youall how much that meant to me.

i think she was hesitant to do it, maybe afraid that i’d be – i don’t even know – offended or something?  And instead she opened up some part of me that had been all blocked and she helped me start breathing again and thinking more clearly.

The moral of this story – yes, there is a moral – is that when you have the urge to reach out  to someone, just do it.  You never know how much it might mean to that person.

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Get Ready…

Bloggers alert – LoL 11 will be here soon!!

LoL?  Love our Lurkers!   Mark your calendar now:  November 18th and 19th are the big days.  You can read all about it here, on Hermoine’s Heart.  But in short, LoL is the time to invite all your silent readers to step out of their comfort zone and leave a comment.  i’ll be doing it, and hope you will too.

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i am in deep mourning for the country after the elections last night.  i can’t even talk about it right now – i’ve spent the day fretting about it and feeling sad. i hope that youall are doing ok.  If you’re celebrating a Trump victory – well, i don’t know what you’re thinking.  And don’t really want to hear about it either.  Not today anyhow.

And i lost 4 or 5 pounds.  Yeah, for real.  Sadly, i think i’ve also lost the ability to have a decent orgasm.  What do youall read for inspiration?

i’ve had a brief conversation with someone on fetlife.  Very brief.  It’s unfortunate that being able to have an actual conversation with someone is an actual prerequisite for me these days.  Writing three or four lines with a couple of repetitive themes (one of which is “I’m interested in exploring the lifestyle”) is just not gonna cut it.  i didn’t even bother sending him to MP – i am not interested.  Sigh…

On the other hand, i may have come across a bit flaky myself.  For example,

He writes: do you have a blog on here?

Me:  No blog on here.  (Ok, it wasn’t an actual lie, i don’t have one on fet.)

Him:  You mentioned something about blog or writings on your profile?

Me:  Lol, i totally need to change my profile – so many things have changed since i wrote it. i do have a blog, but i don’t share it with people on here for lots of reasons. My partner – my significant other – doesn’t read it either. It’s a place that i can share my thoughts and feelings without worrying about whether or not it might hurt anybody else’s feelings. Not that i’m usually mean, just honest.

Um, which now that i think about it, might be a huge turn-off all by itself.  i mean, i chattered on for a while after that, a bit about my situation, a few questions about him, ending with asking him to tell me more about himself, and got this:

Him:  I have been interested in the life style for some time- but never involved in the community for a variety of reasons.
I was I am married but separated- she is very vanilla- We have not been intimate in years- I am interested in exploring.

Sigh.  Yeah, i can see why he might not have wanted to put a bunch of energy into the conversation.   Anyhow.  He was more kinkster than Dom, according to his profile.  That’s not really gonna work for me – at least i don’t think it will.  And his profile pic was just his body, from the knees to his shoulders, wearing jeans fortunately.  But that seemed kind of – i don’t know.  i guess i didn’t like his picture.

So probably just as well that we’re done.  ROFL, this is kind of ridiculous, isn’t it?  i didn’t like his picture, i didn’t think we were a good fit, what was i doing?  But he messaged me…  i was curious.  Now i’m not.

Years ago, i had a therapist who told me (about relationships) that i did not actually have to turn over every rock i came across just to see what was there.  He said it with affection and it made me laugh, so i’ve tried to remember those words of wisdom.

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In other news, i get to spend a couple of days at the beach next week (for work, so it will be limited fun, but there will be at least two or three walks on the beach) and then i go to another beach on vacation for Thanksgiving week.  Hopefully that will help me feel a bit more centered.

i’m also hoping to get caught up on OPBs and so on.  Hope you all are well…  i miss being here.

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When He Says No

It is the coolness in his voice that does it, the way he looks at me when he says, “No.  I told you ‘no,’ and you knew then that there would be punishment if you didn’t think I meant it.”

i can’t protest, the gag allows only moans, noises without form.  i bow my head.

“Down,” he says.

My wrists are cuffed, fastened in front of me, attached to the ring in the center of my collar.  Already on my knees, i bend at the waist, press my forehead to the floor.

From this position, his footsteps seem loud.  He paces a bit, back and forth, then moves behind me.  His crop taps me between my thighs, he doesn’t need to say a word, i scoot my knees farther apart so that i am more open, raise my ass higher.  There is no response from him, but i don’t expect any.

He paces behind me.

The whistle of the crop is the only warning before it falls, striking hard, leaving a slash of pain across the middle of my ass. It stings first and then begins to burn, he pauses just long enough for the burn to set in before he strikes again, above the first mark.

i can feel the welt rising.  i would scream if i could, but the gag allows only moans.

i manage to hold my position as the crop falls, this third time below the previous mark.  i know the next two will be diagonal.  i know that they will slash across the previous marks, the next two will cross in an “X,” and at every point where the marks intersect, the pain will be so concentrated as to be almost unbearable.

The next one brings tears, i have been holding back, trying to avoid the almost chocking sobs that will leave me snot-stained, but i can’t hold out and i am snorting and snuffling, the gag keeping me from breathing normally, and i struggle to stop.

He pauses while the pain blossoms, waits until i regain some control.

The fifth blow, the one that intersects with all the others undoes me.  My moan is low and guttural, i can’t make it stop and the pain spreads until i think it is going to be unbearable, except of course it isn’t, and just when i think i can’t stand it, it begins to recede, and i can almost breathe again when i realize that i am not in position anymore.

My head is up, my shoulders off the ground, i have raised up as if i am going to get up and walk away.  This is not an option.  Quickly, i lower my torso, press my head back to the floor, but i know, i know it’s too late.

i can feel him, still behind me.

Silence.

Silence.

“Two more,” he says.  His voice is still cool, he might be ordering two more drinks in some classy bar.  Only he’s not.  “On your thighs.  If you move – well, i guess we can do this for as long as it takes for you to get it right.”

As the next blow falls, the next slashing, stinging, burning pain hits and spreads across the back of both thighs, and i find it, the place i’ve needed to be, the moment when i give up and let him have me, letting go of my own desire and wanting only to serve.  It still hurts, it hurts so bad, and i can welcome it, as the next one falls, i know that i could take it all night if he wanted me to.

He does not want to, and now i am almost disappointed when he stops, when i hear him walk away.  i know the sounds behind me, the drawer that opens and closes, and then the cold lube between my ass cheeks.  He is generous with the lube and i’m grateful for that, but the butt plug is still big, i almost resist but i lean into it instead, forcing myself to be open, to accept this invasively full feeling as he slides it past the tight ring of my asshole, pushing until it is fully inserted.

The burn of the crop is already receding and now i am focused on my ass, still uncomfortable – as i should be, as he wants me to be.

He removes the gag, without speaking to me, turning my head to one side to slide it out without letting me up.

i hear the tiny click of the monitor as he turns it on, and i know he is going to leave me here.  i know i will be safe, and i will be alone.

“Up,” he says.  i kneel up, feeling my muscles flex and adjust around the butt plug.  “I’m going to put you in the corner,” he says.  “And I want you to practice saying to yourself, ‘If Master says it’s not my fault, it’s not my fault. Not everything is about me.’  I want you to say it about 10 times, and then you can take a break.  And when you start thinking again, when you notice that your mind is thinking beyond the butt plug and beyond wishing you could come out of the corner, you say it again.  About 10 more times.  Let me hear you now.”

i can’t look at him, i look at the floor, at my feet, but i say, “If Master says it’s not my fault, it’s not my fault. Not everything is about me.”

He offers me water – a glass with a straw and i drink eagerly, then he says, “Again, say it again, while you get in the corner there.”

“If Master says it’s not my fault, it’s not my fault. Not everything is about me.” i say, and halfway through the mantra, i am in the corner.

“Now, say it loudly enough that I can hear you over the monitor if I want to,” he says.  “Don’t be shy.  I’ll be back.”

i repeat it, “”If Master says it’s not my fault, it’s not my fault. Not everything is about me,” wondering how long i might be here.  But even so, i can hear the smile in my voice.