Not Mine

Alright, so fair warning.  I’m a teensy bit buzzed.  I’m not great at not-rambling when I’m stone-cold sober, and I really don’t wanna write this post sober, so just be prepared for a lot of rambling.

Eventually I’ll get to the point.  It’ll be an adventure.

Fair warning though (Part 2) the point is kinda a downer.  I want to make sure you all know, so it’s not like going on a roller coaster and then as you get off, you step in dog shit.

Oh my gawd, and poor Sounder!  He caught the brunt of my drunken ramblings, him and one of my girlfriends who made the mistake of commenting on a drunken Facebook post I wrote (inspired, incidently, by Sounder.  And did you know that wine tastes nasty when you drink it through a straw, because the smell is like this huge part of the wine-drinking experience, and with a straw that interferes with the smell, so you basically just get sad moldy-grape water).

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So there’s your science-y lesson for today.  This blog is crazy educational.

Oh and fair warning (Part 3): This has been my brain lately:

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So we’ll meander, but we’ll get there.  It’s all about the journey, anyway.

Relax, no one died, although that does remind me of something I want to point out when I get to that point in the story, assuming I remember the damn thing.

If I do, we’ll all be surprised together.

M’kay, so I’m settled down with my wine, I’m currently on my 33rd repeat of Wannabe by Spice Girls as loud as it can go in the headphones (dude, don’t ask, it’s a really long story.  I think.  But it makes me happy, so whatever), I’m that perfect level of “happy drunk,” and I’m going to explain what’s up so that the readers can understand, while being vague to protect people’s privacy.

I have no idea if this’ll work on paper, but it works in my head and Drunk Jen says go for it.

And that bitch knows her shit.  I trust her.  She’s never led me astray.

Except those two times.

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What was the second time?

Yeah I know that reference was forced, but I’m drunk and can do what I want.  And my other favorite Force Awakens Han quote, “Okay, how do we blow it up?  There’s always a way to do that,” (it’s funny because that’s usually my Plan A with a lot of things) just wasn’t going to fit.  And I was feeling a Star Wars reference right this moment.

Oh and also keep in mind that I’m primarily telling this from my point of view.  For reasons, there may not be an abundance of the other point of view for awhile, but — Oh Jesus Christ, this is all vague and cryptic as shit.

Fuck that.  New tactic.

Steel is no longer my collared submissive.

Fuck, that’s going to make everything else make so much more sense.  Critical knowledge.  That’s it.  There ya go.

He no longer wears my collar.

We’re done.  We’re over.

Shit, and that’s not helping.

Okay, so there wasn’t a big fight or anything, and I could see this coming months ago, and we both sort of knew it was heading this way for at least the last few weeks.  We talked about what was wrong in the relationship, we talked about this possibility, but we never gave it much thought, because we both instinctively recoiled from the idea.  We didn’t even like thinking about it, much less talking about the possibility of it.

Not being together wasn’t an option.

Until it became the only option.

So what happened?  What did I see back in October that told me this was coming?

In short, the distance.  The distance became too great of an obstacle to overcome.

No, that’s not right.  That’s not the right wording, anyway.

We live 2500 miles apart.  And we both felt that distance, every second of every day.  The times that we were able to be together were amazing, and we always loved talking to each other over the phone and Skype, but it wasn’t enough.

I had been getting increasingly frustrated with the status quo.  It was quickly becoming clear that this wasn’t working for either of us.

And there is nothing I can use, drawing from my own experience, to compare to the frustration, helplessness, and anger that I felt when I saw him hurting, saw him needing me, and I was completely powerless to help him.

I don’t do powerless well.  And I started becoming restless.  In the last couple of weeks, it was more than clear to me what needed to happen.  But my whole soul recoiled against it so completely, I honestly didn’t know if I had the willpower to actually do it, instead of selfishly keeping him under my thumb from 2500 miles away.

It was killing him, and the idea of letting him go was so repulsive to me, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to do it to keep from hurting him more.

I didn’t know if I could do it, and I didn’t know what to do about that.  How do you tell the man who is desperate for you, the man who loves you, the man you adores you and worships you, that you have to let him go?  How does that conversation even start?

The possibility occurs to me that maybe I wouldn’t have had the strength to do it on my own.

The probability occurs to me that maybe I wouldn’t have had the strength to do it on my own.

There’s not a lot on this planet that gets to me, there’s not a lot that hits hard enough to knock me off balance, there’s not a lot that can reach deep enough to hurt me.

Because I’m a hypocrite.  As I tear down the walls surrounding my subs’ minds, I use what I learn from them, I use what I learn from their coping mechanisms and their defense mechanisms to make mine stronger.

He learned how to reach me.  I’ll never forget the first time we met, after I’d collared him for a couple months, and he said, “Your expression is really hard to read.  Harder than I expected.”

As it turns out, he didn’t need it.  He picked up things I was so sure no one could see.  He threw me off balance by seeing through these disguises I meticulously put together.

Disguises that were strong enough to convince literally everyone else in my entire adult life.

Even B, the man who saved me, the first man who could reach me, couldn’t read me the way Steel can.  When I took a knife to my arm, leaving gashes that should’ve had stitches, with scars that are still significantly raised to this day, 12 years later, I had dinner at his house the next day, and he had no idea anything was wrong, until his son, my best friend at the time, noticed them under my sleeve and called attention to them.

I was comfortable in my solitude.  It was easy.  It was simple.  I was more than confident in my ability to keep everyone fooled, keep everyone at a distance.  Even when I showed vulnerability, it was a conscious choice, done only to a certain person, in a private conversation.  No one else is privy to that.

I could keep everyone at arms’ length, and I’d gotten so good at it, I didn’t even have to think about it anymore.

Until my daughter’s fourth birthday party.  I don’t even remember what was wrong.  I was dealing with my inlaws, and there was no alcohol at the party, so I’m sure that had something to do with it.  But I remember I was talking to him on the phone, standing in the inlaws’ dining room, and he asked one innocent question, and I froze.

How did he know that?

He shouldn’t have known that.

He threw me off balance, he opened himself up to me, and in taking control of him, I opened myself up, too, to a degree that I wasn’t used to, wasn’t comfortable with.

And in the end, no, I couldn’t give him the depth he asked for.  That depth, that darkness, and the way people will react to seeing it firsthand, is the only thing on this planet that scares me.  That fear was too familiar, too comfortable, to give up, even for him.

I compromised, promising that when we were together physically, we would revisit the topic, and I would give him what he asked for.

And I meant it.  It scares me enough that even thinking about it, even thinking about him learning what’s there, thinking about the look on his face as he realizes the full extent of what I am, is enough to make my fingers shake, my throat feel tight, and tears prick the backs of my eyes.

But I would’ve done it, for him.  Somehow, haltingly, with a lot of drinks, and probably a panic attack or two thrown in for good measure, I would’ve done it.

He broke through my walls, he even found a way, the cunning bastard that he is, to break through them even as I threw more back up.  When I became worried that he’d get past my walls, my instinct was to pull away.  But somehow, I think without even consciously realizing it, he recognized that, and opened himself even more, gave even more of himself to me, made himself even more vulnerable, and it kept me from freaking out.

He figured it out, he reached me, and he’s one of a very few who are alive today who have the power to hurt me.

And I knew I was hurting him.  Just by being with him, I was hurting him.

But was I strong enough to do what needed to be done?  Was I strong enough to let him go?

But then, as has happened eerily often, the Universe intervened, finally pushing Steel to the point that he acknowledged that this isn’t working.

There’s something you have to understand about Steel.  He’s a Capricorn, through and through.  He rolls his eyes at this stuff, and a bunch of my readers might, as well, but that’s alright, I’m drunk and my tongue is numb, so I’m going to write about what I want to write about.

And for some reason, that string of logic makes perfect sense right now.

So I always have high expectations of my subs.  There have been three cases, however, in which the sub’s expectations of himself have exceeded even my high expectations of him.

I have no idea if that sentence makes sense to sober people.  Three subs have had higher expectations of themselves than I have had of them.

Two of those are the two Capricorns I owned when I woke up this morning.

But add a lot of distance, over a period of more than a year, to a sub who opened himself up early on to a phenomenal degree, and who constantly expects the best of himself, sometimes to maybe an unrealistic degree, and his struggle to see the value he has in my life, and it’s not pretty.

When the distance first started really getting to him, it was hard to watch, and a million times harder for him to feel.  He felt guilty for letting the distance get to him.  He put blame on himself for the fact that he needed me there with him, and I wasn’t there.  We talked about different solutions to the problem, but each one simply started that spiral over again.  He felt guilty because it seemed like I wasn’t enough for him.  And he felt like he was failing me.

And I watched this happen, I saw him start those cycles, and man, sometimes I just saw red.

I wasn’t angry at him, I was never angry with him.  But I was furious with the miles that separated us, and the very many things keeping us apart.

Because this cycle is one that I know, and one that I can fix, so easily, if I was just there.

I could take all of that weight off his shoulders, I could give him room to breathe, I could help him find the balance that our relationship had caused him to lose, if I was just there with him.

God damn it, I could’ve fixed this, if I was just fucking there.

I hated knowing that he was hurting, needing me, and there was not a fucking thing I could do.  I know I became very aware of my tone of voice when talking to him on the phone.  I didn’t ever want him to think that I was frustrated with him.  But he can read me like no one else can, from 2500 miles away, and he felt my frustration, which did nothing but add to his own.

It wasn’t fucking fair!

*Regains composure*

But life isn’t fair, and the fact of the matter is we reached a point where the status quo was no longer an acceptable option.  And as much as I love and adore him, moving to where he lives is not an option, for a great number of reasons I’m not going to get into.

At this point in his life, moving here is not an option for him.

That left us with one option.  We both knew it, and neither of us could do it on our own.  I don’t know if I would’ve been able to let him go, on my own, even though it was for his own good, even though being mine, feeling that distance, killed him a little more each day.

I don’t know if I’m that selfless.  I don’t know if I’m that strong.

But somehow, as he always does, he filled those holes in my armor with his own.  And it happened quickly and smoothly.

Honestly, I remember very, very little of the conversation, and I’m totally fine with remembering very, very little of the conversation.

I remember one moment.  I don’t remember what, exactly he said, but he acknowledged that this wasn’t working.  It was really the first time I’d heard him make that acknowledgement, directly and out loud.

And that’s what I needed.  That was enough to remind me that it’s my job to take care of him for as long as he’s mine, and that it’s my job to help him untangle himself from me once he’s no longer mine.

It reminded me that he was fucking hurting, because of me, and I owed this to him, God damn it.  He’d suffered for me, suffered for my absence, for a year and a half.  He took all of it, he gave me all of himself, even to his own detriment, even when he knew it would just hurt him more, even when he was afraid of how I’d react, even when he was afraid I would judge him, and he opened himself up to the influence I greedily, perhaps recklessly, presented.

It was so intense, in the beginning.  So many things went so perfectly right, the entire God damned motherfucking Universe came together at exactly the way we needed it to, it was like un-fucking-real.

There were things that should’ve been red flags, but weren’t.  We both knew we were falling too hard, too fast, for someone we knew very, very little about.  Neither of us are particularly emotional.  Neither of us are particularly open or talkative about our emotions.  This wasn’t like us.  And neither of us were blind to the fact that there were 2500 miles separating us.

I told him once, very early on, “Let’s just enjoy each other now.”

And we did.

He opened himself up, to a level that still amazes me, even now, and laid himself out for me to see.  He pushed himself to give me more, and every shred of control he offered up, I took eagerly, wanting still more.

It was new territory for both of us.  Neither of us were big on long-distance relationships, neither of us had really had one before.  And his willingness to open himself up drove me to take him deeper, deeper, without thinking of the effect it would have on a sub who isn’t physically here, with me.

I realized far too late my mistake, when his vanilla life started faltering because he was so deep in the headspace I just instinctually put him in.

We both acknowledged that it couldn’t continue, and he pulled back for a couple of weeks, giving himself time to regain his balance.  That bothered him.  I told him, “Take all the time you need.  I’m not going anywhere.  I’ll be right here when you get back.”

And he did.  And when he came back, things were smoother.  But it didn’t take long for me to realize the damage had already been done.

And yes, the very thing I would’ve called a blessing if he were here became a curse.  I’d already gone too deep in his mind, and I wasn’t there with him to guide him and steady him.

I thought I could counter it by holding back, by holding him back, and for awhile, that worked.

But it worked like a single strip of duct tape holding a skyscraper together.  It was a fragile fix, that wouldn’t last long.  And one night last October, as we were talking on the phone, his voice coming through the speakers of my car (I even remember what street I was on), it really hit me.

This isn’t going to work.  I can’t keep him.

But no, that’s just pessimistic bullshit, and I’m an optimistic person.  We can make this work.  I am a very firm believer in the idea that there is always a solution to a problem.

We had a problem.  By its very nature, the problem must have a solution.  We just needed to find it.

Months passed, we tried different things, and none of them worked.  And the realist in me kept interrupting the Little-Engine-That-Could-like stubborn singlemindedness my inner optimist kept spouting.

We can do this.  We can do this.  I can fix this.  I can fix this.

It’s not working.  It’s not working.  You’re hurting him.  You’re hurting him.

No, but letting him go would hurt him so much more.

Yeah, that’s a great reason to keep actively causing him pain every time you talk to him.  By all means, keep doing that.

Most of this, Steel didn’t know until now.  He’s learning it the same way you are, and that’s by design.

I never told him.  I never attempted to keep it from him, but I never told him.  Partly because that’s not my nature, but also because I knew I could handle it, and I knew telling him would do nothing but add to a burden that I’d already made too heavy.

I never needed Steel the way he needed me.  I never needed reassurance, I never needed to feel him there with me, the way he needed to feel me there with him.

Don’t get me wrong.  I would actually, legitimately consider cutting off my left tit, one of my two favorite parts of my body, just for half an hour with him curled up in my lap.  Like, I’m serious.  They have stuff for mastectomies, they have breast forms and all that, and my tits are heavy enough to make back pain a daily thing.  I could make that work.

Just half an hour with him right now.  I wouldn’t even play with him.  Not intense play, anyway.

But no, I never needed him the way he needed me.  I knew I could handle the pain of missing him, I knew I could handle the anger and the frustration, and yes, even the doubt.

I never hid it from him, but I never told him because I knew that knowing this would’ve hurt him more, as I know reading it is painful to him now.  He’s protective of me, and I knew he’d instinctively want to protect me from it.  Without any conscious thought, he’d try to take it on himself, he’d heap just another expectation on top of the pile already on his shoulders, because he’d rather collapse under the weight than do something he thought might hurt, or burden me.

And no, I wasn’t going to let him do that.  He heaped the blame on himself, but the cold, hard, unemotional, objective facts are that I created this.

Knowing the extent of how badly I was hurting would’ve devastated him, and he would’ve felt guilty for being the cause of my pain.

And I know that because I felt guilty for being the cause of his pain.

And no, I wasn’t going to let him take that on himself.  That wasn’t his burden to bear.  It was mine, and I created it, in the very beginning, by urging him to dive in with me, even when he hesitated.

“Let’s just enjoy each other for now.”

With no thought, no plan, for the future.  I took him deep, I took him dark, without considering the variable of such a large distance, and the effect it would have on him.

And he’s the one who suffered for my recklessness.

Things remaining as they were wasn’t an option.  Me moving there wasn’t an option.  Him moving here wasn’t an option.

Staying together wasn’t an option.

And he somehow knew, without even realizing it, exactly what to say to remind me that I’m a fucking Dominant, and he gave himself to me openly, without reservation, without limit, trusting that I would take care of him.  Just a comment made, almost in passing, was enough to remind me what was at stake.

His mental and emotional health were at stake.  Our relationship was at stake.  Our future was at stake.  If we’d tried to stay together, the pain and frustration would build, and would turn to resentment.  That resentment would turn in on each other, and would destroy us irreparably.

We have no idea what the future holds.  Maybe six months, a year, two years from now, he’ll have the chance to move here.  If we’re friendly, if we end the relationship on good terms, there’s hope for a future.  But if he moves here six months from now, and we’ve stubbornly stayed together to the point that we’ve grown to resent each other, then the distance won’t matter.

To protect him, to protect us, I had to let him go.  So when he said the words, haltingly, hesitantly, reluctantly, I confirmed them.

I told him that yes, I would take my collar from him (I didn’t actually say those words to him.  I couldn’t.

And writing them now is the third most painful thing I’ve done in my life.  That was something I was not expecting, and was not prepared for.

Fucking hell.

I would release him.  Hearing my confirmation made him hesitate, and I hesitated with him, my strength faltering.  He suggested a trial, and for a moment, I ran with that, suggesting a set period.  But then I remembered who the fuck I am, and who the fuck was on the other end of the line, needing me to be strong enough to let him go.

No.  You’re not going to hurt him anymore.  You’ve done enough.

“It’s the right thing to do,” I told him.  “This isn’t working.”  And God, I hope I sounded more sure of myself to him than I did to myself.

I didn’t.  I know I didn’t.  And I heard it in his silence on the other end, as we both tried to think of something to say.

The rest of the conversation is honestly a blur.  I remember hearing his voice, I remember hearing the pain and the guilt there, I remember hearing the resolve and the strength there, but I don’t remember what he said.

Later, we had the chance to continue, without interruptions.  And that was much better.  We’d both had the chance to process a bit.

And I know this will sound strange (and surprise!  This is what I wasn’t sure I’d remember), but it almost reminded me of a wake.  The conversation before that had been the death.  Painful, with both of us overwhelmed by the loss of this strong, incredible thing we had.

The conversation tonight was like the wake.  The pain was still fresh, but the focus was more on the memories, what brought us together, the things we love about each other.  It was a good way to have closure.

It’s not going to be easy.  I told him we needed some separation.  We needed a few days without communication, so he could start the process of untangling himself from me.

There will be things that will be painful.  For example, the first rule I gave him was that he could not use my first name.  He called me Ma’am.  It was something I loved hearing from him as much as he loved saying it.

The first time he calls me Jen, will hurt.  The first time I read it or hear it will hurt.

A great many things are going to hurt.

But I am not afraid of pain, and I don’t attempt to avoid it, and I don’t pretend I don’t feel it.  It won’t last forever.  And I’ll help him get through it, I’ll steady him if he falters, I’ll support him until he can stand on his own, completely independent of my influence.

And his pain will fade as he distances himself from me.  It’s something he’s reluctant to do, but I will push him along if I need to.  He needs to distance himself from me.  He needs to untangle his mind from me.

Which he will.  He won’t like it but he’ll do it.  He has the strength to do it, and he is capable, once he achieves a level of distance from me, of compartmentalizing and keeping himself focused on the task at hand.

He’ll get back to neutral soon.

But he may be a bit quiet on his blog for awhile.  He asked me if I would write this post, the post we were both dreading, and I told him of course I would.  It was something I was intending to do anyway.  It was my idea to come out on the blog, even though he would’ve preferred to keep it quiet.  He obeyed me, he trusted me, he gave himself to me.  Of course I’m the one writing this.

And I’m the one letting him go.

Because I can handle it.  And I owe it to him; a man I truly love, admire, and cherish.

Yes, it’s the right thing to do.  I know that.  He knows that.

But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

Silk and steel

That’s something Steel says about me; that I’m soft as silk, and strong as steel (he’s an eloquent bitch, I tell you).  And it’s probably my favorite thing that any sub has said to describe me, followed closely by one of my exes telling me that my voice was like the purr of a lioness.

I don’t shriek, I don’t yell (Kazander has only ever heard me raise my voice once in six years, and it felt odd, getting that loud), none of that.  I stay quiet, even when I’m mad.  My ex said my voice made him think of a lioness, quiet and low, but terrifying, a strange and frightening mix between a purr and a growl.

Relentless.  That’s another word multiple people have used.  All three of my boys are intimately familiar with that trait.

And last night, Steel was sorta-kinda-pleasantly reminded why I never need to raise my voice to effectively get my point across, and why it would be a bad idea to ever piss me off (which made me laugh, when I was in the middle of tormenting him, and he whimpered, “Holy shit, remind me never to piss you off.”)

I spent the day with him yesterday, our first chance to play together since December.  And just like every other time we’re together, it’s just natural, neither of us have to force anything, it just flows.

We don’t even have to think about it.  We can immediately switch between a subdued, public dynamic (in which he still isn’t allowed to call me by my name, by the way), and the much more intense private one.  But even then, it’s just easy being with him.

At one point, we were ordering pizza from a place he liked.  He (being an east coast boy) said, “It’s about as close to New York style pizza as you can get here.”

I, being a west coast girl, and not usually a fan of pizza in general, looked at him and said, “Is there a difference between New York style and everything else?”

Pause…

“Okay Ma’am, we need to rethink this relationship.”

Oh, but fun side note.  He suggested we get the tiramasu.  I’d never tried it, but oh my gawd, it’s like one of my favorite things ever.  Like, ever.

So yay for broadened horizons!

Anyway…

I loved how needy and clingy he was.  And how eager.  I knew he wanted to break for me, and that he was trying to push himself to that point.  Part of me wanted to give him that little extra push he needed, to cross that line, because I know he needs it.  And hell, I wanted it, too.

But then, I stopped, and held him back, instead.  As much trouble as he sometimes has with feeling needy, and with crashing when I get off the phone or computer, it’ll be so much worse once I’ve broken him.

No, that can’t happen until we’re no longer separated by a country, and can see each other more than twice a year.

When he gets in subspace, he can sometimes be a little on the self-destructive side, bounding ahead toward that line between fun and fucking dangerous.  If the one holding his leash isn’t careful, he can run right past that line, and keep going without hesitation.

I won’t let him do that.  I have no problem pulling him back and bringing him to heel.  So when he expressed his desire to break for me, I pulled him back and wouldn’t let him.

But just because I wouldn’t let him break didn’t mean I couldn’t push him hard, and give him something to remember me by for the next few days.

We started off the afternoon with him naked and collared on the bed, eagerly moaning and whimpering while I alternated between hurting him and caressing him.  He was so hungry, so needy.  He wrapped his arms around me and held on to me so tightly, begging to kiss me, and gasping when I bit down hard on his tongue.

And he really is so cute when he begs.  It almost sounds desperate once he gets going, and it always makes me smile.  When he begged to be on his hands and knees for me, to take whatever I wanted to put in him, how could I say no?

He hasn’t had anything inside him since the last time I saw him, so I started slow, just putting a single finger in him and savoring his reaction to finally being penetrated.

And he was so tight.  It felt amazing, being in him.

But he’s a slut, meant to be fucked, and his body quickly relaxed enough for me to put a second finger in.  And then a third.

The third was painful for him, and the way he whined was so intoxicating.  I wanted to make him whine more.

So I pulled out my strapon, a toy he hadn’t been able to take before.  I knew he was stretched out enough to take it without harming him or tearing him, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt like a bitch.

And, as Sounder will readily attest to, I’ve been in a bit of a sadistic mood lately.

Yesterday was no different.  I wanted to hurt Steel.  I’ve wanted to hurt the little masochistic bitch for months, but haven’t been able to.  I was going to make up for lost time.

I pushed the dildo into him smoothly, and he whined and whimpered so pretty as I filled him up.  I fucked him for a good long while, then just left the dildo in him, pushing him over so he was lying on his back.

I left it in him for awhile, then took it out and replaced it with a small plug designed to put pressure on his prostate.  That, I left in him for awhile, while he worshiped my body and fell deeper and deeper into subspace.  Somewhere around that point (chronology always gets fuzzy in my head the next day, I’m sure there are sessions I’ve written about with Sounder, where he raises an eyebrow because I’ve written things out of order) is when he expressed his desire to break, and I pulled him back.

I snapped him out of the subspace and gave him a break, right about then is when we ate dinner (I think).  Then, I pulled out my trusty prostate massager, put clothespins on his nipples and cock, lied him on his side, and held him close while I gave him a long, thorough fucking.

I wasn’t going to break him, but I knew he needed to feel the surrender that a big part of him tends to fight, no matter how much he may want it.  If I wasn’t going to let him break, I would definitely push him to that point of surrender.

For a long time, I did nothing but fuck him, kiss his neck and his ear, and tell him that he’s mine, my toy, and that he’s a good bitch who will take whatever I decide to put in him, whether he wants it or not.

And for a long time, he wanted it.  That hunger kept burning, and he whined and begged and squirmed against me.  Even once it started hurting, his masochism kicked in and he wanted it, wanted more.

After… Oh I don’t know, 45 minutes?  He suddenly started begging for me to fuck him with my strapon again, and that confused me at first, until I realized how much it was hurting.

But no, I didn’t feel like stopping.  And he has no safeword.  And I wanted to really drive that point home.

I do what I want with him, and he can’t stop me.  He doesn’t have that power.  And the more I fucked him, the more he gave himself up to that fact, the easier it became for him to handle it.

When I finally stopped, I lied down next to him and he immediately moved closer to me, wrapping his arms around me and nuzzling close, burying his face against my neck.  Less than a minute later, he was begging me to fuck him with the strapon again.

I laughed, completely in love with his eagerness.  But no, his poor hole was throbbing and hurting and raw, and the size of the strapon wouldn’t be good for him.

When I told him no, he asked for the plug instead.  And the way he begged, the way he gazed up at me, I just couldn’t say no.  The plug is small, I knew it wouldn’t cause him any harm.

So I put it back in, and then pulled him back into my arms.  He went willingly, clinging hard to me and moaning softly.

Really, of all the things I did to him, of all the pain and pleasure and frustration and torment I put him through, the part that always seems to be my favorite is the way he clings to me.  I could literally lie there with him, or sit up with him curled up in my lap, for hours.

At one point, I needed to leave the room to get ice or run downstairs or something (I can’t remember which time it was), he didn’t want me to leave (he didn’t want me to leave any of the times I left the room, but there’s one specific time I’m talking about).  I stood next to the bed and leaned down to give him a reassuring hug before I left, and the way he hugged me made me never want to leave the bed again, for the rest of my life.

The last time anyone touched me like that was December, the last time I saw him.  Granted, I’m not usually an overly touchy-feely person, anyway, and I tend to gravitate toward men (and women) who are the same way.  Hell, Steel is that way with everyone else.

Except me.  The way he clings to me just makes me melt.

Sure, he’s mine, I own him, he wears my collar, and I greedily take every shred of control over his life that he offers up (and will continue to do so once he’s local and I can push him even harder), but if I’m really being honest with myself, that little slut has me wrapped around his finger.

Love struck teenagers

So I finally escaped the hippies and found a hotel room about 30 miles away, in grand old Tennessee.  With air conditioning.  And cell service.  And WiFi.

If you’re waiting for emails/responses from me, I’m afraid you’ll have to wait another day.  I’ve only got this night to myself (well, my spawn is with me, but you know what I mean), and I’ll have to be back at the hippie compound at 8am in the morning (translation: 5am, Vegas time, ugh), and I wouldn’t even be posting this if it wasn’t already more than halfway finished.  The spare time that I do have before I collapse from exhaustion, I want to use to talk to the people I own.

The hippies are interesting.  And the people I’m not related to are really nice.  It’s an odd feeling, being surrounded by people who are so remarkably open and unguarded.  I spend most of my time learning about the walls that any given person has built up around themselves, and figuring out how to get around them, while simultaneously (and perhaps hypocritically) strengthening the ones around myself.

There are no walls here.  There is no hiding here.  I see these men and women who are just so open, who allow themselves to be so vulnerable, it’s disconcerting to be around.  All I can do is sit back and watch them interact with each other, uninhibited, unguarded, uncensored.

They laugh without reservation, they cry without reservation, they hug and kiss and touch the people they love without worrying about what other people may think.  Watching two straight, married men kiss and hold hands upon greeting was shocking to me the first time I saw it, but no one else seemed to think there was anything strange about it.

Which made me think about the way I see things like that.  I mean, when two people love and care about each other, why shouldn’t they show it?  It’s kind of beautiful.  I’m glad to have been here to see that.

But as much as I’ve enjoyed spending time with these people, seeing the incredible way they live their lives, so far my favorite part of the trip was the first day I arrived.

My daughter and I got off the plane, got our bags, and piled into Steel’s car.

I’d arranged to land in his city, rather than the closest city to where my mom lived, and arranged to land in the evening so he would be able to pick us up and spend some time with us before driving us to my mom’s house.

It had been months since we’d seen each other, and as soon as I made sure the spawn was safely buckled in the back seat, I threw my arms around him and hugged him, kissing the back of his neck and holding him tight.

I’d already pulled his collar out and locked it around his neck, kissing his ear as the lock clicked closed.

Mine.

Moments later, I reluctantly peeled myself off him, and he was pulling out onto the road, toward a restaurant we’d gone to last time I’d gone to see him.

The spawn was shy at first, as she usually is around new people, but very quickly warmed up to him and was devastated when I told her at the restaurant that she’d have to settle for sitting next to him, that I wouldn’t let her sit on-fucking-top of him.

The poor dear.

All through dinner, it took every ounce of willpower I had to keep my hands off of him.  And I wasn’t exactly 100% successful with that.

Afterward, I wasn’t ready to make the drive to my mom’s house yet, so we found a table outside where we could sit for a little while.  I tossed the spawn my phone, and she was quickly engrossed in a game, completely oblivious to us.

And right around that point was when I found out that he had brought a clothespin with him.  I discreetly pulled his cock out and attached the clothespin to it, savoring that quiet little gasp he gave, and the immediate, if subtle, surrender in his eyes as he met mine.

We were in public, and he was trying very hard not to give in to his desire to curl up in my lap right then and there.  And really, he resisted that urge pretty well.

It was fun, and made me feel like we were a couple of teenagers, whispering to each other, sneaking in the occasional kiss, hurriedly copping the occasional feel, when the parents  (ie, my kid) weren’t looking.

After so long of being hungry for him, but unable to touch him, it was heaven to be able to finally get a taste of the boy I’m going to fucking devour when I finally get him to myself.

It doesn’t matter how long we’re apart.  It never does.  The moment we’re back together, he melts right into me so perfectly.  It’s immediately clear to both of us that he belongs there, his face buried in my neck, his arms wrapped around me, whining and gasping and begging when I reached down to pull on the clip on his cock.

I would’ve loved to sit there all night, teasing him and tormenting him, but we did have to get going.  It’s a long drive from his city to my mom’s, and he would still have to drive all the way back after dropping us off.

So we headed out, and made pretty good time.  We had to sneak a goodnight kiss when my mom wasn’t looking.  I quickly (and reluctantly) unlocked his collar, groped him one last time, then hugged him and told him goodbye, with a promise that I would do brutal, terrible, evil things to him when I get him to myself.

Only a few days to go.

V

So I’ve mentioned that Steel and I met over the internet.  Specifically, we met through the blog.  What I’ve left out until now is that he has a blog of his own.

Because of reasons, we kept our relationship off the blogs, and while we obviously write about each other often, we’ve kept out identifying details, and he’s adjusted dates/times on his blog, so it’s not overly obvious to those who follow both of us (if I talk about visiting him in December, and he writes his version of events in December, it’s just too easy to connect the dots).

The blogosphere is a small world, and it made sense (and still does make sense, in a lot of ways) to keep it quiet.  But what can I say, I’m not always a sensible person.  It’s alright, though, I have embraced my neuroses.  So we agreed (or, more accurately, I dictated and he good-naturedly chuckled at said neuroses and said, “Yes, Ma’am”) that the relationship would no longer be kept off the blogs.

Steel calls me V on his blog, which you can find here.  I may be a tad on the biased side, but I’m a huge fangirl of his blog (and that has only a little bit to do with how eloquently he feeds my ego).  The boy could write fucking stereo instructions and I’d be all over that shit like a teenage girl reading Twilight.

In less than 2 months we’ll be together again, and he’ll be back in my arms where he belongs.  I can’t wait.

 

A year later

1 month, 27 days, 2 hours, 24 minutes, and 49 seconds.

Then my plane will land in Steel’s city.

There’s a lot about living so far away that sucks.  But by far the worst is when he crashes and I’m not there to help him get stable again.

Neither of us were big on long-distance relationships.  We knew it would be hard, and we knew most of them only last a few months.

But the chemistry was undeniable.  And I fell in love with him immediately.

As intense as the relationship got, and as fast, we both wondered at the red flags that should have been popping up, but weren’t.  Still, I decided to go with what I felt, with what felt natural, and told him to do the same.

We’ve had our differences (like the fact that he’s a Raiders fan, while I’m a Broncos fan.  But the Raiders may actually be moving to Vegas, so I promised I’d keep an open mind), and he’s much more practical and prone to overthinking, while I am much more laid-back and go-with-the-flow type.  In some ways, we are the exact opposite.  But it’s in a way that we complement each other, and it works beautifully.

A year later, that intensity hasn’t waned in the slightest.  And every time I see him, it just gets stronger.

I’ve fed his neediness, his greed, his clinginess, and his dependence, because that’s the way I want him.  He’s opened himself up to me to a level I’ve never experienced before, and it made it very easy for me to mold and condition him to be what I want.

While I don’t regret doing it (and am willing to bet he doesn’t regret it, either, and he’ll tell me if I’m wrong), the neediness and dependence that I’ve encouraged, that we both want, has made the distance even worse.

When that craving, that dependence, that neediness comes crashing down on him, he has trouble stabilizing himself again.  And if I were there with him, it would be too easy to interrupt that spiral and get him leveled out.

But I’m not, and it’s not.  All I can do is tell him that it’ll pass, that it’ll be alright.  And I hate knowing that he’s hurting, and I can’t help him.

Especially since it would be so easy to fix, if I was just there.

But he’s a big boy, and he’s a strong man, and he gets through it.  And I hold back a bit on the intensity, so he can hold on to his sanity.

It’s been a year that he’s been mine.  And I keep thinking back to the day I collared him.

I’ve never been one for big ceremonies.  There was none when I collared Kazander.  And with Steel, I’d told him I wanted to collar him months before we met and I could actually fasten it around his neck.

I ended up collaring him almost as soon as we were alone together.  Every time I looked at him, every time I saw the absence of the collar there, it just annoyed me.  He was mine.  I wanted him collared.

There was one thing he had asked for, though.  And the way he asked was so sweet, so shy, I was happy to oblige him.

He’d asked if he could write me a letter, that I would read while knelt at my feet on the day I collared him.

It’s a letter that I carry in my wallet with me, right next to his collar, that stays in a special zippered pocket in my purse when it’s not around his neck.

Ma’am,

I kneel at your feet stripped, vulnerable, and helpless.  Kneeling here while you read my intentions as an act of choice before you collar me.  Because this moment exists somewhere between before and after and only happens once.  Once is special.

I come to you fully owning my identity as a submissive, knowing that you will only take what is given freely and nothing more.  I come to aching to break, knowing you will only break what’s necessary in order for you to truly possess me.  I come to you prepared to worship, knowing you only accept such adoration as your due from those you own and protect, and secure in the knowledge you won’t build a shrine to your own ego.  I come to you fully understanding myself to be a slutty, craving, needy boy submitting to you as my Dominant; knowing you value these traits, I understand you will feed and enable them as long as I am not endangering myself.  I come to you wanting to serve, knowing you will hurt, use, break, and mold me – knowing you will care for me, guide me, and help me to be a better person – knowing you will feed weakness and greed even as you build strengths and discipline – knowing you will push me towards limits or hold me back as necessary –  knowing I am always safe under your gaze and under your thumb.

Once you collar me, I am yours.  Having surrendered and submitted to your will of my own volition, you possess the power to punish and reward as you see fit.  I submit to your experience, intellect, love, and compassion just as I submit to your sadism, depravity, and craving for control.  I submit to you with the knowledge you know and understand my hardest limits and confident you will ask for clarification should we approach anything that approximates unknown territory.  I submit – happily – knowing no magic words exist, which I can utter to force you to stop.  You will stop when you decide because you are the one in control.  Your possessing the final say is what I want and need.

I promise to work hard to be a good, sweet, and obedient boy.  I promise to work hard to learn how to serve you best and remain a valuable submissive.  I promise to strive to remain as open and vulnerable as you desire in order to give you access and control to whatever traits you wish to enhance, curb, or condition.  I promise to constantly make an effort to not take you or this relationship for granted.

As you read this note I have been thinking on what’s written here.  As you take in these words, I have been searing them into my consciousness.  I have been waiting a long time for you and find myself both thrilled and scared the wait is over.

I love you.

Your boy,
Steel

I’ve read it so many times, I pretty much have it memorized.  And he has made good on everything he’s promised in his letter.  His dedication has never faltered, he’s never forgotten his place, he’s never given me reason to be disappointed in him.  Whether we’re together or thousands of miles apart, he’s everything I want him to be.

And while I cherish and adore who he is as a submissive, it’s who he is as a man that I respect and admire.  He’s no stranger to pain, to tragedy, to loss, to regret.  All three of my boys have experienced more than their fair share of those, and all three have risen above it.

Steel knows who he is, he knows what he has to offer, and he knows his worth.  Along with that, he loves me, he loves submitting to me, and loves serving me.  I consider myself lucky to own him.

lishorek.soup.io

This is his favorite position to be in, and I can’t wait to have him curled up in my lap where he belongs.  1 month, 27 days, 1 hour, 4 minutes, and 18 seconds to go.

The Mysterious Third

Airports, airplanes, and flying always put me in a nostalgic, sentimental sort of mood, in a way that few other things can. I never really knew why, but it’s something I’ve always loved. I love the cramped, noisy metal tubes, I love the layovers, I love walking through airports to find my gate.

Today, I spent the earliest part of the morning at gate C1 of McCarran Airport. At 5:25, I boarded the cramped metal tube, and we took off shortly after, in that soft pre-dawn light that bathes everything in a sweet blue, and raced toward the sun.

Once I get to my destination, I’ll have a short layover, and board another flight that will take me the rest of the way to the man I’ve been waiting to see for months.

Quite a few readers have noticed that I often reference owning three boys, but only refer to two by name. Quite a few readers have asked asked about the mysterious third boy, and why he’s been kept off the blog.

We all love a good mystery.

Most have assumed that he is Sissy, but no, that’s not the case. Sissy had some personal shit go down, that would mess with anyone pretty badly, and when he pulled away, I gave him his space. I’m of course open to talking to him again, should he reach out. He knows that I’m there for him, if he needs support, or someone to talk to. But he’s an Aquarius, and if he’s anything like me, he wants to be left the fuck alone.

So no, Sissy is not the third.

We’ll call the third Steel, and due to family and personal circumstances, we are temporarily separated by a distance large enough to warrant a plane ride. He’s got responsibilities that are keeping him farther from me than I’d like him to be. But we make the most of it, and Kazander was sweet enough to give me a trip out to see him as an early Christmas present.

So I’m spending the day at airports and on planes, some of my favorite places in the world. And don’t get me wrong. I love Kazander, and I love my kid, and I loved the last two flights I took with one or the other. But there’s just something so quiet about traveling alone. About being alone in a crowded room, surrounded by people, standing back and watching them.

It’s about seeing people hug goodbye at the security line, watching family members wave to their relatives. It’s about listening to people talk about their vacation, and how much fun they had in Vegas, but how they’re ready to go home. It’s about seeing hundreds of people sitting quietly at the terminals, reading or talking or working on their laptops to pass the time.

I even love the turbulence. Our descent is expected to be quite turbulent, and I’m looking forward to it. That sinking feeling in your stomach, the little rush of adrenaline, the unpredictable rocking of the plane, it’s all just awesome.

And I know that every minute that passes brings me about six miles closer to Steel. I’m going to be able to spend the weekend with him, using him hard to make up for the time we had to spend apart, and the time we’ll have to spend apart after I leave. As of now, there’s no way of knowing how much longer this separation will have to last.

I intend to make the most of the time we’ll have together. And his nervousness is adorable.

I had to promise not to completely devour him when he picks me up at the airport. Last time we were together, we got hungry and decided to drive to get some food, after a pretty long, intense session. He didn’t realize until after we were already on the busy road that his head was not in the right space for driving. So when we meet at the airport, I need to hold back, to resist the urge to claim him, until we get to the hotel (and we’re stopping to grab dinner on the way to the hotel, so the holding-back thing may get a little difficult). But I can’t do or say anything to fuck with his head until I know that he won’t have to drive for awhile. So that’ll be a test of my willpower.

But then, oh it’s on. His skinny ass is mine, and I’ve got to make up for lost time.

Oh, in the meantime… Here’s a funny conversation that happened between me and the passenger sitting next to me, a man who could be Shaquille O’Neal’s only-slightly-smaller brother, who was obviously freaking out during out descent.

Me: Not a fan of flying?

Shaq’s look-a-like: Of being shoved in a big metal box and thrown 700 miles? No, not really.

Me: Well, the good news is we’re low enough now that if we crash, we probably won’t die.

Shaq: *pause* Yeah, see that’s not helping.

I don’t get it. I said we probably won’t die. That’s being super-helpful.