It's All Relevant

Dear Human:
Posted:Mar 20, 2018 9:35 am
Last Updated:Mar 20, 2018 7:14 pm
Dear Human:

Posted:Mar 20, 2018 5:11 am
Last Updated:Mar 20, 2018 1:37 pm

She laid her head on his chest and snuggled her body as close to his as she could. After a long day, the heat he radiated did wonders for her tired muscles and his scent relaxed her mind almost instantly. He kissed the top of her head before grabbing the book from the nightstand and flipping to where they left off the night before. He cleared his throat and began reading poem after poem of love and loss and sadness. She adored the words, but she loved this time they shared together even more. She smiled and sighed into his skin as he continued, feeling the vibrations of his voice rumbling through him. She knew that there, in his arms, was right where she belonged.

Posted:Mar 19, 2018 3:13 am
Last Updated:Mar 20, 2018 6:23 am

There are things I need. I need the rules. I need the structure. Sometimes I desperately need the pain. I need the pride in his eyes like I need the blood in my veins. I need to kneel at his feet and know that I want him to do whatever he needs. I need to know he’s present. I need to be his safe place. His release. I need to feel his desire. His need for me. I need to crawl if he wishes and be the one who makes him forget the world. I need to be in his arms at night and I need to be…. His. I need his decisions. I need his confidence. I need his passion. I need his anger and I need his joy. I need to feel wanted and I need to be loved. I need to be a priority. I need to give to him every single part of myself.

Happy St. Patrick's Day.
Posted:Mar 17, 2018 2:31 am
Last Updated:Mar 18, 2018 3:47 am
Happy St. Patrick's Day.
Posted:Mar 16, 2018 11:53 pm
Last Updated:Mar 16, 2018 11:55 pm

It’s amazing how quickly a submissive can harden. The everydayness of life kicks in. Work and kids and grocery shopping and the to-do list that never ends. Rules become routine. They fade into the background, rather than feeling like active engagement in the dynamic. For me, I begin to sort of calcify. I handle my life and fulfill my obligations. I make sure everyone has what they need, including my Dominant. But I become guarded with my emotions. I stop being vulnerable.

Then that moment happens. I am told to strip. I get into position, over a lap or the bed. Hands caress my body, but they don’t quite reach me. There’s static on the line. The connection feels distant and abstract. I know I’m submissive, but my heart isn’t kneeling with my body.

The first few swats land. The warmth radiates through me. Oh, how I’ve missed this. But then the pain grows. And I fight it. I tell myself to let it flow, breathe through it and accept it. But the world has hardened me. Why do I want this? Do I really want it? But of course, I do. I know I need the surrender. I need to lay myself bare for the one who owns me. And with a hand or flogger or paddle or cane, I begin to find my way. The hardness melts away, and the only connection remains. Pure energy flowing between us. I feel owned and loved, seen and chosen. I feel lighter and stronger. Centered.

Spankings wash away the hardness that weighs down my submissive heart. But they can also keep it from settling in. Scheduled maintenance tells me how long I have to carry the weight and when I will be able to put it down. Maintenance sounds so unsexy and unspontaneous because you know it’s coming. But for me, that’s part of the magic: I know it’s coming. I can count on it to be there. And somehow just the fact of that keeps me calm and open and deferential. I know I can trust my Dominant to show up for me—to strip me down to my core and remind me who I am and where I belong.

It is so easy to forget that I need this. I drift away from submissiveness at times. I think we all do. But maintenance reminds me why I submit. It makes me feel whole in a way that I’d almost forgotten. It reminds me that this is fundamentally who I am, not just a thing I do. Maintenance brings me back to myself and my partner. It feels like coming home.

1 comment
Balancing Act
Posted:Mar 15, 2018 11:26 pm
Last Updated:Mar 17, 2018 8:42 am
Balancing Act

As a submissive, I take seriously the distinction between wanting something and needing it. And for that reason, I’ve thought a lot about what I truly need in a relationship. As I see it, I have four needs: love, ownership, spanking, and sex. And when any one of them goes unmet for long enough, I get twitchy. Off balance. It throws the other needs off as I try to compensate, and eventually, the whole system goes haywire. So I’m going to lay it out as best as I can here.

This one is the easiest and the hardest. Attention and effort. I need him to show me that I’m an important part of his life. Show me that, as he goes about his day, he’s thinking of me. A quick text. A silly picture. Asking how I’m doing. Telling me about his day. Making sure I know if he will be out of touch for a while. Sweeping me up with hugs and kisses, and wrapping me in his arms like he’s never going to let go. With the right person, this is easy. But without love, he has no shot at meeting the rest of my needs. Sex will not satisfy me, and I will not be able to give myself deeply as a submissive. I need trust and affection. I need presence and support. I need to know that he will be there and take care of me. I need to be loved.

But it’s not enough to love me. I need to feel controlled and structured and protected and owned. I need to know deep in my bones that this is not a “normal” relationship, and we are not equals. I need rules. I need protocol. I need firm boundaries. Accountability. Punishment, if necessary. I need to be used at his discretion and for his pleasure. I need the little moments like responding “yes, Sir” and the big moments of being broken and reduced to nothingness. I want his control to permeate every aspect of our relationship. Always present, even as an undercurrent. Always in my place. Always kneeling at his feet, physically or in my heart.

This need for ownership is also why kink fulfills me—but only if it’s a type of kink that inspires feelings of servitude, obedience, ownership, and absolute control. When he binds my hands and strings me up to the ceiling, or when I’m licking and kissing his shoes. When he’s making me scream and taking pictures of my tear-stained face. When he wraps his hand tightly around my throat. But I have kinks that don’t fulfill my ownership needs. And for the most part, they sit on the shelf. I don’t need kink; I need ownership. Kink is just one way of exercising that ownership. I need the everyday structure and the hard use. I need to know that I belong to him on a level that most people don’t understand. As a slave. As cherished property.

It may seem strange that I separate this out from the kink that fulfills my need for ownership. And of course, it does make me feel owned. But I have learned that spanking is just a core need for me. Even if he does a million other things that make me feel owned, I will still feel unfulfilled without regular spankings. Spankings are just different for me. I need them. Nothing settles my mind or makes my heart sing like spankings. Spankings make me feel loved. They say, “I am here, and I see you.” Spankings calm and cleanse me, and they bring me back to him. They sat me on a level I can’t reach any other way. Going without being spanked is like going without hugs or kisses. I have more to say about spankings, but it boils down to this: I need them, more than almost anything else we do.

And yes, I need sex. It’s not at the bottom of this list because it’s unimportant. I do very much need sex. His cock sliding between my lips. His fingers curling up to find that perfect spot. His skin on mine. His body over mine, feeling him claim me over and over again. But sex is last on this list because it is so tangled up with the others. Even that phrase—feeling him claim me—is what I need from sex. I need to be held down and shoved into the mattress. I need to have him take orgasms from me that I didn’t know I could give because he controls my body. I do enjoy sex even from a vanilla standpoint. But just as sex means more when you love the person, it also means more when it’s part of his control over me.

An interesting thing I have noticed is that I tend to use sex to compensate for other unmet needs. It took a long time for me to see it because I’ve almost always had unmet needs. But I just assumed I had a very high sex drive. I would have sex and orgasm multiple times, then go home and masturbate to several more orgasms. Then I started in D/s. And for the first time, I experienced a bone-deep level of satisfaction. I was truly sated. And I realized that I had this deep need for submission, and all these years I’d been trying to feed it orgasms. It doesn’t work. I always want sex. But now when I begin to feel insatiable, like no amount of sex could quench that drive… Now I know to look for what else is missing. Am I feeling insecure about whether he loves me? Is our dynamic slipping? Do I desperately need to have my ass beaten? The answer is usually some combination of these.

Without all four of these, some part of me gets lost. It’s not enough to love me; I am more complex than that. When something is missing, anxiety creeps in, and I start to sink. And then it’s time to check the gauges. Attention and affection? Structure and control? Spankings? Sex and orgasms? Usually, something is missing. Then it’s time to rebalance. As a submissive, my role is to understand my needs and give status reports on where they stand. He decides how to rebalance. And I must trust him to know how

A Note on Empowerment
Posted:Mar 13, 2018 10:23 pm
Last Updated:Mar 16, 2018 10:47 am
A Note on Empowerment

It is a common misconception that women who abide by traditional gender roles have no idea what empowerment is.

Unfortunately, the fact that a lot of women feel most empowered by submitting to their man is often overlooked as just ‘internalized misogyny’.

It is okay to fall into your natural role as a woman. You should never be ashamed to do so just because of the expectations that others have of you.

Let him lead you. It is okay to feel more comfortable when you follow him.

Let him provide for you financially while you keep his home clean and warm with love.

Let him make the decisions. You will find that a great deal of stress is lifted from your life once you surrender the uncertainty of making the wrong choice and trust in him.

Let him protect you. Your body was not built as strong and big as his, you were meant to be defended – not to defend.

There is empowerment like you wouldn’t imagine in submitting to him. Do not be afraid just because someone’s definition of empowerment is different from yours

. tradblush~
His Little Girl (Part 1) *story*
Posted:Mar 13, 2018 5:44 am
Last Updated:Mar 16, 2018 11:16 pm
His Little Girl (Part 1)*story*

It had been one of those days. Everything should have been wonderful – it was the Friday before a long weekend and he was expecting me at 7 pm, sharp. He’d promised to cook dinner and I was looking forward to spending most of the weekend in his bed wearing nothing but his collar, a few bruises, and a satisfied smile. My boss had been full of tedious little “projects” all day, with lots of details that needed my attention. Despite my plans to leave work early, my last client of the day had run over, so I was late leaving the office. And then the Metro was delayed. And then, walking the few short blocks from the station to his townhouse, the sky opened up and it poured.

My carefully chosen outfit was a sodden mess, and I had a run in one of my stockings from tripping over my heels trying to avoid a puddle, which I fell in any way, splashing myself with dirty, muddy water. I’d spent hours this morning taming my curls into mostly straight, sleek, shiny waves, but the first raindrop turned all my efforts back into wildly frizzy curls again. My mascara dripped down my cheeks, another casualty of the rain, and I swiped it away impatiently as I hurried up the steps and rang the bell.

“Hello, pet,” he said, answering the door with a smile, even though I looked like a half-drowned poodle. “I know I said I wanted you to arrive wet and ready for me, but I think you took things a little too far.”

My laugh sounded brittle, shaky, uncertain.

“And you’re late,” he chided with a brief kiss, turning back to the kitchen where the warm smell of food made my stomach growl. I stood on the mat in the entryway, dripping and disheveled, watching him return to the preparations I’d pulled him away from, looking too perfect in his crisp white dress shirt, with the sleeves rolled up and the top buttons were undone. If he’d stepped back into the black dress shoes sitting at the base of the stairs and put on the tie hanging on the railing, he could have gone back to work, looking as put together as he probably had been all day. And I was not fit to step off the doormat, afraid I’d drip all over his spotless floors.

“Come on in,” he called from the kitchen. “There are towels in here if you want to dry off before dinner.” I wanted to, but my feet wouldn’t move. I wanted to turn around and grab my bag and close the door quietly behind me and not make a mess of his perfect shirt, his house, his everything. I was a disaster, and he deserved better. But I wanted more than anything to stay, even if I knew I shouldn’t.

“Pet?” he called again. “You’re too quiet. Are you okay?” I heard the steady chop, chop of the knife, the quiet jazz he preferred lilting from the radio in the kitchen. I felt tears clogging my throat, burning behind my eyes as I stood frozen on the doormat.

I must have made a choked little sound because he came out from the kitchen with a towel, his teasing smile fading into concern as he saw me still standing there, my knuckles white on the handle of my bag, beginning to shiver in my cold, sodden suit as mascara ran down my cheeks in pathetic black tears. His concern brought a flush of embarrassment and I started to step back, reaching for the doorknob behind me, turning away so I didn’t have to see the concern become pity as the cool metal refused to turn under my slick fingers.

“Stop,” he said firmly. He reached for me and I flinched away, caught up in my own head. “That’s enough,” he said in his soft, dangerous voice. He frowned and stepped into my space, crowding me up against the door. His strong hand cupped my cheek, fingers clamping on my jaw and forcing my tear-stained face up to meet his worried dark eyes.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured, looking down at me with concern. “Shhh, don’t cry sweetheart. I’m sorry. I didn’t see how bad it was.” He swiped away a dark teardrop with his thumb; his tenderness only brought more tears, more shame, more embarrassment, until I shook with it. He held me tightly and let me sob against the white perfection of his shirt, uncaring that I was soaking wet and my makeup was running everywhere.

“Tell me,” he soothed, rubbing his hand in small circles against my back. “Tell me everything, sweetheart. Let it all out.” His arms around me didn’t ease as I sobbed out my small, petty, horrible day against his shoulder. All the ugly words and terrible things I was thinking just poured out of me along with the tears in a scalding rush that left me feeling empty and shaken.

He listened to everything without comment or complaint, even when I was harsh with myself. He waited until the tears slowed to a trickle and the sobs became harsh shuddering breaths and my desperate grip on his shirt eased. Gently, he stroked the curls away from my face and pressed a slow kiss on my forehead. He took a deep breath and looked down at me. I waited for the impatience, the frustration. I expected him to be tired of my self-doubt, of my turning small disasters into larger ones…but it didn’t come.

“I know you’re waiting for me to punish you, pet,” he began. I sighed, waiting for the exception, the pity. “And I’m going to,” he continued firmly, “Because you need to know I mean what I say and that the rules we’ve established do matter.” His eyes were warm and dark and drowning deep as he smiled down at me. “But I don’t think that’s what you really need from me tonight. It’s not what I need to give you.” He cupped my face in both hands, rubbing his thumb over my lower lip. “I need you to be my good little girl tonight. Let Daddy take care of you.”

My breath hitched in my throat. My Master almost never refers to himself as Daddy. I’ve called him that playfully, teasingly, but that isn’t generally how our relationship works. Oh, we’ve talked about it, about the aspects of Daddy/little girl relationships that we admire and enjoy, but we’ve never explored that dynamic between us. He was asking me for a lot of trust, but he was promising me something, too, and I could see the weight of that promise in his eyes, in his smile, in the gentle, implacable strength of his hands.

I was afraid, uncertain, but I nodded, taking a deep, ragged breath. I trusted him. “Yes,” I told his shirt buttons, my voice barely more than a whisper. I took one more shuddering breath and found the words clogging my throat. “Please, Daddy.”

He crushed me against his chest, hugging me breathless, then stole the rest with a long, hungry kiss. “That’s my good girl,” he said with a cautious smile. There was something in his expression, possessive, protective, but also pleased, as if he’d expected me to resist and was relieved that I hadn’t.

He picked me up unexpectedly and I yelped in surprise, kicking my feet a little. “No,” I begged. “Put me down!” He didn’t stop. “I’m too heavy!”

He paused at the foot of the stairs, still holding me, the hand on my back fisting in my wet hair. “Do little girls get to tell their Daddies ‘no’?” he asked, a hint of warning in his tone.

“No, but –“

“No ‘buts’, baby girl. Do you think I’m incapable of carrying you wherever I want you?”

“No, Master, but I don’t want to – “

“I said, no ‘buts’, little girl. Does it matter what you want?”

I squirmed a little, but his hands held me still as he waited, not altogether patiently, for me to find the correct answer. Finally, I managed to squeak out, “No, Daddy,” before he started back up the stairs as if I’d never interrupted.

“That’s right,” he murmured, stroking my back. “You don’t have to worry anymore, baby. I’ve got you.” He set me down in his bedroom, kissing my forehead sweetly. “Take off your wet things and leave them there,” he admonished briefly before disappearing into the bathroom. I heard the sound of running water splashing into the Jacuzzi tub. Shivering, I stripped, dropping my wet things into a small pile. He returned just as I finished, ushering me into the tub as if I was something delicate and fragile and precious.

The water was warm and full of bubbles, and he sat on the edge and watched me smile in delight when he turned the jets on. Already I felt warmer, the chill from the rain seeping away in the hot, fragrant water. He actually laughed when I reached up and gave him a handful of bubbles for a beard, wiping them off to decorate my nose instead.

“Do you want me to wash your hair?” he asked, running his fingers through my long wet curls.

“I can do it,” I said, reaching for my favorite coconut-scented shampoo.

He took the bottle out of my hands. “That wasn’t what I asked,” he said, a hard note creeping into his voice. “I know you can. The question was, ‘Do you want me to?’ ”

I wanted to say yes. I was tired and hungry and his hands felt exquisite as he played with my wet hair, his strong fingers massaging my scalp. I knew I should say no. He doesn’t need to wait on me; I can take care of myself. If he had pushed, I would have said no, taken the bottle back, and washed my own hair.

I don’t know what he saw in my face or the tense lines of the muscles in my back that changed his tone from chiding to tender. Instead of simply taking the shampoo and washing my hair, he slid closer and wrapped his arms around me. He pressed his lips against my damp shoulder, and the sweetness of his kiss made my chest ache.

“Say yes,” he whispered against my ear. “Let Daddy take care of you, now.”

“Yes,” I finally whispered back. “Please?”

“Please what?”

“Please, Daddy?”

“Good girl.”

His kiss on my forehead warmed me down to my toes and I tried to sit still while he methodically washed and rinsed and conditioned my hair. He then took the sponge I was idly tracing over my arm and washed my back in slow, teasing strokes. I sighed, feeling completely spoiled and a touch self-conscious as he stood up and adjusted the Jacuzzi settings.

“I’m going to check on dinner,” he told me, looking down at my naked breasts covered in bubbles with undisguised hunger in his eyes. “You be a good girl and stay in the tub until I get back. Run more warm water if you need to. Don’t try and get out by yourself. Do you understand me, sweetheart?”

I nodded meekly. “Yes, Daddy.”

His smile lit him up from within and I felt my uncertainty crumble under his happiness. I heard him in the bedroom, most likely changing clothes, and then his footsteps padded down the stairs. I leaned back in the tub, closing my eyes, and wondering what other surprises he was going to have in store for me tonight.

It seemed like I’d just closed my eyes when something warm woke me up slowly, trickling along my breasts and down my stomach. I opened my eyes slowly to find him sitting on the edge of the tub again, slowly washing the bubbles from my skin. His warm hands slid over my wet skin slowly, rolling my nipples into hard little points again, though not from cold this time.

“Shhh, baby girl,” he whispered. “Daddy needs to make sure you are all clean for him.” His fingers dipped between my legs, finding my pussy already shaved bare for him, warm and slick with arousal from his washing me while I’d dozed. “Yes,” he growled, almost to himself, “Such a good wet little girl you are, pet.” I moaned involuntarily as his thumb brushed over my clit, my hips arching up a little.

“Shhhh,” he repeated. “You need to be a good still girl and let me take care of you, sweetheart. Daddy knows what you need.”

I bit my lip and looked up at him with wide, slumberous eyes and he groaned, pushing two long, thick fingers slowly inside my pussy. I was wet, but my position in the tub kept my legs together and made his fingers slip inside me with aching slowness, making me feel tight and full of him already.

“So tight,” he whispered. “Squeeze me, baby girl. Show me how much you want Daddy to make this little pussy feel good.” I clenched around his fingers, sighing in pleasure as it made him groan in my ear. He continued to stroke me softly, crooking his fingers up to rub against that spot inside me that made me squirm and pant.

“Yessss,” he hissed when I arched up again. “Fuck my fingers, sweetheart. I want you to come all over them.”

“Yes,” I agreed. “You make me feel so good, Daddy.”

“Come,” he insisted. “Now. For me.”

“Yes,” I whimpered, feeling my impending orgasm gathering low in my body, swelling up inside me like a tidal wave. “Please, Daddy, please…oh…oh…oh…..Daddy!”

My body undulated with the pleasure he wrung out of me, and I trembled helplessly as he slowly eased me down, bending over to kiss me sweetly, gently.

“I love it when you come apart like that,” he said softly. “You look so beautiful when you come for me, baby.”

“Only for you,” I whispered back against his lips. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“Only for me,” he agreed with a pleased smile.

Carefully, he helped me rinse off and climb out of the tub, then dried me with a soft fluffy towel and wrapped my damp hair in another before leading me into the bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed and helped me dress, in a pair of white panties with a million ruffles on the backside and a matching blue and white babydoll nightie. I looked like a cupcake with too much frosting, and giggling, told him so. With a smile, he hugged me close and whispered in my ear, “Good enough to eat, little cupcake.” And then my stomach grumbled, reminding me that I was starving, and not only for him.

“Fetch me the hairbrush and two hair ties, baby girl,” he said with a slow smile. “Let me brush your hair and then I’ll feed you and then we can snuggle up in some blankets and watch a movie. How does that sound?”

I kissed the tip of his nose. “Perfect.” When I returned with the wooden hairbrush and two simple elastic bands for my hair, he stood and patted the bed beside him.

“Kneel up,” he requested, taking the brush from my hand. “With you back to me, sweetheart…that’s a good girl. Be still.”

He brushed my hair slowly, the damp curls sliding sensuously through his fingers. Deftly, he plaited my hair into two pigtail braids, which he’d insisted on tying bows on. I giggled until he tugged on them, tipping my head back to press a hungry kiss on my lips. I could feel the heat of his body against my back, the turgid press of his cock branding my skin.

“Oh, cupcake,” he murmured against my lips. “You have no idea how much I’m enjoying the sight of you kneeling just like that, just for me.”

“Just for you,” I whispered agreeably, biting my lip. “Daddy.”

He groaned. “That mouth of yours is killing me, little girl.”

I turned and slipped off the bed, kneeling at his feet eagerly. “Maybe you should do something about it?” I suggested teasingly, looking up at him from beneath my eyelashes.

He ran a hand through his hair and looked down at me, his eyes hot and dark and hungry. “You’re pushing, sweetheart.”

“Please, Daddy?” I licked my lips and dragged my gaze up the length of his body, from his straining cock pressing against the zipper of his jeans to the rigid line of his jaw.

“Shh,” he murmured, stroking his thumb over my lower lip as I edged closer, pressing myself against his legs. “Good little girls wait for permission, sweetheart.”

“Please?” I begged shamelessly, my hands snaking around his thighs to press myself closer. “Please, Daddy, please. I want it.”

“What do you want?” he asked darkly, his voice as tight as his jaw.

“You,” I whispered, looking up at him from my knees. “Your cock in my mouth. Your cum in my throat. Your hands in my hair.” I pressed my lips together anxiously. “Please, Daddy? Please may I suck your cock?”

My pleas tore another groan from his throat and his hands scrabbled at the fly of his pants, unbuttoning and unzipping with frantic haste. He freed his cock and held it to my lips, his expression thunderous.

“Is this what you want?” he growled. “Take it, then, baby. Take it all. Take me.”

His hand cupped my head as he guided my mouth around his cock, moving me, directing me. I kept my eyes on his as much as possible, watching his face as he watched his cock disappear between my lips and down my throat. He teased me, pulled me off and back on again, let me lick him with hungry little flicks of my tongue and then pressed himself so deep into my mouth that I could barely breathe, let alone tease him back.

Finally he broke with a moan and his hands fisted, wrapping themselves in my pigtails as he fucked my mouth with increasing desperation. “So good,” he hissed. “My little girl has a fucking talented little mouth.” His body tensed, his thighs jerking under my hands. “Gonna fill your pretty little mouth with cum, baby. Swallow it all for me. “

He didn’t really give me a choice, holding my head down in his lap with his hands buried in my hair, his head tipping back as he groaned and filled my mouth with the sharp, salty flood of his release. I swallowed frantically, desperate to please him, to not gag or miss a drop, but it wasn’t until I gasped desperately around his cock that the death-grip on my hair eased and his eyes opened sensuously.

“Oh, baby,” he murmured with a sigh, stroking my cheek as I laid my head on his thigh, nuzzling my cheek against him, tired but happy. “You are such a good little girl for Daddy.”

Posted:Mar 12, 2018 3:56 pm
Last Updated:Mar 12, 2018 11:18 pm

Posted:Mar 12, 2018 12:51 am
Last Updated:Mar 12, 2018 4:08 pm


To link to this blog (aliljaded) use [blog aliljaded] in your messages.