The Master Appears

“When the student is ready, the Master appears.”
~ Buddhist Proverb

It has been more than six months since I wrote a single word.

My life has taken yet another unexpected turn and it has me going through some exhilarating growing pains.

It all started in March, just a few days after my last blog post. My friend and fellow sub invited me to a social and then a munch. At the munch I met a nice man, an unattached Dom I will call David, though that is not his name.

He didn’t seem terribly interested in me. This didn’t surprise me since I was pretty sure I wasn’t a very interesting person.

Though I had been a sub in a long distance relationship for a year and a half, I had never attended munches, socials or parties. Meeting other people like me was a huge step and one that I’ll always be grateful I took.

Through my dear friend in the lifestyle, David asked if he could contact me. She assured me he wasn’t a serial killer and that he was well respected in the scene, so I said yes.

This was his very first message to me on FetLife:

So… I was thinking about trying to make the party tonight and was wondering if you thought there was a reason I should be there.

I told him I would be there and the butterflies started flying around in my stomach.

Here’s how I thought things would go at the party: we would meet, talk for a bit and then he would get bored or I would get bored and then we would have to figure out that awkward, “It’s not you, it’s me,” speech.

So much for assumptions.

He showed up in a polo shirt and jeans wearing a gun and a shit-eating grin. All 6’2″ of Domness.

He had a head of thick salt and pepper hair, a beard and blue eyes. His legs were long and gorgeous and his ass is the kind of ass you would expect a sub to have. Yummy.

I was wearing a little black dress with strappy heels. A tame, yet tasteful outfit, which probably made me look incredibly vanilla.

I had never been to a kinky party before and it was much more laid back than I thought it would be. Most people dressed just like anyone would at a friend’s party. The Dom/mes weren’t lurking in the shadows ready to eat the new subs for dinner. At least, I don’t think so…

What happened in the next few hours was surreal. David and I sat in the aftercare room of a dungeon in Buttfuck, TX (that wasn’t the city’s name, but you get the idea) talking, flirting and kissing as we heard the intermittent sounds of subs screaming and floggers whacking bare behinds in the rooms all around us.

He said he hardly ever kisses anyone, especially not someone he hardly knew. And there we were, making out like teenagers. 10 Points to the Heartbroken Sub!

His kisses melted my insides and I was soaking through my black lace panties, the ones with the heart-shaped opening in the back. Without much ceremony, he hooked his big fingers under the soft fabric and slipped them off me.

Uh-oh.

Turns out Mr. Big Bad Dom doesn’t care for panties, even if they’re the expensive Victoria Secret kind.

I thought I was still in control of myself until he grabbed a fistful of my blonde curls and pulled my head back, exposing my neck like a vampire about to feed. Sweet Jesus. Something inside me that had been asleep for a while woke up as I entered the point of no return.

Dom pulling sub's hair

But he didn’t escalate things. Even after the party was wrapping up, we were still sitting there on the velvet couch exploring our faces, mouths and fingers.

I said this on my last blog post, just days before I met David:

After the initial shock and devastation of my release, I’ve been haunted by a primal desire to be reborn. I fantasize about a powerful, sadistic Dom who can metaphorically kill the woman I once was and replace her with someone else; a new creation who no longer hurts like I’m hurting now.

I had no idea what a truly dangerous place that was. If David had wanted to, he could have destroyed me. I was that vulnerable at the time; that raw.

David asked me out the next morning for dinner. He picked me up in his truck, checked to make sure I wasn’t wearing the forbidden panties, handcuffed my wrists behind me and took me to a restaurant near downtown Austin. How awesome is that?

He was nice enough to uncuff me before we went in the restaurant and relished the view as I ungracefully got out of his truck with my short, flared skirt.

We went out again the next night and the next.

I wanted to have sex with him and he said… No!

Turns out he’s an old-fashioned guy. Imagine that.

We talked and got to know each other more in the coming days. It didn’t take long before we made love for the first time.

The sex was amazing, but more than that it was connected. It was physical and spiritual and intimate. He didn’t tie me to the bed and whip me into submission, he came at me gently, sweetly with complete control.

A sensual Dominant.

Dom kissing sub

In the next few installments of my blog I will tell you about our relationship and where we are now.

I know, I’m such a tease…

Now What?

And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.

Anais Nin

Only a few weeks ago, I thought James and I would be together forever. I just knew we would grow old together and our love and our bond would deepen with each passing year.

I was wrong.

Now, I’m a sub without a Dom; a lover without love. I feel lost.

I’m much too raw to look for another Dom, at least not now. I believe that love like that comes once, maybe twice, in a lifetime. Now that I’ve lost it, the odds are against me.

So what happens to me now? What does a sub do when she doesn’t want to pursue love, yet needs a teacher, a guide, someone to care for her? Who will calm her, let our her wildness and hold her tight when it gets to be too much?

I have a few options; options that both frighten and exhilarate me.

I took a BDSM test yesterday. Here are my highest scores:

  1. 100% Bondage Receiver
  2. 91% Submissive
  3. 88% Masochist
  4. 88% Slave
  5. 71% Experimentalist
  6. 71% Girl/Boy

My top result, Bondage Receiver, is no surprise. I love to be restrained and played with; to feel completely powerless. The second and third on the list are a given. It was the fourth score that gave me pause: 88% slave.

Truth is I’ve always been intrigued by the Master/slave relationship. But after my breakup, it’s almost all I can think of.

After the initial shock and devastation of my release, I’ve been haunted by a primal desire to be reborn. I fantasize about a powerful, sadistic Dom who can metaphorically kill the woman I once was and replace her with someone else; a new creation who no longer hurts like I’m hurting now.

A fellow sub said she had felt the same need after her last release. This fascinated me. I was not alone in this strange fantasy.

Why would a sub want a Dominant to destroy her, obliterate her and create her again from scratch?

I’m not sure I know the answer. What I do know is that I have some choices to make in my life.

  • Look for Him; my dream Dom, the man I want to spend the rest of my life pleasing
  • Get out of the lifestyle altogether and hope for the best
  • Try something different, a new life that allows me to have sexual and psychological release without worrying about love or “forever”

I’m not strong enough now to look for my dream Dom and there’s no way I’m going to a vanilla life again. That means I have to reinvent myself. But into what? A bottom? A slave? A playmate?

Does that mean I’ll have to have sex for the sake of pleasure alone without mixing it with love? Can I do that? Should I do that?

Ah, that is the question.

I’ve been approached by a few Doms the past few days. One in particular has me thinking. He is married in an open relationship with his sub. They both like to play outside of the marriage. They have asked me if I would consider being with them. I told them I wasn’t sure and that’s the truth.

There are other options too.

I could find a Dom friend that wants to remain a free agent. We could be friends with benefits. No strings attached.

Or maybe I’ll be a bottom and play with several different people.

Would this new direction harm my soul or set it free?

I guess I’ll never know unless I try.

Manifesting My Dom

I want to love you wildly. I don’t want words, but inarticulate cries, meaningless, from the bottom of my most primitive being, that flow from my belly like honey. A piercing joy, that leaves me empty, conquered, silenced.

~Anais Nin

NOTE: This post is long and detailed with more information than most of you will care to read. It’s best if you just go on about your day. Unless you’re a hot, single Dom with a twitchy palm, a love of bondage and a sensual tender side, then by all means, keep reading!

I’ve been reading a great deal lately about “manifesting” your own reality. This is the concept that we create our future through our thoughts, actions and intentions.

Two years ago I would say this was bullshit, but it happened to me with my first Dom. I didn’t mean to conjure him up, but by God, I did.

I was writing my first erotic novella. The main character was a sensual Dom who was nurturing, protective, yet quite wicked. He had an accent, blue eyes and a love of bondage. Before I could even finish the novella, Sir James, a Dom with all of those qualities and more, showed up. I used to tell him that all the time. “It’s like I conjured you up.”

James is gone now and my heart has a hole the size of the Grand Canyon where he used to be. I don’t know if I’ll ever find a love like his again. It sure doesn’t feel like it right now. Still, I have to at least try to find happiness, don’t I?

If conjuring a Dom from my own words worked once, maybe it will work again.

So here is my effort at manifesting my Dom. Do you hear me, God, Universe, Karma, Cupid? This is what I want.

The Basics

Single or divorced. Monogamous and faithful. I don’t mind if he has children. Honestly, that would be a bonus for me since I never had any of my own.

Non-violent (kink doesn’t count), in control of himself and kind to furry animals. Stable in his emotions and finances.

man licking lips

Physical

Must-Have

I’m pretty flexible here, with few exceptions. I like tall men. If you read my blog post, My First Time, you’ll notice that I have an affinity for contrast when it comes to couples. I want my man to tower over me. That shouldn’t be too hard since I’m only 5 feet tall.

My other must-have is someone that cares for their appearance and their health. That means they eat right, exercise, are well-groomed and have excellent hygiene. I don’t want him to be obsessed with his looks; I find that unattractive and shallow, especially in a man, but he needs to take some pride in how he looks. No pretty boys, though, I want a man with some ruggedness to him.

My Dream Dom must carry himself with calm, dominant confidence. This is not to be confused with arrogance or cockiness. This dominance must be tempered with tenderness, gentleness and compassion.

He can be black, white, blonde, bearded, bald. It really doesn’t matter.

Want

Well-defined muscles, particularly biceps and abs. I don’t know why that turns me on so much, but it does. Oh, and a nice ass. Yum.

Another major turn-on is if he’s a martial artist/boxer or athlete. I have been all of those things myself, so it really excites me when a man has that much physicality to him. Men who are sporty like that tend to be good in bed. That’s my theory and I’m sticking to it! 😉





ryanreynolds

Emotional

This is hugely important. I’m driven by my emotions. Though my man doesn’t have to match how I express my emotions, he needs to have a heart and be able to express and articulate his feelings, at least with me.

He must be passionate about his love for me and about something else, whether it be his work, a cause, his family or a hobby. My man will tell me how much he loves me often, and better yet, he will show me. I am extremely loving myself so that would be a good match.

It’s imperative that he guards my emotions and doesn’t play with them. No emotional sadists for me.

hair pulling

Psychological

Trust is a biggie for me, especially these days when it has taken quite a beating. I want a man with good mental health who is honest and open about who he is and what he wants.

It’s also helpful for a Dom to understand psychology and be able to manipulate it during and after play. Emotional intelligence is a beautiful thing.

Michael Fassbender

Intellectual

I love smart, literate men. Sex begins in the brain, after all, so we better make that brain as big and powerful and creative as possible.

I need a man who is well-read and can lose himself in a book. Oh, and I really need him to know how to spell and use proper grammar. At least most of the time. Pretty please! The writer in me just can’t handle it.

hotguyreading

Creative

I believe that my creativity is a great asset as a human being and as a lover. My man must possess creative qualities and a wicked imagination.

Extra points if he’s involved in the arts in some way: painter, photographer, dancer, writer, musician.

Can you imagine what it’s like to be with a man that can paint like this? Serge Marshennikov, I’m looking at you!

sergeipainting

Spiritual

Another big one for me. Whether he belongs to a major religious group or not, I want him to have a sense of the Divine. I want my man to know there is something out there greater than himself, something beautiful and powerful.

He will extend this sense of the transcendent into our D/s relationship, embracing the fact that it is a deep spiritual connection and it is sacred, even if the things we do to each other are a bit profane.

It would be fabulous if he could be a wild-child Christian like I am. I’ve never had that in a relationship. Ever. I would love to go to my crazy, liberal church with a man who wants to be there for his own spiritual growth, not a man who is just there because he thinks it will make me happy.

His Dominant Style

Unless this is the first blog post of mine you’ve read, you’ll know that I’m a sub and I need my man to be a Dom. Period.

My Dom should have two sides to his nature: one, a bit sadistic and controlling, the other tender and sensual. That’s the best combination, isn’t it? Yes, I’m all about having the best of two worlds.deep submission

Here’s another thing. I’m very submissive. My first Dom said I was more submissive than most and I believe that’s true. Therefore, I want my Dom to be very Dominant. I may even want to experiment with being a slave. I just find so much joy in pleasing a Dom. It consumes me, really. Nothing else matters than his pleasure.

What is he into? Well, here’s my list: kissing, seduction, bondage, discipline, spanking, flogging, role playing… did I mention bondage?

bondage

Miscellaneous

No more long-distance relationships. That’s too painful and difficult to manage. He will live in my neck of the woods or be willing to move here. Unless he lives in Hawaii and I’ll promptly pack my bags!

I would prefer a man that is five years younger or five years older than me. My first Dom was four years younger and that dynamic worked quite well.

I love men with foreign accents. I don’t know why, but it’s been like that since day one for me. I get such a thrill from hearing my name spoken in an accent different than my own. Of course, this is not a must-have, but damn…

I like heroic types. I have serious heroic tendencies myself, so it’s nice to find a kindred spirit. That doesn’t mean he has to be a firefighter or a soldier, it means that he puts himself out there to help others who can’t help themselves.

soldiersavingcat

I would prefer for him to be wealthy so that I wouldn’t have to work a regular job. My goal is to just concentrate on my writing. Wealth would be icing on the cake. Isn’t it too bad that all Doms aren’t billionaires? I mean, where’s my Charlie Tango? Hehehe.

Before you think I’m a gold-digger, you need to realize that I make a high salary myself. Most men aren’t secure enough to have their women make more money than they make, but odds are that I do make way more money than they do. If they’re wealthy, that problem goes away. I grew up wealthy and it sure did make life easier.

And there you go, that’s what I want. Feel free to add anything in your comments that you think I may have missed!

My First Time

It didn’t take long for Carlos to deflower me.

On our first date, we went out to dinner and then he took me to the beach. He had brought a beach blanket with him and we sat there under the stars listening to the sound of waves crashing against the shore. Carlos was quiet and told me had been painfully shy as a boy. He had this calm control of himself that I found alluring.

Carlos was Cuban, I was half Colombian. Our shared Latino culture bonded us. Though I have inherited most of my father’s German and Irish features, I did feel Latina down to my bones and was raised way more Latin than American. And, yes, I know that Latin Americans are technically Americans too, but that’s just how we say it.

Carlos was tall with dark skin, black hair, brown eyes. I was a petite, fair-skinned blonde with green eyes. He was the physical opposite of me and that aroused me tremendously. I’m still turned on by opposites to this day.

As we sat on the blanket, shoulder to shoulder, I mused at how light my skin was next to his; like a bowl of cream next to a bowl of chocolate.

Pensive, he looked at the stars and then at me. His kiss was the best kiss I had ever had; a complex sensual dance that made me throb in all the right places. I think maybe it was at that moment that I fell in love with him. There’s just something about uniting to a man with a kiss; something deeper than the physical.

Soon after we began kissing, he wriggled his hand under the front of my jeans and fingered me while he pinched my nipples. I swear I was so shocked that I couldn’t move. I let out a weak protest, followed by a guttural sound as the orgasm escaped my body. I had never had a boy touch me in any of those parts before. It was so forbidden, but my mouth forgot how to say no. Truth is, he never asked for permission.

My body was buzzing, electric. I could feel that this man was waking something up; something powerful and dangerous that I never dared disturb before.

He licked my juices off his fingers, which stunned me. “Do you touch yourself like I just touched you?” he asked, his face was a mix of curiosity and concern.

I blushed. “Sometimes.”

“Do you cum?”

I stared at the patterns of the blanket for a while. “Yes, but it feels better when you do it,” I whispered.

He smiled and nodded. “Good. We’ll make sure that happens a lot.”

He took my hand and pressed it against the front of his jeans. “You’ve made me very hard,” he said as he made me trace the outline of his cock behind his jeans.

“I’m sorry,” I said, innocently.

He tried not to laugh, he really did.

On the second date, we went to his house and watched Like Water for Chocolate–a movie he had selected for this occasion. I was wearing a short pink sun dress with spaghetti straps. We watched the movie, lying down next to each other on his couch, my back to his front, as he played with my nipples and kissed my neck. It was an appropriate movie since I was all water by the time the credits rolled.

He excused himself and was gone for what seemed like a long time. When he returned, he wrapped his large hand around mine and pulled me into his bedroom. The room was filled with the soft, warm glow of candles. It was incredibly romantic. My first time was going to be epic!

Slowly, he peeled off my clothes as I trembled. When he slid my panties off, he inhaled deeply and his features changed; his calm demeanor now replaced with primal hunger.

He lay me on his bed, face up. He undressed in front of me. God, he was beautiful. He was a firefighter and a part-time model. He had the most amazing chiseled abs, which he informed me helped him thrust even harder. I was enthralled by the “V” of his pelvic girdle.

male nude abs

When he took off his pants, I saw his erection. I had never seen one and it kind of scared me. He smiled that wicked smile of his and crawled on the bed, his face between my legs.

Oh my God!!

Let’s just say that when Carlos dies, his tongue should be bronzed. Not only did he truly enjoy skating his tongue along the flower of my sex, but he brought me to orgasm after orgasm until I thought I would faint from erotic exhaustion.

I knew what was going to happen next and I was ready. More than ready.

“Have you ever seen a man ejaculate?” he asked me.

I blinked. “No.” I can’t imagine where an innocent virgin like me would have seen such a thing.

That’s when he did something that surprised and confused me. He started masturbating in front of me. He came quietly, his essence shooting up into the air several feet.

I was speechless and throbbing.

“It’s been a long time,” he said, as if that explained anything to me.

Carlos cleaned himself up, crawled on top of me, his muscled arms pinning me to the bed. Then he kissed me over and over again, his cock sliding along the slit between my mounds, but he didn’t push himself inside me. I moaned in agony while I asked myself, why weren’t we having sex? Was something wrong with me?

He looked at me suddenly and said, “I’m not going to go all the way in. You’re not ready yet.”

I was sure there was no way I could be more ready, but he was the experienced one so I nodded in agreement.

He used his hand to guide his cock into that cavern of lust that no man had explored before. One tiny centimeter after another until I gasped. At some point an imaginary door appeared; a door that wouldn’t open. I clenched.

“Relax,” he whispered into my ear.

I tried to, I really did, but I couldn’t.

Carlos didn’t seem upset with me at all.

On our next date, I wore a white linen dress and white lace panties. No bra. I remember that night so well. We watched an action movie at the local movie theater. During the flick, he thumbed my nipples through the arm opening of my dress until they were as hard as little pebbles. I was so wet that I was afraid my excitement would bloom through the light linen fabric.

We left, got in his car and he looked at me with a grimace. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Before I could ask him what he was sorry about, he gave me an order. “Take off your panties.”

I was going to protest, we were in a packed parking lot, but his eyes turned intense. “Now.”

I quickly slipped them off and once I had, he grabbed me roughly and dragged me on top of him. He was in the driver’s seat and I was straddling him, my bare, wet pussy on top of the coarse fabric of his jeans. While I was still on top of him, he unzipped his fly and freed his cock.

Carlos looked like a feral animal. I was scared. How could this romantic, gentle man want to do this here, now? But there was no question that’s exactly what he wanted.

“This is going to hurt.” With that he shoved his cock inside me and I let out a small scream as my back arched. With one thrust, he had broken through the door.

His car windows were tinted, but I was sure all the moviegoers around us could see what was happening.

After the first few thrust, it didn’t hurt anymore. I felt filled with him. Though I didn’t understand why, I loved how he had taken me like that. It’s an amazing feeling to see a self-controlled man lose control because he wants you so much.

I also learned an interesting lesson: action movies turn men on. Note taken.

I looked down at his cock as it pistoned inside me. I stared at it, fascinated by this dark column of muscle disappearing into my body. In and out, in and out. Over and over again until I had an orgasm unlike any other I had before. The only way I can describe the difference between a vaginal orgasm and a clitoral one is that a vaginal orgasm is deeper and makes you feel whole while a clitoral one is more of a beautiful, electric release. They’re both wonderful, but when you have both at the same time, it is complete and absolute bliss.

The following day, Carlos took me every which way in his house. We had sex for hours. We did it on the bed, the couch, the floor, the bathtub. Even the kitchen sink. He was insatiable and I was surprised to find out that I was too.

couple-in-bed-008

As I watched him sleep in the nude next to me, the sheet barely covering his manhood, I thought to myself: I’m glad I waited because if I had let this beast out when I was in my teens, what would have become of me?

I had a religious friend ask me why I had let him take my virginity. I simply said,

“Because he deserved it.”

I had always been very religious and therefore, repressed, but this connection, this union between a man and a woman beat that hands down. Sex was the melding of the physical, spiritual, psychological and emotional worlds of two human beings. Powerful stuff indeed and created by God to be this amazing for a reason. No sermon had ever moved me like this. From then on, I knew that intimate sex with someone I loved was more meaningful to me that anything else. I wanted to concentrate on my lover and on him alone. Nothing made me happier than pleasing him. Let the rest of the world be damned. This was my calling.

For the next few weeks, Carlos showed me how to please him. He took me whenever and wherever he wanted. A crowded beach, at lunch at a restaurant, an alley behind a bookstore. He used me for his pleasure, grabbing my hair, pinning me down, slapping my ass and shoving himself inside me without preamble while also showing incredible tenderness at times. It was amazing, but it didn’t last.

Carlos was a fabulous and skilled lover, but he didn’t quite know how to navigate the hours between sex. After satiating himself, he would tune me out completely. I felt so alone, so discarded. I tried to break up with him because that upset me so much, but he would just seduce me again. It was obvious I was powerless under his spell. The night before I ended it, he said, “Next time, I’m going to tie you up and shave you. I’ll show you things…”

Those words, and the promise they held, have haunted me for years. How different would things be if I had not broken up with him, at least not before he tied me up and “showed me things”?

I didn’t know it then, but I’m pretty sure Carlos was a Dom. At the very least he was a very dominant man.

Though he couldn’t manage the  emotional side of a relationship, he set my sexual beast free.

And I’ve been wrestling with it ever since.

It’s the Little Things

“I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair. Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets. Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps …”

Pablo Neruda

I love men. Seriously, I’m a huge fan. I love their boyish charm, their wicked fantasies and how they can’t stop staring at my chest. I’m pretty sure they also know I adore them and they appreciate it.

But my favorite men are Doms. Doms are delicious. They elevate seduction to a whole new level. I, for one, am incredibly grateful for the effort.

The energy they exude is intoxicating. It can make a sub like me dizzy. Dominant energy is a living thing. I can’t speak for how a Dom feels submissive energy, but I’d like to think we can both sense that we were created for each other. It’s beautiful, really.

BDSM novels would lead you to believe that a Dominant man is all about his skills; how he controls a woman or how well he ties knots. For me, it’s the little things that send me vibrating.

The warmth of my lover’s breath on my neck; his fingertips lightly touching the small of my back as we walk into a restaurant.

I miss the feel of a man’s razor stubble as he brushes his cheek against my sensitive inner thigh. That look just before he takes me.

However, what I miss more than anything is kissing. Is there anything more erotic than two tongues slow dancing with each other as your noses, cheeks, chins and foreheads touch? Kissing is a prayer, it is sacred.

domkiss2

Kissing is an art and I like to believe that I am a connoisseur of this particular craft. That’s how it should be for lovers. Love, sensuality, seduction, erotic energy is something that must be practiced, exercised and shared.

What can I say, I’m a hopeless romantic or maybe I’m just hopeless!

Lately, I’ve been listening to the old Mexican love songs that my mother grew up with. She’d listen to them when I was a child and I learned to be quite fond of them. I may post some of the translated lyrics on the blog someday, but here’s a small snippet that really got to me from the song, Amor:

To feel that your kisses were nested on me
Like messenger pigeons carriers of light,
To know that my kisses were left in you
Making the sign of the cross on your lips.

Mmm. I can’t wait until I can feel that again…