Getting in Touch with my Inner Kajira

Growing up Protestant, I was jealous of my Catholic friends who enjoyed the rich traditions and rituals of their brand of Christianity.

I loved the drama, the nudity, the raw passion portrayed in the stained glass windows and the realistic sculptures. There was so much intensity to it and it inexplicably turned me on.

I guess you can say that if God was on Facebook, our relationship status would say, It’s Complicated.

I identify as 100% Christian, but I’m not afraid of exploring rituals and traditions from other religions and cultures.

I am especially fascinated by ritual of all kinds, but as I grew to discover more of my sexuality, I realized that it was erotic ritual that truly fed my soul.

I used to love to watch cheesy movies about virgins getting sacrificed to volcanoes or an evil god. I know, it’s wrong. Yet it feels so right to think of myself tied up spread eagle on a cold stone slab, my thin white nightgown ripped apart to reveal my breasts, glistening with sweat.

David and I hadn’t dated long when we started talking about this side of me. I told him I was reading the Gor books and getting quite a kick out of them. He smiled and on our next date he brought me the most amazing little book. It contained beautifully drawn illustrations of all the Gorean poses and their names.

My jaw dropped. These stylized poses opened up something inside of me. Maybe it was that fantasy I kept having about being a slave, but more than a slave really; someone who could combine the erotic with the spiritual.

bellydance

A few years back, I had taken up belly dancing. I loved how it connected me to my body, to my primal sensuality. These poses had the same effect.

He left the book with me and said I should study them. There was going to be a quiz and failing it would come with consequences.

Oh, my.

Well, I wasn’t going to let that happen!

I studied the book, memorized the poses, the names, felt myself slip into the role of Kajira, a woman whose sole purpose in life is to please a man sexually.

When it was time for the quiz, he had me strip naked. I felt my body vibrate as I obediently did each pose as he called them out in random order. My pussy swelled as the wetness pooled in my sacred spot.

Posing as a slave for David was beyond arousing. He made me feel so sensual, almost supernatural, really. His Dominance and power over me were intoxicating.

erotic slave

As far as the quiz, I passed with flying colors. And in doing so, I opened up a door to a whole new, exotic world.

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…

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.

In Pursuit of the Odalisque

An odalisque is female slave or concubine that lives in a Turkish harem.

In art, she is often portrayed nude and lying on her side, sometimes looking straight into the eyes of the spectator with an unflinching, unapologetic gaze. It’s as if she’s saying, “My body is his, he uses it for his pleasure and I am proud of my service and my charms.”

Jean_Auguste_Dominique_Ingres,_La_Grande_Odalisque,_1814

As a fine arts student, I was captivated by the odalisque paintings from Ingres, Goya, Boucher and Lefebvre. Though I never told anyone, I had a secret desire to be an odalisque. I wanted to be owned by a master that knew that I was put on this earth to be his erotic plaything. I wanted to stay naked all day and dance to the beat of primal drums.

I was also seduced by the idea of being kidnapped solely for my beauty and what my body could offer. I fantasized about it all the time. How wonderful to be a harem girl; spirited away from my banal existence and forced to live in a palace full of exotic color, music and sex.

I would bathe and eat and sleep and please. That would be my life.

While nestled on a bed of silk sheets, waiting for him to summon me, I would get wet and needy with anticipation.

I couldn’t think of anything more glorious than to know my only job was to please a man. No paper pushing or emails or phone calls, just your body, your mind, your creativity.

An odalisque is a woman distilled down to her primal essence.

Yet it wasn’t enough for me to be a sexual object. I needed more. My master would love me, he would favor me above all the other beautiful girls in his harem. We would kiss until our lips swelled.

Before long, he would forget any of them existed and we could sink into silk sheets until we melted into one.


Header Image: Odalisque by Jules Joseph Lefebvre (1874).

Image within Post: Grande Odalisque by Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres (1814)