Your D/s Relationship: You’re Doing it Wrong

When you judge another,
you do not define them,
you define yourself.
~ Wayne Dyer

Call it naivete or wishful thinking, but I was really hoping that people in the lifestyle would be less judgmental. For the most part, I’m right. God knows I have met some extraordinary open-minded people from all walks of life that love kink. What bothers me is that in a world where kinksters are judged so harshly by the outside world, could we at least refrain in criticizing each other?

Very early on in my journey in this lifestyle, I joined a BDSM women’s group on Facebook. I was commenting on a blog post along with other people in a fun, jovial matter and used the word pussy. One woman, a submissive, totally shamed me for using the word. She pointed out that this was not a porn page. I had used the word quite tamely without any explicit comments or as an insult to anyone. I was shocked and confused.

I mean, I have a pussy I’m quite fond of. It’s a perfectly wonderful word. I also like cock, ass, tits… but I digress.

After watching that page for a couple of weeks it became obvious that the women in this group were a bunch of snobs who thought they were above everyone else. They only talked about the non-sexual aspects of living in D/s or M/s relationships and frowned upon naked pictures or naughty language.

nun holier than thou

They probably lifted their pinky fingers while giving hand jobs.

I left the group and joined another group that was comprised of mostly Dominant men. They posted explicit, but mostly tasteful erotic images depicting BDSM activities. Some of the men even engaged in harmless flirting with unattached group members. Still, nobody made me feel bad or ashamed or threatened like the BDSM Miss Manners group did.

I found this curious and filed it away.

This Spring I attended a workshop taught by a renowned Master and his slave. He talked about all the different ways there are to “be” in the lifestyle. How labels are meaningless and how we should all embrace having our own unique relationships, even if they break the mold of what people think those relationships should look like.

Works for me! After all I’m a dominant woman who loves to submit to one man. Outside of that relationship, I’m not very submissive at all and yet I’m 100% sub with him.

Okay, here’s the reason why I’m writing this. Something happened today that really burned my biscuits.

I posted a journal entry on Fet where I talked about how I had taken off my panties for a Dom on our second meeting. While most people loved the post and wrote lovely comments, a couple of other people–okay, one in particular–tried to shame me for doing what I did.

Really? 

Can’t we as people who have more exotic tastes than most give each other a break? Especially women. Shouldn’t we protect each other, support each other and lift each other up? Haven’t we been shamed, oppressed and silenced for long enough?

In a lifestyle where a sub can have a slave who is a Top to a Switch who plays with a Dom that likes to get flogged, you’d think we would get over ourselves!

You want to know why I took my panties off? Because I damn well wanted to! Because I was owning my erotic power and felt his dancing with mine and they both melted together in an absolutely beautiful moment of shared sensuality.

black bra panties and stockings

Not that it matters, because it doesn’t, but we had been talking on Fet for a few days before that night and during that meeting where I took off my panties for him we did not have sex or engage in any sexual activity.

So why the mean-spirited response: “I would never do THAT!” Meaning that my actions offended her sensibilities in some way.

I guess I just expected more from another woman in the lifestyle. I’m disappointed and I’m pissed.

Of course, I later found out that she had been turned down by the same Dom that took off my panties. So that’s what this is–plain old jealous, catty behavior. For crying out loud, grow up. Now I almost feel sorry for her because that’s just pathetic.

I don’t have time for that crap or for people that would judge me or anyone else for living their lives the way they want to live them.

I will not be hateful or cruel to any other sub because she gets more attention than I do or is prettier than I am or younger or more awesome in any way. I’m going to celebrate the beautiful unique creature that she is as long as she’s not hurting anyone in the process.

That’s how being an adult works. It’s really not that hard.

I reserve my judgment for predators who exploit minors, the mentally ill or animals. Those people deserve judgment and punishment, I do not.

I was just living in the moment and expressing myself.

Let’s pretend there are 100 different activities that fall under BDSM and I am probably only interested in 15. That doesn’t give me the right to shame another fellow kinkster for doing something that turns me off or even disgusts me. There’s an easy fix to that–I won’t watch it or engage in it.

*sigh* I don’t like getting this worked up. It’s time to let this go.

Now that I’ve purged my feelings, I must go answer her snarky comment.

Deep breath…

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.

Is it so Easy to Let Me Go?

“There were many ways of breaking a heart. Stories were full of hearts being broken by love, but what really broke a heart was taking away its dream-whatever that dream might be.”

Pearl Buck

Today was a cold, dark day, and not just because of the weather. I don’t know what it was that triggered it, but I was completely lost.

I had to run to the ladies’ room to cry, then I cried all the way home from work.

I reached out to you by getting back on WhatsApp. You haven’t read it yet. There’s a tiny shred of hope that you’ll reply, but I doubt it will make any difference.

I just don’t understand how you could excise me from your life with such surgical precision. We connected almost every single day for 16 months, James, and then nothing. It’s shocking to me and disturbing. It makes me wonder if you really loved me as much as you said you did.

I never loved anyone like I love you and being apart from you is tearing me to pieces. Yet not a word from you. Is it so easy to let me go?

I keep going through the past months in my head and how much love you said you had for me. But you never said I was the love of your life. You never said you had never loved anyone like you loved me. Even in my darkest days I cannot believe that you didn’t love me at all, but now I think you didn’t love me enough; certainly not as much as I loved you. That wound is going to leave a permanent mark in my psyche.

You said you were letting me go because you were becoming a burden to me. But that can’t be. I never said anything like that to you or made you feel that way. I have no idea where you got that from. God knows I have a lot going on in my life and maybe I was the one burdening you.

I can be a lot. I know that.

Or maybe you just stopped loving me. I hear there are people that can do that.

Guess what? I’m not one of them.

You’re a Hard Habit to Break

“Love is an act of endless forgiveness, a tender look which becomes a habit.” Peter Ustinov

You’re supposed to be able to break a habit in three weeks. Well, it has been over three weeks, James, and you still have quite the hold on me. It’s like you’re in my blood, coursing through my veins.

I know that loving someone like that is a noble thing, but what good is nobility if its reward is pain?

You gave me wings. You were the first person who saw me as I truly was and accepted me. Or am I wrong? Because if you had truly seen me, you wouldn’t have left just because you were sick.

As I’ve tried to tell you, I would take you healthy or sick. If you had 30 hours or 30 years, I would have gladly gone along for the ride, no matter how bumpy or difficult it was. It would have been my honor.

The fact that you didn’t give me a chance to be with you at your darkest hour, especially if this illness takes your life, is cruel. You would never be a burden, James. Why can’t you see that? Why won’t you let me love you like that? Is it a Dom’s pride or do you really think it is the right thing to do?

All I know is that it feels completely wrong to me. You took something away from me; stole it. Now you’ll never know love’s full, healing power.


Painting: Cupid and Psyche by Eugene Medard (1878)

My First Release

“There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are messengers of overwhelming grief… and unspeakable love.”

Washington Irving

Three weeks ago today, my Dom, the man I thought I would be with forever, released me. Since then I’ve been sinking slowly in to a dark vacuum of despair; questioning my place in this world.

In my heart I felt I was created to love him; to heal him. And he felt his mission was the same. At least that’s what he said. I’m questioning so many things now.

We were star-crossed from the start. I live in Austin, TX and he lives in London. In the 16 months of our relationship, Sir James and I never met. We Skyped, chatted and emailed almost every single day without fail. Though I never touched him, it was the most intense love affair I’ve ever had.

On February 15, 2014, Sir James and I entered a D/s relationship that would be one of the most fulfilling and beautiful things I’ve ever done in my life. A week shy of our one-year anniversary he ended it with a sad, heartfelt letter.

He did it for altruistic reasons, at least that’s his side of the story. I’m not so sure. I’ll tell you the story on this blog and you can be the judge.

Now that the spell is broken, though the love still has a hold on me, I can look back at all the unanswered questions. He was a mystery from the beginning and maybe I liked that, but mysteries are not always meant to be solved.

After he released me, I begged him several times to reconsider, but as of today I haven’t heard one single word from him. My messages, like many of my prayers, remain unanswered. My heart continues to disintegrate.

I don’t want to become the psycho ex-sub who can’t let go. So instead I’m going to tell him and whoever else wants to listen, exactly what he meant to me and where I am in my struggle to survive the biggest heartbreak of my life.

Everything on this blog is real. It comes from my gut, my heart and my soul.

This is my story.


Painting: Biblis by William Adolphe Bouguereau (1884).