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.

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…

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)

Where the Light Enters

“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.” Rumi


I thought the wounds from my past were substantial until you left a hole in my heart so wide that its quivering walls began to crack open, revealing the vulnerable soul hidden inside.

Each cell in my body is on fire. I am pain and beauty and love.

Though I want to surrender to unending sleep, I continue on my journey. But how am I supposed to navigate life when my compass refuses to work?

My tears speak of my undying love for a man who has released me from his service. If two enter a D/s relationship together, it seems cruel that only one gets to decide when it ends.

But then again, in any relationship, one is all it takes. The moment a soul inches away from another, the ties that bind them together stretch and strain until they finally snap.

Though you let me go and I said goodbye, we forgot to tell my heart. She still believes, still hopes.

Once she yielded to your commands–tender and firm, loving and dominant–she never turned back. She transformed and now I can no longer control her.

You released me, but my heart is still in bondage.

I told her we’re not doing this again; love hurts too much. I told her to close and protect herself. She won’t listen. She just keeps opening like a rose welcoming the morning sun, leaving herself more and more exposed every day.

If Rumi was right, then I am about to burn as bright as the sun.


Expansion Sculpture by Paige Bradley

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.