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Words whisper through my head as I collapse into sleep,“What do you mean, ‘different’?,”my mind asks. I don’t know, how could I know what is insideyourhead? Show me something I’ve never experienced before. I don’t want to be spanked harder than I have before. I want more than that.
If this were a candy shop, I want a new kind of candy placed in my mouth. Say I’ve only had milk chocolate. It’s fine, but I’ve grown tired of it. It feels plain, chalky, worn out. Maybe I’ve never had toffee before, or salt water taffy.
Don’t try to convince me that white chocolate “isn’t really chocolate.” Don’t infuse it with chili oil or bizarre ingredients. Don’t minimize the fact that I’ve only tasted milk chocolate, and I just “need to get the real stuff, dark chocolate is a whole other experience!” Sure, other chocolate might be finer quality, but I’vehadchocolate.
I want a different sweet altogether. I don’t know what he can offer me, not exactly. I cannot define it, like I could have with Laura or Tom.
But I know now, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it will be like nothing I’ve ever been given before.
* * *
21
A Balance of Kittens
She or he belongs to you for a reason. This is what I believe ownership is about.
It’s funny, but some humans think of ownership of other people the same way as the businessman (and I speak here in context of a consensual D/s or M/s relationship).
Nobody thought of owning this girl first? She’s yours. Nobody claimed this submissive? Write her name on a piece of paper, put it in a box and lock the box. She’s yours. You “own” her now, because you said so, and your dominant aura overwhelms her (even if it’s strictly one or two messages you’ve sent to her inbox). And now it’s on to claim the next one. That IS how it works, no?
But perhaps it’s simpler than that.
Do you wish to own them? Fine. Answer this then: What use are you to your submissive? Slapping her around is one thing, but what value do you provide to her? A rosy warmed bottom is lovely, but does she find it valuable? If so, wonderful. If not, what is your true value to her? After all, you wouldn’t take on someone who had no use to you, would you?
My master owns me. Not by virtue of some code or paperwork. Because he supports me in my life ambitions, as well as takes care of me in the bedroom. Because he cheers me on, provides me that simple reassurance. But more than that he keeps me steady and tells me what I need to hear when nobody else will tell me.
He owns me, yes, but more than that, he protects his property. I feel safe, every day, because (among other things) of him. With his actions, with his way of living. He protects what he owns, because he values it. It’s easy to say you value something, but actually protecting that something is another matter. Outside of the bedroom, and inside of it.
So I ask you, what use are you to your slave?
* * *
May 27,4:00pm
In for a penny,in for a pound. I’m starting to feel a bit silly.I mean, this is all stupid games, right? This doesn’t mean anything? This isn’t a wedding and a ring. What am I doing? Does this mean anything at all, what he and I have? Or am I wasting my time yet again on my latest fancy?
Rachel thinks I’m an idiot. He’s not even a real relationship, she tells me over and over again.
Fine, maybe he’s not a real relationship. Maybe I’m okay with this. Maybe Iwanta fake relationship. Every time I hear about a “real” relationship, teensy little shivers flee up and down my spine.A “real” mom? A “real” parent? A “real” love of my life? Real relationships haven’t exactly worked out so great for me. I have, in fact, no proof that they’ve worked for anyone. I just have their word for it, and people have proven to me that they have no problems lying right to my face. Post pictures of what a happy couple they are, then tell me that evening how everything is falling apart. Why should I trust “real”?
Real relationships are neat and tidy, like a Disney story. I don’t believe in fairytales. And I think I rather like my “mess of a relationship.” Real relationships have plenty of rules to make sure it all goes to plan. I like knowing what’s going to happen, but somehow, even in my fake relationships, I manage to hI manage to have a decent sense of what the future holds. Even without bothering with a lot of rules or labels. Crazy, I know. Not to mention real relationships must have scary feelings that I’m not sure I’m ready to handle.
In his bedroom,spacious but safe and protected, we live a life, just the three of us. Nothing else exists, only us. Nothing else matters. We ignore the worst parts of life; and we indulge, fully, in all the best of it. No worries penetrate our fortress.
What an odd little sanctuary we’ve created for ourselves! How strange that we have found another person with whom to share that sacred space! We play with each other, like nothing else matters, because for those brief hours, minutes, nothing else does. Sometimes, we’ll take a short walk, in the cool darkness. The streets by his house are lit with old fashioned street lamps. We’ll talk as we take our evening stroll. About life, the universe, and everything, as per usual.
My body tenses up during the day. It puts pressure on the weaker points of my body, where I experience a constant, nagging pain. In the evenings, I relax into them, figuratively and literally. It’s peaceful. The discomforts in my body melt away (through large part due to the pleasures they give me). We keep seeing each other. It’s our escape. I’m sensing myself beginning to move too fast. I always do this, I fall too quickly in love, without cause or reason. In this case, I have plenty of cause and reason with him and with her! The attention they shower upon me is likely more about the shortness of the relationship, than anything else, but it’s wonderful to enjoy it! It won’t last; it couldn’t possibly last. Honeymoons have to fade off, eventually.
But not yet.
June 6,10:00pm
David moves slowlyand deliberately with both of us — even while keeping the general tone of the relationship light and playful. He toys with us, but it is a deliberate gesture. Playful. As if he already knows what both of us want, when we want it. As if he is teasing us into an admission of what he already knows. He says he already knows what I want, which is infuriatingly arrogant. Except all too often, he’s right. He might simply be good at observing people. Or maybe he really is magic. Either way, I’m benefiting from that skill of his. He gives me little things that I want, before I ask for them. Like when he begins to give me a kiss on the forehead. It’s a sweet, small gesture that makes me feel he cares.
Laura jumps in both feet. While I’m more reticent, she craves obedience. What to wear, how to do her make up, how to cut her hair, whether or not she needs breast implants. It feels like she wants to be his doll, while I want to be his kitten.Maybe that’s a good thing? Maybe two kittens cannot coexist, but a doll and a kitten can?
My love languages aren’t words of affection. They are physical touch. I understand that sex is not love. I don’t confuse someone wanting me physically with someone loving me. No, it’s about the physical connection between myself and another that makes me feel comfortable. I cannot help but desire to reach out and physically touch those I care about, not only romantically, but otherwise. When I’m stressed, I want to reach out and hug a friend. I am not sure, and I have not asked, what his love languages are…but he speaks to me in ways I understand— not bothering with the “I love you’s” or “honeys.” When he calls me beautiful, it is a matter of fact observation (“How could anyone fail to recognize that you are beautiful?”). I don’t want to bring up this topic of conversation, because it doesn’t matter. It only matters that we are communicating well enough.
