My Fetish

hair

I have to admit, I don’t have many fetishes. In fact, as far as I’m aware, I only have one.

Yes, yes, there are kinky things that I like to do. I love flogging and spanking and owning someone just as much as the next impact-oriented dominant. I love scratching and biting and being primal. I love hypnosis and mind-fuckery and overstimulation. But these acts are more physical expressions of the passions I feel than they are fetishes. Yes, I find floggers, paddles, rosy bums, and all sorts of things arousing. But not to a fetishistic (yea, I’m making that a word) point.

My fetish is for men with well-kept long hair. Ho-ly fuckballs (eloquent, I know). If I see a man with well-kept long hair, my brain short-circuits. Gods forbid if I’m driving, because there’s a good chance I’ll crash.

When I see a man with long hair, the neanderthal woman in me wants to grab the closest cudgel, whap the man over the head, and drag him back to my cave. If I see a man with long hair, you bet your sweet ass that after my initial shock and brain malfunction, I’m going to be fighting the urge to dominate &/or fuck him right then and there! Bus? Train? Shop? I don’t give a fuck! I want to fuck him! I want to wrap his hair around my fist and drag him around. I want to yank his mouth down to my pussy and fucking use his hair to keep him where I want him! If I had a dick, I’d fucking jack off with his hair wrapped around it. As it is, I’ll settle for rubbing it between my lips and getting off that way! I want to bind his hair to a suspension ring and have my way with him. I want to tie him down and do things that will have him thrashing his head around until his hair is a splayed out in a glorious mess. I want to gag him with his own hair. I want to whip him with his own hair.

And that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

Why do I bring this up? Because Seattle/Washington is a fucking treasure trove of men with well-kept long hair. If I could just scoop them all up and keep them and have my way with them, that’d be perfect!

Imagine this: Me, a cute little redhead, sitting innocently on the bus. Cue the cute long-haired guy coming on. WHABAM HOT JUICY STEAMY BUS SEX, courtesy of me! What a show it would be! I wouldn’t even charge the voyeurs! Just please, please, PLEASE, JUST ONCE, CRUEL FATES, LET ME HAVE MY WAY WITH A GUY WITH SEXY LONG HAIR (and then many times after that, too >.> ).

/end horny rant

Smiling

Image

Do something for me. The next time you’re out and about, look around to see who is smiling. I’ve been looking around, and you know what I’ve seen? Damn near no one is smiling! Sure, sometimes if I see people chatting in a group, there are smiles, but NO ONE is smiling if they are alone.

Why is this? Is it because it takes more muscular effort to smile than to frown? Or are people just not happy enough to walk around smiling?

It may be silly, but I’ve taken it upon myself to smile when I’m out. Not a huge Jack Nicholson rapey-psychopath smile, just a small self-satisfied one. And maybe even a big one if I see or hear something nifty.

I’ve only been doing it a week, but I can tell a difference in myself. One difference I’ve noticed is just a general lighter mood when I’m out. Smiling reminds me to be happy, since I have a lot to be happy about. Constantly smiling is a constant reminder that my life has a lot of positive things going for it.

The other difference I’ve noticed? I’m less paranoid about shady guys coming up to me and hitting on me. A smile is like an invitation, and most of the time, it’s the seedier guys that see it that way.

Fun story: While doing this little experiment, a guy asked me if I wanted to go back to his hotel with him! This guy was gross and sketchy. This is a perfect example of why I haven’t really smiled when I’m out. But then, right after that, a different guy passing by told me very kindly that he liked my hair. He didn’t make a big deal out of it, just said it as he was passing by. I thanked him, but I didn’t mean it. I was still in a funk from being propositioned less than two minutes beforehand. I’m one of those people who means it when I say thank you. Those two words are powerful to me. I immediately realized that by letting the creeper get to me, I’d diminished the joy I could have felt by receiving the gentleman’s compliment. And I diminished the joy I could have given the polite guy if I’d smiled and genuinely thanked him. I felt bad. For myself, and for saying ‘thank you’ unauthentically. So I let go of the grumpiness that the lewd proposition had raised up in me and I got back to smiling. And in my head, I genuinely thanked the man for his kindness. And for his courage to say something nice to a stranger. It really touches me when people compliment others, for no reason other than to compliment them. Being complimented by a stranger can lift your spirits so much!

That little scenario made me realize that that’s about the worst that can happen to me from smiling when I’m out. And you know what? It’s not that big of a deal! Grody guys will be grody. Nice guys will be nice. Nice girls will be nice. (Funny, I’ve never had a girl be a creeper to me…)

Anywho, I just thought I’d share my little personal project. Smiling has really helped lift my spirits even higher!

 

Have a beautiful, wonderful day. I’m smiling at you!

Loving-Kindness Crossroads & Forgiving Imperfection

I am at a crossroads, a fork in the road. I have two main paths I can follow.

If I take the left fork, I will be trudging through muck and mire. It is the familiar path of clinging to my suffering in all of its forms.

If I take the right fork, my gait will be floating, light, bounding. I will be at peace and happy and liberated from suffering.

I have been letting myself ease towards the giving, lighter path. I have been bathing myself in loving-kindness, compassion, forgiveness, and gentle understanding. I have been wishing everyone around me to be well and at peace. I feel myself drifting into this strife-less headspace.

In this floating, tranquil headspace, I am detached. I am almost solely an observer. I have a hard time relating to anything but happiness. I can only wish for others to have this same peace of mind. It is not an easy state to attain. It requires that you relinquish the harm you are so used to causing yourself with old, harsh, painful thoughts and mental pursuits.

Every time I struggle, I calmly acknowledge that I am struggling. If there is history attached to the struggle, I relinquish the story. I look past it and return to the present emotion. I dig deeper past the emotion to the energy propagating what I’m feeling. In this way I let go of old hurts and face current ones. I bathe that energy in loving-kindness and then radiate that loving-kindness to everyone else suffering like me, then to everyone, period.

This process soothes my pain and the harm I do to myself by clinging to suffering.

 

 
So why not fully dedicate myself to the right fork? Because if I take the right fork it will be harder for me to relate with others. Why is this important? Well, when I get like this, people in need flock to me. People are already flocking to me and I’m not even fully committed to the compassionate path.

I have taken this path before, and fallen from it. Why? Because being helpful is exhausting.

The prospect of returning to that tranquil headspace is scary. Because there is the fear of being walked on. There is the fear of failing those in need. There is the fear of being vulnerable and exposed. There is the fear of feeling others agony and suffering. There is the fear of becoming exhausted from helping others.

 

 
I experienced some difficulties today.

One of the people who has come into my life that needs me  (I need them, too, to be fair) had a difficult day. For most of the day, I felt confused. I was fully in that tranquil headspace and so I had a hard time understanding their suffering. I felt distant. I kept finding myself wondering, “Why are they holding on to their pain? Why are they holding on to their struggle? Why don’t they just relax? Why are they so attached to things?”

Simultaneously, I found myself telling myself that such thoughts were unfair. Completely unfair and a bit unreasonable.  You cannot tell someone to ‘just let go’. To just let things be and not resist the twists and turns of life. To relinquish harmful habits, thoughts, painful memories, etc. Things don’t work that way.

So I struggled against the tranquil headspace. I began to come out of that peaceful, happy place because it was not helping me help my friend.

This friend suffers so much. I don’t want them to. I want to help guide them to a liberated, happy, tranquil state of mind. I know they want peace of mind. I know they know how priceless and precious it is. I ache for them. I wept for them today. They are in so very much pain. I am empathic enough that I am beginning to feel their pain as my own, just as I feel their heartbeat in my chest sometimes.

I know that today I wasn’t very helpful to my friend. I tried… and failed. It seems like all of my efforts to help just made things worse. It pains me that I could not figure out how to ease their suffering today. So yes, when I wept, part of it was for me, too, from the pain of failing.

 

 
Part of the reason I have been allowing myself to pursue the (mostly) tranquil path is because I feel safe. My friend does not have this luxury, yet. However, I have seen that this will not always be so. They will have their sense of safety restored. They will have their needs met. They will be freed by happiness.

We are both going through our own processes. I know I will blunder. No one is perfect. We must be forgiving of each other and ourselves.

We need to stop choosing the left fork with its muck and mire and suffering. It will take time. It will take patience. It will take gentle, loving-kindness.

 

 
I was not perfect today, but I am still in it for the long-haul with myself and with this wonderful, amazing friend of mine.

A Test

I am eager to be home, for I know what awaits me. My blood is pounding in my veins, my body is aching for action, my mind is racing with my Needs. Needs I must have met. Needs only my good girl can fulfill. I have spent the day masked among my colleagues. I yearn to snatch it off and truly be myself. I crave the satiation of my Hunger. I crave my girl. I crave her eagerness for the darkest expressions of my love. I know I will be harsh with her tonight,  but I also know that she will love it, that she craves it. She is mine completely. My breath is hers;  my pleasure, hers. 

I enter our home. My teeth clench as I maintain restraint. I must have control. I set my purse down on the small table in the foyer. I cannot see her yet, and the anticipation has my blood boiling with need. Restraint, I order myself. Keep your composure. I know she can hear that I’m home.  I know that she will be waiting for me. I know that the moment I see her, my Need for her will battle with my willpower. My Need to tear her apart and put her back together. My Need to let my sadism free. I need to see her cry tonight. I need to see her passion. But I will not be a brute about it. I will have finesse. I will prove to us both that I am her Master. Of her body and her mind. Especially her mind.

I inhale deeply. Gather my will and determination. I proceed to the living room. My breath stops. There she is. My world. My collared love. She sits on her shins on the white sheepskin rug to my left. Her back is to the wall, her body facing the living room.  I am on her right side, in her peripheral vision. Her head is bowed. Her hair is in pigtails with adorable black bow hair ties. I can see the back of her burgundy leather collar. She is not allowed to look up at me or speak to me until I give her permission. I see her hands twitch on her naked thighs as she struggles to maintain protocol. 

I grit my teeth harder as I gaze down at my struggling beauty. I want to grab her by her adorable pigtails and yank her mouth to my pussy. I want to grind it on her mouth and have her fuck me with her tongue. My fists clench. She flinches slightly. She is trembling slightly in anticipation. I usually speak to her by now. I usually touch her chin and look down into her eyes. I usually show her with a fierce gaze how much I need to devour her. 

But not today. Today I stand and stare down at her. I know she is struggling to not look up at me. I know she is starting to grow worried. She does not understand the intent behind my silence. Her insecurities must be flaying her. I move to stand in front of her. She can see my black stillettos and the hem of my black slacks. Her breathing is growing harsher. She is going to start panicking. 

I have pushed her far enough with my silence. “Keep your gaze down,” I order, voice lower from the restraint I’m exerting. My hands ache to touch her, to sooth her. Usually I do. But not tonight, not yet. Tonight I will test her. Tonight I will test myself. 

Her shoulders relax a little. I know she is relieved that I am at least speaking to her. But I know she’s still worried. I want her on the edge. I want to see her fragility. I love her vulnerability. I love that she trusts me to not break her. I love that she is trying to manage her fears.

“Your form is perfect.” I purposefully do not call her by a pet name. I know she will notice this. I know it will eat at her, regardless of the compliment. I know it will tear at her. I know that this is necessary for the purpose of this night. She must be faced with her fears. I must be the one to affirm her strength. I must assert that I am part of her strength. I must prove to her that I still deserve her trust.

“I wonder,  though,” I begin, tone cruel, “if all you have done today is sit around.” I see her tense. I feel her need to shake her head, to proclaim all her efforts. But I have not asked her a question yet,  and she is not allowed to speak until I do. I feel her pain as she fears that she has failed me. I feel her fear that I will abandon her. It is an unfounded fear after we have proven our loyalty to each other for so long. But it is still a fear within her that I must vanquish. And I must also slay my own fear that she might abandon me if I push her too much or show her too much of myself. 

“You are to stay as you are while I inspect your house work. I better find the dishes washed and stacked as I like.” I see her brow furrow with worry. I want to collapse and hug her and tell her she is perfect. I want to soothe her. But I will not. Not yet. I will not be weak. She needs this. I need this. I love her with all I am. I could not live without her. Which is all the more reason for this test. “I better not find a speck of dust. Our sheets better be immaculate. Any failure during this inspection will speak to me about how you truly feel for me. If there are is a single flaw, I will not see it as a mistake this time. No, I will see it as a lack of dedication and love. I hope I see that you love me.” 

It is difficult for me to keep my voice strong. It is a challenge for me to be this cruel to the woman who eases the burden of my sadistic Hungers and who loves me with all she is. I can see she is on the verge of tears. Tears that I need to see. 

I tell myself again that we both need this and that I am doing this out of love. But as much as I say this to myself, there is still that bottomless pit of sadism in me that is gloating in her emotional pain. Gods, her energy is writhing. Her struggle to not speak is breathtaking. She is so very strong, and yet so fragile. And she’s all mine. I inhale slowly. I will be in control of my sadism. I will make this constructive. 

“Stay,” a order firmly. I then turn on heel and begin my ‘inspection’ of the house. I make sure to glance at her frequently to ensure that she is keeping her form and that her head is down. I am amazed that she has maintained her composure. My love for her swells in my chest.

I am strategically quiet. By the time I return to her, I see tears trailing down her cheeks. She is so very afraid that she has failed me. The house is spotless and everything is in its correct place, but I do not say this. 

“Rise,” I command. She trembles as she obeys. I see her head twitch as she struggles to not look up at me. If I see her eyes I will be undone. If she touches me, I will lose my composure, grab her by her pierced nipples, and fuck her before the timing is right. But this test is not over.

I do not address her tears. I do not allay her worries. Instead, I hook my forefinger through the ring in the front of her collar, turn, and pull her towards the bedroom. I made the collar myself for her. There is no lock. The ring is the lock,  and I welded it shut when I formally collared her. It is a symbol that she cannot escape me. Of course, there is always the chance that my moments of harsh love will make her no longer want to be mine, but the chance is small. I would not have collared her if she did not accept me for who I am, or if my love did not liberate her soul.

I release the ring once we are beside our bed. “Bend over the bed and clasp your hands behind your back. Keep your head turned to the wall and close your eyes.” She rushes to obey. She still does not know how she fared during the inspection. She is desperate to be my good girl. I love this about her. I love that she still has not broken protocol and spoken. I have tempered her into my perfect submissive. I will temper her more tonight.

She knows to be up on tip-toe, offering her ass and pussy to me. Offering all of herself to me. I hesitate, then spank her right ass cheek as hard as I can. She yelps. I soak in the pleasure of her energy. There is a red welt in the shape of my hand on her ass. My restraint wavers. I grab her ass and dig my fingers into it and jiggle it hard. I love the little noises she is making. Her ass has me enthralled. 

I inhale slowly, remove my hands, and step back. I must maintain control of myself. “Stay,” I order. I take a few moments to undress. To slip on the harness and strap-on. To fetch the lube and the black silk blindfold. I return to her side, making sure she does not feel what I’m wearing. I speak as I blindfold her. “You must be wondering what I found during my inspection.” I tie the knot tight. “You must be worried about me seeing if you’ve grown lazy.” I trail the backs of my fingers gently down her spine. I play my fingertips along the beautiful welt on her ass. “Do you think I found dust? Answer me yes or no.”

She swallows hard. “N-no, Master,” she whispers, timid and afraid. My heart clenches in my chest. That word. That title. Even though I am being cruel, even though I have made her cry already, still, she loves me. Still, she wants to belong to me.

I raise my hand and smack her left ass cheek just as viciously as I did the right. She cries out in pain. I love her.

“Do you think I found the carpets dirty?” I ask, hand raised.

“N-no, Master.”

I bring my hand down on her right ass cheek.

“Do you think I found the dishes in dissarray?”

She sniffles. “No, Master.” Her tone is begging me to tell her if I did. Begging me to give her peace of mind. She is not sure if I am spanking her as punishment or because I want to and she is mine to use. I know she is aching to know.

I crack my hand down on her left ass cheek, hard enough to bruise my hand and make her scream. I almost sway on my feet by how moved I am. She is letting me do this to her. She is trusting me so very much.

I step behind her. “Do you think you are my good girl?” I whisper.

She hesitates. I watch her emotions pass over her face. I watch the fear win. She begins sobbing. She needs so very much to be my good girl and I have yet to affirm that she still is. “I am your good girl, Master,” she weeps. She finally breaks protocol and gives more than a yes or no answer. I wanted this. “I washed the dishes, thinking only of you. I vaccumed the carpet, thinking only of you. I made our bed, with you in my heart. I am your Good Girl, I swear it, my Master, my Love.”

This is what I Needed. This baring of her soul to me. I have broken her down. Now I will put her back together and strengthen our bond. I will show her how much she owns my soul, how much I love her, how she fills the voids in my heart.

I wrench the blindfold off her. Wrap her pigtails around my hand and grip hard as I lean in. My other hand is feeling at her entrance. She is not wet enough. “You are my Good Girl,” I tell her, gazing into her blotchy red eyes. I then pull her head back enough to seize her mouth with my own. When my tongue plunges into her mouth, so too do my fingers plunge into the core of her. The lube on my fingers spreads with each thrust. She is just as hungry for my kiss as I am for hers. We devour each other through the passion of our kiss. It is good, but it is not enough. I have to fuck her. I will go mad if I do not. 

I stand upright. Her wrists are still clasped at the small of her back. I grab them tightly with one hand. “You are Mine,” I growl, then push my cock into her. She groans. I soak it in. “Keep your eyes on mine,” I order, then proceed to fuck her within an inch of her life. 

She is eager, she is giving, she is desperate to have me own her this way.

“You are mine, body and soul, my Beloved,” I affirm, panting from exertion. “Now come for me. Be my good girl and come for your Master.”

Her orgasm seizes her. She screams and writhes as the pleasure ravages her. Her little death is incredible.

I wait until it passes before I pull out. I shuck off the harness. I crawl into bed. I am near to tears myself. She loves me so much. I feel liberated myself. I am a sadist, but I am not a monster. I cradle her to me. She clings to me and I cling to her as I pet her. “The house was impeccable, my love,” I whisper. “There is no better girl than you.” I kiss her forehead. “I love you.” I can feel her drying tears against my shoulder and I love them.

“I love you, too, my Master.”

Beauty

Image

This is my physique as of now. I am amazed. I have curves. Ass, boobs, legs, you name it. I’m not perfect, but I look damn good. I almost can’t believe it.

I remember not being able to recognize myself in photos. I remember being ashamed to be seen in public. I remember when I realized that my elbows brushed my sides when I walked (As you can tell by that photo, I’d have to walk like a member of the Ministry of Silly Walks to accomplish that now).

I remember being invisible. Worse, I remember being very purposefully ignored.

Now I get cat-calls, honks, and I even almost caused an accident once, just from walking around to run errands. I get compliments from friends and strangers. People go out of their way to speak to me.

My brain short-circuits a little each time any of this happens. The initial stun is that someone has even noticed me. The lingering stutter in my brain is that I’m being admired. At first, I honestly thought people were complimenting me sarcastically, or speaking to me as some sort of joke (It’d happened often enough and my self-esteem was that low). That progressed to believing that I was being genuinely complimented or spoken to, yet at the same time being utterly baffled as to why.

Now, most of the time, I see what others see in me.

I see my beauty.

I Done Did It

I had an opportunity in the most unlikely circumstances. 

Two weeks ago, I was in and out of the hospital. Last weekend, I had Renard stay with me in case my health deteriorated further.

I was in a wretched physical state,  but since he was with me, I took it as an opportunity. We still needed to talk, whether I was in good health or not. I started easily, but eventually it came down to a few crucial points. Point 1) He is no longer certain that he wants to participate in bdsm activities, or have a D/s relationship. Point 2) We agreed that we no longer really know each other. Point 3) I cannot be his Master if I do not know him. Point 4) I cannot be his Dominant if he does not want me to be. 

I saw the pain in his eyes when I stated that I was no longer his Master, let alone his Dominant. But by the end of my points (of which I have only summed), the pain had lessened to an acceptance. He knew that our relationship was broken, but had resisted acknowledging it or accepting it, just as I had.

So we are on hiatus, at the very least, as a D/s relationship. I will not force myself or a D/s relationship on him. We will try to reconnect. We may rebuild things, we may not.

We’ll see.

“True” Triad

So, in my last post I said that the couple I’ve been speaking with is interested in a “true” triad. And then I spent the day reading up on other WordPress blogs about triads and polyamory.

So many things to say…

I meant “true” in both bad and good ways. I haven’t been a part of a polyamorous romance in a while, and I was surprised that I’d forgotten something. There isn’t a ‘true’ way to have a triad, or be polyamorous. There’s just the way that works for you, if you’re a polyamorous person. My bad for mispeaking.

For myself, I am very, verrrrry picky about participating in polyamory, namely being in a triad/trigamy.

I am definitely a believer in people being able to be in love with multiple people at once, and making it all work. When I was first finding my way in the bdsm lifestyle and community during the end of my University days, the majority of people in the community were polyamorous. I was exposed to several different forms of polyamory, and made discoveries about myself and what I will and will not accept in a polyamorous relationship.

1) I am not a casual romantic. I have been in my past, and I might find it personally appealing in the future, but not at the moment. I will admit that I am a you’re mine, possessive kind of romantic. I mean that in several ways. The dominant in me loves when someone belongs to me. It’s a bit primal for me. My SO is mine to play with, mine to fuck, mine to please, mine mine mine. And I am theirs theirs theirs. Ideally, it’s rather mutual. Extending this to polyamory… I am personally not into the more casual forms of it. 

I won’t do a polyamorous (or monogamous) relationship that isn’t a committed, long-term one. That means I won’t swing or allow swinging. Sex is rather emotional for me. I have learned that emotionally, I can no longer have casual sex. I develop an emotional bond from it, since sex is such a deep and emotional expression of who I am. I am not a swinger, at least when it comes to full-blown intercourse. (The quasi-exception to this is negotiating casual play partners while attending a dungeon. I’m not alright with intercourse, but if there is sensuality and sexuality in the scene, I’m willing to consider it.) I want a solid foundation of a relationship first. (I will admit there is the possibility of changing my mind. It would depend on the relationship.)

2) I will not do a polyamorous relationship unless everyone is dating everyone. This can be rather tricky, but it’s what I prefer. I like having three people that balance each other out and having three people that can meet each other’s needs. It alleviates some of the stress that a two-person relationship can have. For instance, Partner 1 might be really into something that Partner 2 isn’t, but Partner 3 is. So Partner 1 can have that specific need be fulfilled with Partner 3. And maybe Partner 2 can work on liking or doing whatever it is that Partner 1 is into, but in the meantime, a need is still being met. This does not, of course, work with everything.

3) Balancing the dominance/submission equation is a bit more difficult with three people. I can switch, but I’m picky about it. For me, there has to be a leader. Typically, I like to be that leader. And although I can switch, I can’t do a relationship where the other person is entirely dominant. I need to express my dominance during sex and scenes with my partners.

With this couple, they have a very D/s relationship. They weren’t aware that there is a term for it or a culture for it. The woman is submissive, the man is very dominant. Part of me is worried about butting heads with the man. He’s not used to a Dominant woman. There will have to be a lot of communicating and effort between us, if we are going to work. There is the possibility that he just hasn’t had the opportunity to find out if he could sub at all; that it’s something he might like once he’s explored it safely and with someone he trusts. There is also the possibility that he is completely dominant, no switchiness at all. I would not try to change that. Just like I wouldn’t want anyone to change me. However, if this is the case, then having a poly relationship with them won’t work for me. Expressing myself as a Dominant is at the core of who I am, it’s a need that I will have to have met by both of them. It is my Hunger (to quote Liberate One.)

We’ll see on Monday.