Archive for ‘BDSM’

01/12/2012

Little Ruminations on BDSM – Being called a “Fake”

In my BDSM life no four words piss me off more than these.

“So, you’re a fake.”

These are usually used when, while getting to know someone, I talk about how I don’t go to munches or fet-nights. I mean, don’t get me wrong I used to. In my twenties. When I was younger, and everything was new and exciting. But it’s not anymore.

These days I hunger for the BDSM home life. A good meal, a roaring fire, a great movie on the telly, cuddled into my Miss, my pet cuddled up to me.

I find joy in BDSM being subtle. A glance that shows what I want. The look that shows what they need.

My hope is not to only gratify my base desires (no matter how fun they are), but to also show my pet that she is loved, adored, wanted, safe, protected.

So no I’m not interested in going to a fetish club.  After all when I have got a femme-sub…

I don’t get off on training my sub in public, it’s a private act, between, her and I.

I don’t enjoy being surround by a crowd of horny people slobbering over me, my Miss, my pet.

I don’t enjoy watching people who haven’t a clue, showing off, and only revealing, (to those who know what they’re doing), that they actually haven’t a clue.

Hell I don’t like going to bars in the evening. Bars, you know where you sit, and drink socially. Why in the fuck would I, someone who is to say the least a home-bird, want, or be comfortable sharing the single most intimate part of my love life with total strangers?

Why should I have to?

Well I don’t, and I won’t. When I again have a pet, if I ever again have a pet, she will be loved, adored, wanted, safe, protected, and her submission treasured. I don’t need to prove that I’m real to anyone but my Miss, and her.

And you know what, if you have a problem with that, fuck you! The only thing fake about me is my hair color!

(End rant! Guess what was said to me this week?)

03/11/2012

Little Ruminations on BDSM – Latex Allergies.

When I started out in my BDSM lifestyle latex was one of my great joys. After all I was slim (still am, well in a more average sort of way than back then), tall (ditto), and (weirdly) even when I was pretending to be a boy it looked pretty damned good on me.

These days I’m still more or less slim (what I said above), and tall. I have a killer ass, and not just because of the tummy problems either, and of course I’m busty as hell. I like to think that I would look absolutely amazing in latex. And you’d think that as a Domina, or a Slavegirl I’d be spending 90% of my time in latex wouldn’t you?

Ya, I wish. Remember on Tuesday when I mentioned a latex hood?

Let me tell you a little story. It’s all set in that mythical era of X years ago. A, somewhat, younger Amanda was hanging from a door having the ever-living shite beaten out of her. She was working, occasionally, as a professional Domina at the time, and so could for the first time afford to buy small pieces of latex. In this case a reasonably pretty hood.

Well anyway, what Amanda didn’t realise until that night was that while her skin is perfectly happy wearing latex, the inside of her mouth, and throat really aren’t. And of course they just had to inform her in the most definitive terms, by making her almost pass out.

This makes for a very sad Amanda.

I mean sure I can still wear latex clothing, as long as it’s kept well away from my face. But if I want something tight, restrictive, and sort of shiny to wear, that’s what my leather is for.

But what does it leave for my head? There simply are no pretty leather masks or hoods. They all just look so clunky, or harsh. Which is fine for those who like that. But I liked how I look in a latex hood, especially pretty ones, that are perfectly tailored to my head, have well thought out contrast color patches, and attached ponytails. No other piece of fetish clothing can enhance my sense of power, or powerlessness quite so much (all dependant on which role I’m fulfilling at the time).

So to the point of this piece, if you good reader are a kinky individual, and are lucky enough to not have a respiratory allergy to latex, please spare a thought for those who are less fortunate. Those poor unfortunate souls who will never again feel the delicious, and wonderous caress of latex on their faces, followed by that delightful feeling of all over constriction as their hood is zipped/laced shut.

Think of us, and maybe bitch at your local fet-shop about them getting in some spandex? It’s not the same but when it’s a choice between good spandex, or bad leather, is there a choice really?

18/09/2012

Little Ruminations on BDSM – Missing Handcuff Keys

What can I say? Passion over took us. It wasn’t planned, it wasn’t prepared for, and handcuffs were very definitely involved.

Now it’s important to know that those particular handcuffs weren’t shitty ones bought in a bad sex shop. They were in fact a pair of honest to goodness law enforcement ones. You know, not the ones with the emergency release switches. The ones with the locks which are supposed to actually work well.

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, passion had taken over.

And someone was lying on her belly, with her wrists firmly held in the handcuffs. Naughty fun was definitely about to happen. And given that these were two dominant women, one of whom was choosing consciously to submit, there was probably going to be one hell of a fight for supremacy.

You of course noticed the word “probably” in there. Yeah, it didn’t happen that way. Instead someone rang someone. Then someone else realised that the keys to those particular handcuffs were still at the other end of the country.

The moral of this story is as follows;

1: When you decide to have kinky D/s play it’s a really good idea for at least one of you to have it planned out, even a little. Contingency planning is your friend.

2: A little flexibility goes a long way when you’re trapped in a pair of handcuffs

3: Don’t panic, even really, REALLY good handcuffs are stupidly easy to pick with the careful application of a little patience, and an iron nail.

And finally;

4: Before you close those delicious metal, bondage inflicting twin bracelets actually make sure you actually have the keys. Oh and for the love of all that’s unholy, remember to turn off your phones.

12/05/2012

I miss being a Miss so badly.

I wake crying (yup, it’s emo-Amanda again). Not an uncommon occurence for some people, but this time it’s different. Waking in tears because of physical pain is one thing, a very normal thing for me, just another part of another day. But for once the tears have nothing what-so-ever to do with my body. They are purely to do with my heart.

Right now I have a wonderful Miss. One part of my nature fulfilled by spending my days, and nights trying to make her smile. Though admittedly usually with the result of annoyed grimaces, rather than happy smiles. But it’s the thought that counts surely?

I think I might have a boyfriend. I hope I might have a boyfriend…ummm well anyway, I’m dating a boy. And to my joyful surprise being around him makes me happy. Makes me feel wanted, and attractive.

But it’s not those parts that make we wake with tears soaking my pillow. Those parts fill me with joy, and make my world sparkle. No it’s the part of me that is at the very core of who, and what I am that has the broken heart. And worse a break that can’t be fixed by me.

I miss being a Miss.

I miss it so much that it hurts like a physical pain.

I don’t miss “playing”. BDSM isn’t a game to me.

I don’t miss being able to say “this is my Slavegirl…”. Being a Miss to someone is my deepest personal life, something shared with those I love most in the world, and those rare people who understand what it truly means.

No I miss being needed, wanted as a Dominant.

I miss having someone I adore, who adores me in that unique way that only occurs between Domme and Sub.

I miss having to read the needs of someone who, by their own will I possess physically, and emotionally.

I miss having the duty to use that “read” to help them excel in their lives. The way my Miss helps me.

I miss being their sword and shield. The one they turn to for protection.

I miss being the arms that hold them when they fear, rewards them when through exceptional hard work they succeed beyond all expectations, and punishes them when they deserve it.

I miss being taken care of by someone with soft, submissive  loving eyes when I need to be.

I miss taking care of them, because nothing matters more to me than their well-being.

I’m a Dominant without a heart to possessively hold in my hands. Without a leash that rests lightly in my grip.

In short I’m just a girl with a really weird skill-set. Not a Miss. Not a Domina. Not a Mistress. Just a girl who has only just realised that every night for a year her last thought has been a whispered prayer to her Goddess. Just asking for a little help to find the little one who might mean she can again be called a Miss. Because frankly that’s the most loving, highest calling she can ever imagine living.

24/12/2011

Getting through Christmas as a Pagan.

Like, I’m sure many Pagans, I find Christmas a very conflicting time of year. On one hand it means essentially nothing to me as a religious holiday, I personally hold with the idea that either all places, objects, acts, and days are sacred, or none are. On the other hand I live in Ireland, and so am surrounded by people for whom this is the most important time of year. (We won’t get into the Easter is more important discussion here. Aside from anything else, Pagan so I don’t really give a damn.) This leaves me in an unpleasant position where I can go one of two clear-cut ways, or pick a somewhat uncomfortable middle ground.

Route 1: Ignore Christmas totally, and just enjoy a few days of the year where there are decent movies on television. I did this one year, but it made everyone else in my life feel rotten, so I never repeated it.

Route 2: Fake it, acting as if it’s the most wonderful time of the…yeah I can’t even finish that sentence, and still respect myself.

Route 3: Acknowledge and honour its importance to those I care about, while hoping they return that by not shoving the religious side of things in my face.

Needless to say I tend to go with route 3. And so far it works pretty well. I use this time of year as a chance to buy/make people nice things, and not be given out to for doing so. I of course being a slightly mercenary individual welcome the chance to be given presents, and this year I can’t wait to get my hands on my new mandolin! But that’s really all it is to me. Just a day with gifts, and lots of food I can’t eat, though quite frankly in the case of bloody brussel sprouts the world is welcome to them.

But for all the welcome compromises this route contains it still leaves me feeling odd though. Not bad exactly, but I guess somewhat disconnected from things. At Christmas I always feel like I’m looking in on something that I don’t fully understand, through frosted glass. Involved as an observer, but not really a part of it all. And it makes me wonder how I should feel about all of this. Worse though it makes me wonder how it would feel to be a part of a similar event, but one that encompasses my beliefs (not bloody likely mind you, I’ve never met anyone who shares what I believe, not even amongst other Pagans.). To have a space of shared belief, or even shared ideological kinship.

The closest thing I have to this in my life is the BDSM world. But in truth, in no small part because of my views on BDSM, even there I feel like the outsider. The one looking in at the revellers within, invited but not welcome.

Maybe in the years to come this will change. Maybe someday I’ll find something like this to feel a part of, regardless of whether it’s a Pagan, BDSM, Vanilla, political thing. For a human being, a member of a species who live to build communities, belonging to something you can believe in is vitally important. Hopefully eventually something will change, and I’ll find or make an Amanda shaped hole somewhere in the world to slot into. But in the mean time I’ll just have to keep squashing myself into those spaces that do exist, even if they aren’t quite right, and dream of the celebratory space that is.

Happy what ever you believe in folks,
From square peg Amanda.

17/12/2011

A transgirls letters to Satan Claws. 2011.

There came a night when Amanda Harper finally suffered that personality split which had been so long threatened by her rather odd psyche. But rather than all three personalities fighting for control, or walking out onto the street to orchestrate a revolution, leading to her inevitable advancement to the title of Empress of Mankind. They instead decided to each write a letter to Satan Claws. These are the transcripts of those letters, which have been preserved as a terrible warning to the future.

(Satan Claws, for those without a true understand of how our world works, is a six-foot tall anthropomorphic vixen. She took over responsibility from Santa Claus for rewarding the transgirls, futagirls, and kinky people of the world for being very, very naughty about 20 years ago. Frankly Santa needed the help, after the centuries of trying to make sense of what the less vanilla parts of society considered naughty or nice in the end caused him to have a minor nervous breakdown.)

———————————————————

Letter 1: Slavegirl Amanda.

Dear Satan Claws,

I’ve been a very good girl this year. I did all my chores with a minimum of grumbling, and I only told my Mistress that she “hits like a girl!” a few dozen times. I’ve made sure to dress in lots of short skirts, tight tops, and lots of very heavy, skanky eye make-up, just to make my Mistress happy, of course. I’ve done my best to be obedient, polite, charming, and appropriately slutty. And I like to think I’ve made my Mistress proud of me. Apart maybe from when I dressed up in that onesy, and insisted on calling her “Mommy.” But I think the spanking I got from her more than wipes out any naughtiness from that situation.

In short I’ve been a really good slavegirl, and I think I deserve a reward.

So for XXX-Mas I’d like a shiny new steel slave collar, because Vanilla Amanda may have eaten too much chocolate this year, and she’s made my old one just a little snug.  I’d like a pretty new corset to wear for my Mistress, to make her smile. I’d also like a new tattoo somewhere on my body. And if you could have a word with the kinky-stork I’d like my Mistress Carnelian to find a pretty, submissive, obedient, and not completely sex obsessed  slaveboy to make her happier. Though admittedly the last one might be a bit of a stretch in Ireland, even for you.

Thank you in advance,

Slavegirl Amanda.

P.S. I’ll make sure to leave out a snort of that latex flavoured vodka you liked so much last year, and the customary extra strong condoms for you to use with the ponyboys, and ponygirls who pull your sleigh when you’ve finished work.

Letter 2: Miss Amanda.

With respects to, and for the attention of Satan Claws,

Right, I know that snivelling wretch Slavegirl Amanda already sent you a letter, and that since we inhabit the same body we’re only getting one present. So you can just ignore her. Come on we’re both dominas here. We both know how the world works. We get the goodies, and the pets get to play with them if we’re ever done.

Now I’ve been a very naughty lesbian domina this year. I spent the Summer making lots of men walk face first into lampposts by wearing low-cut tops, and the good type of slutty make-up. I purposely replied to only the first message, and then completely ignored hundreds of return online messages from men on dating websites, thus adding immeasurably to the average level of male frustration in the world. I wrote some pretty good extreme BDSM erotica (see attached file). I didn’t pine over every single  submissive woman I met on the street, I only pined after the one of those this year. I made sure I was ravishing, and worshipable whenever I left the house. And most importantly I was a viciously protective force of nature for any and all submissives who needed me to be.

So let’s be clear on this, I was the good type of naughty. I deserve that my demands met. So make sure they are, or it’ll be your furry arse over my knee, and I won’t use any of the gentle stuff on it.

1: I want you to stop Vanilla Amanda from eating all the chocolate on Earth. Seriously, just stop her, I want to have a definable a waistline again.

2: I want a thrice goddess damned little one of my own to possess, and lovingly abuse. This BDSM drought better damn well stop, or there’s gonna be trouble.

3: Leather. Lots, of, leather!

4: A futagirl of my own. That bastard Dimitrys has filled my mind with his characters Peach and Meryl for years now, and now I want one of my own. Come on fair’s fair. I could easily point one out to you. if you need a hint of what I like…

5: I demand that Slavegirl Amanda be moved to a more appropriate body, ie any other body. Her whining worry about Mistress Carnelian is really getting on my tits.

6: Oh, failing that could you just give her Mistress Carnelian that slaveboy. It’d make her smile, and Slavegirl Amanda considerably less annoying.

Thank you in advance,

Miss Amanda.

P.S. I hope you found a good use for the Deep Heat coated cactus I left out for you last year. But of course if you don’t bring me what I want this year, well, I’m sure that you know where you can shove it.

Letter 3: Vanilla Amanda.

My dearest Satan Claws,

I’m not going to try and pretend that I’ve been good or bad naughty this year. I know that there’s no damn use trying to convince you, not with that system of surveillance satellites you have in orbit. Or with the way you have every futagirl’s phone tapped, email hacked, and snail-mail preread. Or for that matter when I know for a fact that you’ve had GPS tracking devices secretly installed somewhere in all of our bodies. No I’ll just say that this year I was me, but good and hard.

I’m not going to ask for physical gifts. I have everything I want. But what I would like to ask for is to not be known as Vanilla Amanda anymore. I’m not frikkin’ vanilla. For frik sake, I’m a male-to-hermaphrodite dominant, who chooses to submit. How goddess damned vanilla could I actually be? Even the most vanilla parts of my personality demand to be clothed in designer leather, and latex.  So could you please, please tell those other two pains that share my mind to stop calling me Vanilla? After all chocolate is far more my flavour.

So that’s all I want, although if you were to…insist on giving a reward to me I’d love that tattoo Slavegirl Amanda mentioned. The futagirl Miss Amanda mentioned would be welcomed with open leg…well anyway, and seriously our Mistress Carnelian could really use an actually good slaveboy.

Your servant,

Amanda, not Vanilla Amanda, just plain ole Amanda.

P.S. I’d watch out for that vodka the Slavegirl’s planning to leave out for you. She has lustful, calculating look on her face the whole time. So I’m pretty sure she’s been slipping roofies into it.

———————————————————

Satan Claws looked up from the trio of letters on her desk and rolled her eyes. “Every damned year!” standing up off of the slaveboy who had been providing the service of being her seat, she grabbed her leather great-coat, and headed for the door. “Oi Claus you fat, bearded bastard. Letters on my desk, you can deal with them this year you git. I’ve had enough of that weirdo, I’m going for a drink.”

10/12/2011

BDSM how it could/should be – The language barrier.

In my life, like virtually all BDSM folk, I spend most of my time in the vanilla world, and only some in the BDSM one. Flickering back and forth between being Amanda, to being Lady Harper with relative ease. However over the years I’ve come to realise that one of the barriers which stand in the way of the vanilla world truly understanding the nature of our relationships, is language.

I’m not speaking here of the in-house terminology we use to describe specific acts, flogging, caning, clamping, cupping etc. There are plenty of vanilla world subcultures who have their own languages, just listen to the average rock climber speak about their sporting life some day. Rather I am referring to the words we use in affection between each other, in what are for us nothing more than loving day-to-day relationships.

Just think about it. We speak with affection, respect, and often enough both love and awe about our slaves. However the vanilla world associates that word most readily with humanities history of forced enslavement. With human beings bought, sold, and worked to death. The same word. A vastly different meaning, and leading to a profound miscommunication. After all how to explain that our slaves are our most treasured companions, lovers, and possessions? How to explain that they choose to be ours, and that, despite what the title may imply in a historical context, they retain amongst other things the right to walk away. How to explain any of that when the same word has two such radically different meanings for the two cultures?

But  I believe these miscommunications occur most frequently when we dominants use our own personal pet names for our submissive equals. While the vanilla world has all sorts of acceptable terms of endearment which transfer freely between the communities like sweetheart, hunny, and darling, vanilla people often tend to be very unaccepting of the other words we often use. Words which are perfectly normal expressions of love in our life, but which come with an extra-large heap of baggage in the vanilla world. For example, when I witness a loving dominant call their slave “My little whore.”, what I coming from the same lifestyle hear is, “my loving partner.” A vanilla person with little, or no BDSM knowledge however is far more likely to hear in this nothing more than verbal abuse. A term of loving endearment in one world, a potentially grave insult in the other.

In my own life I have had a slavegirl who I often called “My pretty little slut.” In the vanilla world I would have likely been looked at with disgust for calling her this. But to me I was telling her I loved her, I respected her, I adored her, and was thanking her for choosing to be mine. I was telling her that to me she was beautiful. I was referring to her ability to make herself seem small whenever she felt the need to, this despite being well over six feet tall. I was thanking her for the knots she would, willingly, and enthusiastically put herself into to please me. And yet, to the world I spend most of my time walking through, I was being verbally abusive to a woman I loved deeply.

Miscommunication, tarnishes our way of living in love to the rest of the world around us. Paints those of us who live proudly as dominants as heartless, unloving, abusive, or all too often at best cold. Paints those of us who are submissive as doormats, damaged, abused, broken, or takes the literal vanilla world meaning of slut, or whore, and then simply applies it directly.

It’s easy to see why this happens. When you come right down to it words quite simply are powerful tools. The right word in the right ear at the right moment, and the world is saved. Disaster is averted.

But the thing is, words don’t belong to just one group. They don’t belong only to the majority. They belong to everyone, and they do evolve with time. They can be taken from one group who use a word for hatred, and turned by the takers into an expression of purest love.

This of course does not exist only between the BDSM/vanilla worlds. Anyone who lives what is perceived to be an “alternative” lifestyle will often run into this. Some poly people, myself included, speak proudly of being in love with multiple partners, slutty if you will. It’s just a word. It fits pretty well in the discussion. It can be said with pride, but when said with the wrong inflection it can be a damning commentary on another human beings chosen way to live their life. The same can be true of those who work in the adult entertainment industries, those who write some of the more, shall we say interesting commercially successful erotica. Are you seeing a pattern?

Those who exist in a vanilla world often do not understand those who simply can’t share that life. Those who in another age would have probably been considered of loose sexual character. Sometimes this lack of understanding has its source in fear, sometimes it comes from pure unreasoned bigotry. But in most cases I believe it’s down to the lack of a truly shared language.

Most, if not all of the alternative communities share a common trait, they’re seen by the outside world purely in a sexual context. Not for the loving environments that they can be, and often are. After all surely the world is a better place, that there are people in it who melt when their lover cups their chin, and before kissing them speak softly into their ear the words, “I love my little whore.”

Now if only we could get the word out to the vanilla world that sometimes their most unpleasant terms, can be turned into the sweetest most romantic words that can ever be uttered. That like the beauty in a piece of music, the words of love are ultimately interpreted by the heart of the listener.

15/10/2011

BDSM How it could/should be – The Mistress Alone.

Sometimes it happens. No screw that. Usually it happens. The Mistress finds herself unworshipped, and undesired. What in any other sort of life would be simply called, alone. But a Mistress can’t be simply alone. Usually my BDSM articles are kind of generalised advice, based on a lifetimes worth of personal observations. Then towards the end I use a story from my life to put what I’ve been writing about into a nice simple to understand context.  Usually. Not this time.  This article is purely about what I am experiencing right now. About having been someones world, then suddenly not.  About being a Mistress alone, and let me tell you this to begin with, it’s horrific.

Where to begin, when there’s no clear beginning…with a description I guess. I am Amanda Harper. See me there? That’s right I’m the nearly six-foot tall, buxom, busty girl with the facial piercing, the tattoo and the hair that was blue, but is now purple. I’m 33 and all of my adult life I’ve believed two things more strongly than almost anything else. No-one loves more deeply than a good Mistress, except maybe, just maybe a good Slavegirl, or a parent but that’s sort of obvious.

I don’t value money, or things.  They’re just a way of keeping score. And they can be taken away from you. I believe we only truly own two things, our bodies and our feelings. Well bodies start to depreciate pretty much from day one, but feelings, they’re valuable, precious, priceless even. So you won’t be at all surprised to hear that love is the most important thing in the world to me.

I love a woman. An amazing woman. She’s quite a bit older than me, and she saved my life. Literally, saved my life. When we met I had just started to transition. I was malnourished, emotionally shattered, lost, and scared. Surrounded by friends, but still alone. That woman gave me a home, home is where you’re loved without condition. She would one day become my Mistress, some day I hope to be collared by her. Belonging to her gives me the anchor that lets me turn my emotional bow into the currents that would otherwise capsize me, taking me down, probably never to recover. Belonging to her makes me feel what I hope every good Slavegirl feels, lovingly valued.

But my submission to my love is only half of who I am. There’s my other half.

I was loved by a woman. An amazing woman. She wasn’t all that much older than me and I have to believe I saved her life. When we met she needed someone to show her how to live long enough to achieve her life’s dream. She was lost, and scared. She one day became my slavegirl, leashed though never collared. Her belonging to me made me feel what I think every good Mistress truly wishes for, loving fulfillment. Then we ended, our relationship had run its course, her life’s dream had been achieved, and it was now time for her to move on and live her life.

It happens. It’s life. It fucking sucks.

So I am now simply Amanda Harper, slavegirl.  The Mistress has been packed away until she’s needed again, if she is ever needed again. Maybe it’s better this way. No potential for hassle for my Mistress from my submissive, no disruptions to life. But it still feels very much like some of the colors have been removed from the world.

I’m two people, in everything. I’m Amanda the woman, while also being Amanda the hermaphrodite. I’m Amanda the slavegirl, but I’m also Amanda the dominant, even if that aspect has been folded up and put aside for a time. When I deny part of who I am, the world around me starts to dull, echo, life stops being quite so vibrant. I’ve come to terms with that part of life, after all it’s impossible for life to always be filled with vibrancy and adventure.

I love being a good Slavegirl. That’s what my Mistress deserves and it makes us both happy. But I’m starting to desperately miss the time when my dominant side was loved by someone. Not least because in my BDSM philosophy a Mistress without a submissive is just a girl with some very odd skill-sets. Very, very odd in some cases.

So some of you are wondering why I don’t just go out and grab a new Slavegirl. Well, while submissive people, are frankly, dime a dozen. Good submissives are rare. Slaves are rarer still and good slaves are like chicken teeth. Add in often being house bound due to seemingly unending ill-health and…well you have heart-break, that never seems to end, with no end in sight.

The Mistress alone. The title of this article is a lie. There’s no Mistress alone here. Just a Slavegirl who dreams of again someday being something else, a loving Mistress as well as an adoring Slavegirl. But that’s something I, or any dominant without a submissive, might never get to be again. So instead it’s time for the girding of loins and embracing all the other joys life provides.

Cupcakes anyone?

08/10/2011

BDSM How it could/should be – A switch, or a Dominant who chooses to submit?

“So are you a switch or what?”

That’s a question that gets asked of me a lot. After all I am a Dominant, but I have a Mistress. I dominate and submit, isn’t that almost the very definition of being a switch? Perhaps but as with all things human, I believe it to be more complex than that.

Let’s start with how I define a switch. To me a switch is an individual who can be equally happy acting as dominant, or submissive of the two in a relationship. They are equally, or at the very least near equally, comfortable in either role.

Switches seem to get as much shit thrown their way as bisexuals do in the LGBT world. Called “greedy” or “wishy-washy”, accused of wanting their cake and eating it too. Personally I just think they’re awesome people who live their life in a way that they find fulfilling and comfortable.

But that doesn’t answer the question that starts this article.

I believe there may well be in addition to dominant, submissive and switch, two other definable positions in the BDSM spectrum.  Dominant who chooses to be in submission, submissive who chooses to be in dominance. Okay, okay yes you shouting at the back, I agree that they could be folded into the switch category. But what if they truly are separate unique states?

Let’s take myself and a woman I once knew as examples shall we?

I am a Dominant,I take it very seriously and have worked hard to develop my skills, as well as my personal philosophy. But I have a Mistress. What’s with that?

When I met my Mistress I desperately wanted to be her partner, however she is in no way what-so-ever submissive. But BDSM is an integral, undeniable part of who and what I am. How to overcome this problem? In the end I taught her how to do the technical, skill based BDSM stuff. Showed her my beliefs where BDSM was concerned, and then let her make up her own mind. It took 6 months for her to say yes to being my Mistress. So I became her Slavegirl, actually the Alpha Slave in her house. Does that make me a switch?

I don’t believe so. I am not submissive in any way. Some of my friends still laugh at the idea of me submitting to anyone. And rightly so, it does not come naturally to me at all. I fight it constantly. But to be with this woman I had to decide to be submissive to her, and her alone. That’s what to my eyes, marks the difference between a switch and a Dominant in submission. For the latter it’s a minute by minute conscious choice out of love, not by nature. It’s someone purposely going counter to their true nature to express love for another.

Of course I have to admit, being polyamorous and thus free to pursue a slavegirl of my own does help with taking some of the sting out of that choice.

As for being the Submissive in dominance, I once knew a woman who’s Master’s nature changed. Where he had been dominant in the extreme he now felt the overwhelming, impossible to deny need to submit. She was not dominant at all, but she made dominating him, her submission to the man she still loved. Again a conscious choice to go counter to her own nature, out of love.

Being switch, being comfortable and happy in both positions is a nature of being, just as much as being Dominant or submissive is. But being a DiS or a SiD I have come to believe is the exact opposite. It’s accepting that we can’t help who we fall in love with, and making the most profound sacrifice possible to be with them and make them happy, by purposely subverting our own natures for them.

Is that being switch? Some may think so but I don’t. Now when asked whether I’m switch or not I answer, “I am a Dominant, who met the one woman she had to submit to, to be with.”

12/03/2011

BDSM how it could/should be – The War at Home.

In my previous two posts “The Good Mistress” and “The Good Slavegirl” we’ve covered a lot of ground. But at the most basic level, we have learned that slavegirls are submissive and pretty obviously serve Mistresses, who are dominant and equally obviously, like to be served. But we haven’t really touched on how exactly do they live?

As it always does Hollywood provides an answer. It is patently obvious that the Mistress spends her entire day, dressed from head to toe in sexy leather or latex outfits. Existing to be waited on hand and foot by an equally provocatively though usually, far more minimally dressed slavegirl. The slavegirl of course, lives totally at the whim of the Mistress, who she worships and adores above all others. Oh and of course they are openly living this leather clad life for all and sundry to see. After all, to hell with what the neighbours think.

Bloody Hollywood. Somehow they always manage to mix dramatically unequal measures of accuracy with U.S. military intelligence grade inaccuracy. From our previous explorations of this lifestyle by now one thing should be quite obvious. That being, yes of course the average slavegirl and especially the really good ones do live to serve their Mistress and make her happiness their central concern. But that is about as close to the Hollywood image as reality usually approaches.

The reality of Dominant/submissive (D/s) couples, is that the ones that work really well are usually almost invisible to the rest of the world. There I’ve said it, letting slip the greatest secret of the BDSM lifestyle. It’s not always about shock and awe, it’s actually far more often about subtlety.

Take a walk down any street in your capital city, indeed any city. Guess what? In all likelihood you will have from time to time, walked straight past a D/s couple and never known it. Real life D/s couples keep the leather, latex, whips, chains and leashes for their private life. After all aside from anything else, in reality most people do care what the neighbours think.

So on the street our D/s couple will usually look just like any other couple. There probably are a few tells, little signs to let you know that they are in fact in a power exchange relationship. If you know what to look for that is. A subtle piece of jewellery around the submissives neck, perhaps with a lock integrated into it. Or an anklet that can only be removed by a key or in extremis by amputation. Perhaps a well designed and drawn tattoo, that in its own totally unsubtle but subtle way announces one of the pair to be a Mistress or a slavegirl. Maybe the slavegirl permanently walks a half step behind her Mistress, thus declaring to those who can read the signs, that the woman before her is She who rules her universe.

That’s the thing about D/s couples who take their path seriously. They value subtlety for a simple reason. Anyone trying to maintain the hardcore 24/7 dominance and submission of Hollywood’s fevered, testosterone poisoned imagination will quickly burn out and drift apart.

Of course that describes how our D/s couple might act in public. Walking down the street, on their way to do those mundane things every couple has to do. Shop for groceries, return a DVD, buy an extra tub of strawberry flavoured lube. How they live at home, when they’re safely behind closed doors can be a very different story.

At home never doubt that the Mistress will rule to roost in the most definitive way. The slavegirl may get to make minor decisions but it’s the Mistress who will decide if there’s redecorating to do. If a new car is needed. If the playroom, with its dark red walls and all the lovely leather toys for hitting people in deliciously naughty ways needs to be cleaned, from floor to ceiling with a toothbrush. At home all that careful subtlety often slips away for hours at a time.

But that does not mean that their life at home will be disproportionately hard for the slavegirl. Most D/s couples, contrary to the popular image, will share the day-to-day housework. After all everyone has an area where they excel and some people, even the very best of slavegirls will have things they physically can’t do. Never think, that just because a slavegirl has given away control of the major areas of her life to someone she adores, that she has been transformed by an act dark sexual magic, into some kind of mere drudge. Useful for nothing more than housework and sex.

What does the Mistress bring to the table? She provides her slavegirl with emotional and physical security, making it possible for the slavegirl to be the person she dreams of being. The Mistress also provides the sure and certain knowledge that someone in the world values her slavegirl above rubies or gold. She gives the slavegirl the benefit of her experience of the world. She gives the slavegirl unending encouragement to achieve anything she dreams of. Though the last two are in the healthiest of D/s relationships, very much a two-way thing.

As a couple they probably do play with pretty leather toys. Yes and the slavegirl probably ends up bound, gagged, bruised and strap-oned a couple of times each week. But equally they will definitely curl up on the couch and watch telly together. Listen to music together. Go to the cinema, their favourite bars and clubs together. They are kinky lovers, but most of all they are each of them a partner to one another.

The thing about D/s couples that work well together is that they are almost always Dominant and submissive equals. Neither the lesser to the other.

I will illustrate with a little information from my own life (this won’t be a constant theme in these posts. But where I can best explain through my own experience I will). I am a Mistress, I think that’s pretty clear by now to everyone who reads my blog. However, most might not realise that I am also a slavegirl. My Mistress is a wonderful older woman, who I simply cannot imagine not submitting to. We are a D/s couple. However we are also extremely good partners. Dominant and submissive equals.

We share the housework. We share caring for our doggy. We look after one another when we feel bad in any way and we always listen to what the other has to say. So what makes us different from vanilla couples? Simply that I have chosen to take my Mistresses direction when it pertains to anything vitally important in our lives.

To give a very relevant example, I am an easily encouraged but very ethical slut. I love women and fall for them, with the same subtle grace as an elephant tumbling off a cliff. Of course this means that I sometimes make really, truly awful errors of judgement. At least where hot, pierced and tattooed bisexual girls are concerned. So long ago my Mistress and I agreed that she would have a veto over my…extra-curricular activities. Not because she is jealous, after all she dates men whenever she wants to and undoubtedly, will have other slaves both male and female again before too long. But this rule came into being because she hates it when my heart is broken.

That makes two of us.

So at the end of this what have we learned? Simply that the D/s partnerships that will last the tests of time, are the ones that are on a slow boil. After all in reality once you’ve experienced it who really wants to spend all day everyday wrapped in latex, that stuff can give you a real killer wedgie and talk about body odour. Yuck.

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