My Favorite Mistake

I saw you today, saw you for the first time in months.

You called me, hurting, and even curled in someone else's arms I don't know how not to answer you, how not to soothe you. I know my voice is sharp sometimes when you are hurting but it is fear for you that sharpens it, and not anger.

And today, today I saw you again, your shortened hair making your face seem masculine but your smile a thing of beauty. We danced around it for over an hour, you made me food and we sat around on the couch chatting until you finally created the excuse to go upstairs and asked directly, "Do you want to cuddle?"

I was going to say, "No." I knew I should say no.

I knew I shouldn't wrap my arms around you and fill my lungs with your spicy-sweet scent, shouldn't tempt both of us, shouldn't risk hurting either of us.

I opened my mouth to say, "No."

"Yes," I said, instead.

Yes.

ShitfuckGoddesshelpmeIstillwantyoufuckfuckfuckyou'renotmineanymorepleasegivemestrength.

Yes.

My body wrapped around yours, your warm breath against my skin, the bittersweet familiarity of your body pressed against mine, the soft needing kisses to my chest and shoulders, fuck it's hard.

No one else balances me so well, complements me so well, knows my masculinity and expresses their own feminity so perfectly.

No one else offers the same perfect acceptance of my own gender and dynamic fluidity as yours.

I love the boys in my life. All of them, more than they will ever know.

But this, this thing with you, it's different and it clicks into place in my heart and it fits so perfectly that it hurts and my eyes are filling with tears even as I'm kissing you back, my hands moving to you wrists, your too-short hair, your throat, curving around your waist until only the stinging of the tears in my eyes brings me back to myself.

It was a mistake to come see you, but one I couldn't have not made.

But when you go all I know is you're my favorite mistake...

-Sheryl Crow

Shiny

You are so new, so eager, bright-shiny-kitten face and wide wide eyes, and your every touch, your every look, your every request is for more, more and yet more.

Delightfully wanting little slut.

We've chatted this afternoon, through text message, and your wanting is shouted in every message, "hurt me! use me! please...." and oh yes I want to, oh yes I want to hurt you, to take and break you and leave you curled up and bleeding while you look up at me with big scared eyes and soft, soft lips and those lovely little tears leaking down your cheeks.

Weekend Highlights

This weekend, I was privileged to have 3 scenes with 3 absolutely gorgeous boys and 1 demo topping experience with the SouthEast Bootblack 2009. One at the play party for the local FemDom group, and the rest at the TNG play party, Whippersnappers.

I am not sure that I'm up for writing all four scenes, so I will give you a few highlights until (unless?) I write each scene properly.

Friday night, Omega:

Stretched in the tower, I explained to him that, "Everything has a price," and extracted mine for turning the space heater on his deliciously vulnerable body before introducing him to each implement in my toybag. His groans, moans, and whimpers were delicious, particularly the huskiness of his voice as we cuddled together afterwards with his large body wrapped around my small (and much warmer!) one.

Saturday night, Demo:

I knew only that our demo bootblack for the weekend was staying with me, and that we had met briefly at a few conventions. Shortly, however, we'd become fast friends, and she chose my (leather) outfit for the evening: stilettos, leather pants, and a leather overbust corset. I could barely stand in the heels, but it was worthwhile as our lovely demonsstrator's small hands ran slowly (and quite thoroughly) over every inch of my leather clothing, oiling them for me before an audience... after deep-throating my stilettos.

Saturday night, Diablo:

I've rediscovered my fondness for spreader bars, spreading lovely Diablo wide and vulnerable. A simple scarf wrapped around his eyes as I take one of my favorite canes to his pretty little ass and thighs, over and over. His little sounds, the whimpering tone to his voice, are beautiful as I steadily work him up, then bring him down before repeating the process over and over again. His lovely, lithe body wrapped around me afterwards as he asks with nervous features if I'm pleased.

Oh yes, darling. Very.

Saturday night, Shiny

We met at the munch, a week before, and I received an extremely sweet email from him via Fetlife. I hadn't expected to have the time or energy to play again, but I did and was privileged with his first scene at our local club. His frantic blushes as he undressed were a delicious appetizer to adorable little whimpering sounds with every blow of hand or toy and beautiful shivers at every touch of nails or teeth until finally I had to wind down due to both time and a concern for his level of bruising the next day. Hopefully, however, there will be more opportunities...

Domme Chronicles

This. Yes. Ex-fucking-actly.

Date Night with Jack

We have just watched, "Hitman," for the first time, and my blood is simmering with the desire to do naughty things to the dangerous ingénue of the movie.

Jack, however, is here, and warm, and my fingers begin to flex in anticipation of wrapping them around his body.

Soon, we are kissing and my body is wrapped around his until I have pressed him onto his back and my body holds his down. His breathing is quick, my beautiful partner is not normally very submissive, but he enjoys it when I sometimes take charge.

It isn't long before I have stripped his shirt from his skin, exposing the smooth expanse of his chest, and dragged his jeans to his ankles, leaving them there as an impromptu hobble. I love seeing him like this, vulnerable and aroused and so incredibly desirable.

I take my time in teasing him: nibbles to his ears, his neck. Sharp nips to his nipples, his lips, while he gasps, moans, twists beneath me.

My shirt is gone, my bra shortly after, and I drag my breasts over his lightly heaving chest, down the flat planes of his stomach and over the swelling arousal at his groin.

His hips shift upward, a silent plea, but I continue to take my time, lingering with lips and tongue at the juncture of hip and groin while he groans and whimpers a little, rubbing my cheek cat-like against his warm cock.

This is my partner, my lover, and the only person for whom I do this, the only person whose cock I will slowly envelope with my mouth, slowly wrap my lips around and stroke with long, slow laps of my tongue. He is the only one for whom I will press myself to my limit, taking him into my mouth and my throat until my lips touch his groin and my lightly spasming throat strokes the head of his cock.

With others, I will play, I will tease, I will tempt you with what you can't have, but only to Jack will I give all of myself, and I do tonight.

Tonight, I stroke him with lips, teeth, and tongue, pressing his hands into the bed and forcing him still while I suck him, stroke him, tease him to the brink and then back off.

Shortly he is writhing beneath me while I hold him down with my will at least as much as my hands, eventually settling into an slow rhythm that drags him ever so slowly toward the brink until he is shuddering like a fly-stung horse as I slowly, inexorably, drag him over the brink until he spasms inside of me, filling me, and my hands gentle around his wrists while I swallow him inside of me.

Kinky Prom Update

For my local friends:

Kinky Prom has the fun of Frolicon, the energy of Whippersnappers and the indulgence of SELF! Want to go for less? For 48 hrs beginning 12:00 AM on January 13th (that's today, folks!) until 11:59 PM on January 14th save 25% off the price of a Prom ticket! To get your savings now go to the Ticket link on the page to use this code C710CBac7 to purchase your Kinky Prom tickets for 25% less. This is a charity FUNd raising event. All funds raised will be split evenly between SouthEast LeatherFest's two 2010 charities.

Hurry! You only have 48 hours to take advantage of the code. It starts tomorrow night at midnight. We can’t WAIT to see you at Kinky Prom on February 6th at 8pm in Atlanta GA!

The First Law is not to obey

Have you ever read the Anne Bishop, "The Realms of the Blood" books?

If you're a dominant woman, or a submissive man, then I suggest that you do.

You see, maybe you're different from me, dear reader. But that's what I want.

I want a submissive who understands what this passage means:

"The first law is not to obey. The first law is to honor, cherish, and protect. The second law is to serve, and the third law is to obey."
"What if the third interferes with the first two?"
"Then you throw it out the window"
-Lucivar to Daemon, "Queen of the Darkness," by Anne Bishop

I want a submissive who understands that sometimes service means saying, "I respectfully refuse to let you push yourself too hard/make yourself sick/do something stupid."

There's a wonderful line in one of the "Realms of the Blood," books, which I will paraphrase rather than looking up:

"The Queens protect us. That's why sometimes we have to protect them- especially from themselves."

What I want- and what I need- is someone who can understand what that line means.

Wool socks HNT

Actaeon introduced me to the wonder of wool socks, and these are easily my favorite pair... I need more!

Panty Boy

You called yourself a panty-boy in one of our first emails, one of the first times we flirted and exchanged naughty thoughts.

The idea titillated me- your wide shoulders, height, and overall presence is so hegemonically masculine that delicate womens' panties on you seemed delightfully incongruous.

And yet... when I first saw them on you, white with pink accents as rope was wrapped around your body and you began to fly, they seemed right, natural.

It makes me smile now, as we chat, thinking of you in the pretty panties you just showed me, and want to take you shopping.

I want to walk with you through the lingerie sections of those expensive stores while the saleswomen sniff and look down their noses at everyone, running my fingers over the various scraps of satin, silk, and lace. I want you to follow on my heels like a good boy, for all the world like a heteronormative boyfriend being dragged on a shopping trip by his petite little girlfriend. I want to hold up the scraps of silk and lace, the cute little thongs, the brightly colored boy shorts, the soft bikinis up to you, asking your opinion while you blush and smile.

Then I want to choose the pairs we both like, in sizes clearly too large for my tiny frame, and watch you blush as the saleswoman stammers and opens a dressing room with hands that shake with either jealousy or fury.

The stuff you don't care about but I'm gonna post anyway :-p

Most of you lovely readers don't know me in the real world, and only visit when I've something new and naughty to say, but you're going to get a dose of my real life anyway, because it's my blog and I can whine if I want to!

This past week has been... hard. After the lovely NYE party hosted by some of my favorite people, I spent Saturday getting a few things done, and ended up treating myself to Chinese.

Bad idea.

Perhaps the fact that it was dead on a Saturday evening should have told me something, but alas and alack, dear readers, your writer is a bit dense.

Then the poor service should have been a tip-off, but by this time I was hungry, and ordered anyway.

Truly, a mistake of epic proportions.

Now, it would have been bad enough had it been good Chinese food, but to get severe food poisoning and a bacterial infection from bad Chinese is just insult on top of injury!

So, my dears, I have been out of commission for 4 days now, the first 3 of which were spent- ahem- purging my digestive system, and the last 1-2 of which I have spent on a careful BRAT diet (Bananas Rice Applesauce & Toast) to rebuild my abused digestive system.

That said, I must commend my amazing doctor: he saw me Monday morning within 30 minutes of my initial phone call, immediately prescribed me antibiotics and an anti-emetic with a detailed explanation of each one (and a warning about the price on the antibiotic), and gave me a hug as we left. I adore my doctor!

So now, dear readers, your favorite blogger is still laid up in bed at her partner's orders and is reading porn rather than creating it. Le sigh. Ah well, soon enough, my friends :)

Fucking you

I'm going to fuck you, boy.

I'm going to take you and open you with spreaders, force those beautiful legs wide and open for me, and press your face into the floor. I'm going to bind your wrists behind your back- your hands so much larger than my small ones, they envelope mine when free but they will not be.

Perhaps I will attach your collar to your cock and balls, let your every whimpery, jerky movement stretch you, strain you, until you cannot decide if you want me to keep going or to stop....

Perhaps I will leave your head free, force you to look over your shoulder at me as I fuck you....

Yes, I like this. I want you to look at me as I lean over you- I am so small in comparison to you, and yet here you are, bound and helpless as my small fingers open you, probe your puckered little ass while you sigh and whimper before me, eyes wide and nervous as you strain to watch me over your shoulder.

I love the nervousness as much as the arousal, the fear as much as the need, and despite the tenderness of my fingers as work their way slowly into you, my eyes hold a delighted violence.

Your small gasp is music, the way that your body clamps down on me, holds me, draws me, the warmth of your lovely little ass as it wraps around my fingers.

I know this game, this ritual, staying still until you adjust, working you with my fingers until you are ready for more, until I am able to rear over you, spread you wide with my fingers and slowly press myself into you.

You are so beautiful like this! Spread wide and slutty, moaning a little and pressing back into me, the length of my cock disappearing into you slowly while you watch me with glazed blue eyes and parted lips.

It takes an act of tremendous self-will not to fall on you like a ravening beast, fucking you from the outset with all of the desire pent up in my body, but I force myself to hold the line, to work myself into you slowly, to avoid damaging you this time, this first time, until your heated body is ready for me and I am moving freely inside you while you moan beneath me, your hips seeking mine with every thrust which gradually increases in pressure and speed.

I love this, love the way that you need what I give to you as much as I need to give it, love the way that you move for me, whimper for me, give your body to me.

I love this, love fucking you, love the movement of my hips and the angle of your body, love the way your lips half-part as you gasp and fuck your way backwards onto me.

This...... this is what I want from you, this surrender, this opening and giving, until finally my body is tightening and I am moving in you faster, harder, while you grunt and groan beneath me and my hands are wrapped around your hips and my voice is hoarse in your ear, "More, boy, take more for me," and you are trying to answer me, trying to form words but I know this place in you and it is beyond words so I hold you there, beyond words, for as long as I can before we both come down slowly, quietly, wrapped around and within one another with my lips to your ear, tender: "Good boy".

Vignettes from NYE

• Watching a beautiful man rig gorgeous, mostly-naked women until they spin like multi-hued tops of red and gold hair and creamy skin while

• Snuggling on the couch in the lap of a lovely man who is playing with my mostly exposed breasts as a beautiful woman wraps herself around me and moans at the sensation of my fist clenched in her, long, silky hair.

• The sweating face of the same beautiful man, pressed into my thighs as he is paddled over and over by a group of women, tears springing to his lovely eyes as he presses his face into my bare skin, sucking in air noisily through parted lips.

• Warm hands running along my legs beneath the sarong, fingertips brushing my thighs and wrapping around my calves, cupping my buttocks and running warm palms along my skin.

• Much, much later, as the sun begins to creep along the horizon, the beautiful man and I curl exhaustedly into bed. I am expecting a little snuggling, a little groping, then an exhausted slumber, but I have underestimated my companion's stamina and soon we are kissing, groping and wrapped around one another. My hand is in his hair, on his throat and his hands are on my breasts, around my waist and opening my legs. His cock is pressed against me, thick and hard and throbbing and I crave the taste of it, the warmth of his lips against my wet cunt but I know that those things are not for me tonight. Instead I whisper in his ear, telling him what a little whore he is for me- that it isn't his cock in my cunt that he wants, but my fist in his ass. He is panting and whimpering in my ear, begging for the taste of my arousal on his lips until I take my liberally soaked fingers and paint them across his parted lips, rubbing my heated body against his.

• Later that morning, as the sun peeks through the windows like a voyeuristic eye, I wake snuggled between my pretty man and a beautiful woman whose name I don't even know. I don't remember how it happened to be honest, I don't remember the flirting, the giggling, the making out as I was still in an exhausted, sensitized haze. What I remember is the touch of her fingers on my skin, the stroke of her lips against my heated cunt, the taste of her lips against mine, painted with cum. What I remember are her hands, cocoa against the cream of my thighs and the smug grin on her face as I writhed beneath her expert touch. What I remember is the sight of her straddling my chest, the taste of her nipples and the texture of her cunt as I stroked her to orgasm for the 3rd or 4th time.

The hugs goodbye later, the gratuitous groping, and nap snuggled between two extremely attractive men....

It was a lovely, lovely New Years Eve and New Years Day

Word-picture

Your ass, raised up from the bed, your knees wide beneath you- everything about you a single curved form of slutty desire.

Your buttocks like twin curved moons, awaiting my hands, awaiting my fingers spreading you wide and opening you, invading you, taking you.

Your back arching, opening, accepting while your pretty little mouth, invisible with your face pressed into the coverlet makes soft whimpering sounds of desire. I can smell the arousal on you, the need, and I want to cover you like a stud covering a mare in season.

I love you like this, love you open and needing and slutty for me, love the indentions of my hands on your buttocks as I spread you wide in preparation.

Scenting our prey

He is apprehensive but aroused. I can smell the curiosity on him, the desire wafting from his skin and mingling with the lightly acid scent of his nervousness.

The predator in the back of my mind wakes: yawning and stretching, her claws flexing. She has been napping since the loss of Actaeon, only waking briefly when I play with Diablo. But now she is padding along the hallway of my mind, moving steadily forward until she looks out through my eyes and fills my senses.

Suddenly, everything is sharper. I can smell the perfumes of every woman in the room and how the clash with the shampoos, the colognes of every man and which ones are compatible with their deodorant.

Every color is brighter, and the individual hairs on his exposed chest are suddenly fascinating. I want to straddle him and pluck each one while he squirms and whines.

My clothing is confining, rough, and I want to strip and rub myself against him to disguise my predator's scent with his of prey.

She, the predator, looks out through my eyes and scents him. We look at him and watch the fascination grow in his face. He knows he is prey now, knows the predator has his scent. I watch him realize it, accept it- and want it.

His hug to me is brief, but tight, intense, and I can feel the desire in him- taste the scent of it, rolling it on my palate like a fine wine.

Soon, there will be a meal to accompany it.

Memories

I remember the last time that I bottomed to him.

Such a silly phrase: "bottomed to him."

I remember the last time that he pinned me down and I bared my soul to him.

I remember the last time that I cried in his arms.

Oh he was so worried as he left! Knowing that I was just post-catharsis and fragile and he was already so late, so late!

I remember his face as a study of love and worry for me, and his eyes- jade light when he is happy- forest green with concern.

But it was that concern that promised that I would be okay.

It was that concern, that knowledge- gut-deep- that he loved me, that made me certain that I would be okay when he left.

I remember kissing him and promising to call if I need him, but that I was okay.

I remember that his lips still tasted salty from my tears.

Winter Solstice

Tomorrow is the Winter Solstice, and tonight is my 2nd Annual Winter Solstice Party.

Tomorrow, after I clean up my house, I will set the table with pretty linens and delicate plates, and I will make myself a pot of tea, a plate of scones, a sandwich, and some cookies, and I will drink the tea from one of my Nana's teacups.

You see, tomorrow is a Monday, and for some reason tea rooms don't like to be open on Mondays.

I'm getting ahead of myself.

Winter Solstice is the longest night of the year, and the shortest day. It's the official beginning of Winter, and a time for introspection and planning for the new year. Winter is the dark time, the hibernating time, and it's in the winter that the stories were passed down to the next generations as oral histories.

The stories.

The stories are important.

Once, there was a little girl. Her mother was gone and her father was a gypsy, so she lived with her grandmother in a big, big house where the two of them rattled around like two peas in a big, big pod.

The house was full of secrets and mysteries, but it was also a happy a place, the most stable place the little girl ever lived, and she never, ever doubted when she lived there that her Nana loved her.

Her Nana was a little old lady with pale, pale skin and silvery hair, and a curved back that nevertheless always gave the impression of being martially straight. She was a very little old lady, but everyone obeyed her and called her, 'The Little General-" everyone except the little girl, who climbed in her lap even once she was much too big to do so, and called her Nana, or Gran.

The little girl was a tomboy, and didn't like girly things. She didn't want to sit still, or dress up for dinners,and she definitely didn't want to learn to take tea. But her Nana insisted, and made her hot chocolate instead, so they sat at the long, long table in the big, big house, and her Nana set it with pretty, delicate plates and let her pick out a teacup from her special collection of teacups. The little girl fidgeted, and whined, but she loved her Nana so she sat at the long, long table in the big, big house, and she drank hot chocolate like a little lady, and learned to eat cookies without making a mess.

When the little girl was much older, and not nearly as little anymore, she was taken away from her Nana and sent somewhere else.

She never forgot her Nana, but she was angry and hurting and young and selfish and was never as close to her Nana after that.

As such things happen, for her Nana was quite old when the little girl lived with her, one day her Nana slipped into the warm Darkness, and the girl (who was not very little anymore) grieved for a very long time.

The very next Winter Solstice, she decided to go and have tea at a local tea room, in honor of her Nana.

She sat in the beautiful room, sipped real tea this time! from a pretty, delicate tea cup very much like her Nana's, and nibbled scones and cookies and sandwiches without making a mess. And if there were tears in her eyes, well, there was a smile on her lips as she remembered the little old lady and the long, long table in the big, big house.

And she's been doing it ever since.

KISS

The knife is at his throat.

It's a pretty knife. Actaeon gave it to me. Columbia River Knife and Tool, KISS blade.

KISS is an acronym. It stands for, "Keep it simple, stupid," and this knife is designed to those standards. I like it.

A lot. Actaeon carried it every day before giving it to me, replacing the one Wolf had given me.

He takes good care of his toys- it has a nice, sharp edge, which I am currently holding to Diablo's throat.

Oh he's so pretty like this! His eyes are huge and terrified, welling with silent tears. He's afraid of knives, did I mention that?

KISS

Did you know that it only takes one pound of pressure to cut skin, boy?

No, Ma'am, he whimpers. I didn't know that.

So articulate! Clearly, I'm not doing my job.

I shift my hold on the blade, a movement USB taught me, so that the tip of the blade- sharpest point of a knife- is pressed tightly under his chin and he keens in terror.

It would be so easy to shove it home, sheathe the hard steel in his warm, yielding throat.

Nope, no Freudian thoughts there.

KISS

Holding the blade steady, thinking hard about the consequences of shoving the blade home, putting the leash back on my psychopathic side.

Just the knife, just the boy.

KISS

His eyes are filling with tears again, which he stubbornly blinks away. He won't cry in front of me, not yet.

I can have his blood, but not his tears.

We'll fix that soon enough....

DomCon HNT

I love this shot... Shoes courtesy of Joe the Shoe Guy and shot by Wicked Kitten Productions

The Whys and Wherefores

"Do you know why I'm doing this?" I ask him.

His eyes are huge, brilliant green, and locked onto my face as she shakes his head a little, whispering hoarsely, "No, Mistress."

I smile. He cringes when I smile like this. He hasn't known me long,but he already cringes when I smile at him tenderly.

He's a fast learner, my little Diablo.

But he hasn't learned this quite yet. He is accustomed to photo shoots, pretty lights and photogenic welts.

I'm not photogenic- I tried modeling once, but I hated every moment of it. I don't care what I look like when I'm hitting you. I just want to see the fear in your eyes.

But the fear is already there crinkling the skin around his eyes, so I decide to be nice and explain it to him.

I lift the little evil stick- a replacement for the one I bought last year at SouthEast LeatherFest which mysteriously disappeared after using it on someone who hated it- and his eyes widen even more. It's interesting, I didn't know he could manage that- it's rather amusing, so I tap him lightly on the nose with it, enjoying his cringing.

"I'm doing it because I want to, boy."

Another tap, another flinch.

"I'm hurting you because I think it's fun."

The next tap is to his balls, drawn up tight in arousal, and he keens a little in terror.

"I'm going to do awful things to you because I like the way your eyes get all wide and scared.

Another tap, another keening sound.

"I don't have a camera. I don't care what this looks like for the website or for any other fucking reason."

A harder tap, a high-pitched keen.

"I'm doing this because I'm just a little bit of a sociopath, and you're the stupid little whore who let me tie him up and hurt him."

His eyes are beautiful- wide and terrified and just beginning to understand....

Missing him

I am having trouble tonight.

Trouble accepting that he is gone, trouble knowing that he is not in my arms tonight and will not be again.

It is a day for regrets: foggy and bleak, everything edged with a grey soft focus lens.

In the store today, I accidentally sprayed myself with the cologne that the man who raped me wore.

I wanted to call him, wanted to whimper in remembered agony and hear him soothe me.

I saw makeup today, lovely bronzed earth tones to suit his golden skin and I wanted to buy them, wanted to paint him like the beautiful whore that he is....... only not for me, not anymore.

Most days, I understand that what we have chosen is right for both of us. Most days, I love him and accept his choices with reasonable grace.

But today I don't want to. Today I woke up afraid and hurting and missing him with a fierce aching sense of loss that nothing assuages.

Today, I miss him.

First Kiss

Diablo is wrapped around me, his long, lean body intertwined with mine. I can feel the tension in him, the sense of difference that it is a female form he is curled with, the unfamiliar curve of hip and weight of breast against his skin, and it makes me smile.

Turning my head against the weight of him, I find him watching me, watching for this opportunity to kiss me lightly, fleetingly, almost reservedly. It is a pleasure to return this kiss, to enjoy his firm-soft lips, somewhere between those of a man and a woman. His small tremors of response move me, draw me, until we are lying entwined with the warm weight of him half-atop me and his hands cradling my face as he explores my mouth slowly, learns the differences in my responses from those he is accustomed to, feels the way my fingers clench and draw him closer.

I am the first girl he has ever enjoyed kissing.

Switching with Actaeon

Actaeon has cut his hair. It leaves his cheekbones higher, more exposed, his lips (even) fuller, and the planes of his face are harsher and more masculine. He looks…. aggressive. But that makes me uncomfortable, so I tell him that he resembles a young hedgehog and feel my heart contract at his expression of distress.

There is a difference even in his walk- no longer the feminine sway of his hips to which I am so accustomed (and so enjoy watching!) but a more assertive tread of boots now.I don’t know how to respond to this person I know but do not know, this masculine side of himself to whom I’ve never been formally introduced: “Hello, who are you? I have shared my body, my heart, with you, but I don’t know you.”

I know I am being cruel, know that my small, cutting remarks are out of line, but I can’t help it. I’m disconcerted, frightened by the replacement of the boi I’ve loved with this young man I’ve only ever seen glimpses of.…. and fear as always made me angry.

It is later, and I have apologized. Seeing glimpses of the boi I love in this man I barely know has helped until I’ve begun to slowly integrate them in my head, in my heart, and let me see this man as simply another facet of the boi I love.

We are kissing, and even that is different. This is not the gentle yielding of his mouth to mine but something harsher, more aggressive. His tongue fences with mine, where before it yielded, his lips demand where before they begged. I don’t know this stranger who is kissing me with the familiarity of a lover, and it makes me tense, afraid. Who are you? Why are you pressing your body to mine as though you are my lover, as though I know you, and why do I have the unaccountable urge to yield to it?

And suddenly it clicks.

His need to express this newfound masculinity aggressively, our long-ago discussions of him as a switch, and my own trust in him. It crystallizes in a single memory of him holding me, rocking me, whispering words of comfort when I was afraid and overwhelmed, and abruptly the switch is thrown.

I know this man, he is another facet of the boi whom I love. I trust this man, who has proven that he can comfort me and still believe in me afterward, and he is worthy of this, this yielding in me which I do not give to anyone.

My body goes soft, pliant in his hands, and my mouth opens to his. There is a single startled moment as his mind registers the change in me before his hands respond- tightening their grip with a low growl, winding in my hair, his body pressing me farther into the bed and his hips opening my now-willing legs.

And I let myself sink into the trust, the surrender, which I so rarely allow myself, so rarely trust in another being as he relearns what this victory feels like with someone capable of fighting.

DomCon HNT

Outfit (and yes, as far as I'm concerned, this is half-naked!) by Marvelous Mayhem and photo courtesy of Wicked Kitten Productions

FetLife's Kinky Santa Giveaway- enter to win!

DomCon HNT

The next several HNTs will be from DomCon 2009, taken by the amazing mistress of Wicked Kitten Productions.

This particular one is of Actaeon, actually! (He does better in heels than I ever will!)