Dominance · in · Pink

Is this thing on?

So much has changed in the *mumble mumble* since I last updated.

I'll write someting up soon, but I wanted to let people know that both myself and the Boy are alive and well. We've just bought a house, have added a third person to our relationship (a male switch) and are happier than ever.

My Boy and I played a game this weekend.  I was going to be out of town from Saturday morning until Sunday evening and so, because I find keeping my Boy on his toes a good thing, I wanted to change things up a bit from our normal routines.

My Boy was allowed to masturbate as often as he liked this weekend.  I had a predetermined number on my head, a limit.  If he stayed below the limit, he would be rewarded, and if he went over that number, he would be punished.  Frankly, as teased and horny as he's been these past two weeks, I expected him to reach double digits. 

As a reward for something totally different, one of the orgasms this weekend did not count.

He orgasmed seven times, with only six of them counting.  The number I chose as his limit was seven.  My Boy stayed below the limit and so, he will be rewarded, with the reward of his choosing, with the privilege of orgasming inside me. 

Although I found the game interesting, I don't think it's one we'll be playing again.  I found the idea of his masturbating at his own whim almost...unnatural.  It seemed odd to think that he'd simply decide to orgasm and then follow through on it.  I'm not sure I liked the idea, in all honesty. 

Overall, I am well-pleased with my Boy.  He did not abuse his privilege as I thought he might and he was most grateful to be back under my control again. 

For some reason, although my sex drive has been rather low, the idea of hurting my Boy has become more appealing.  Not simply pinching or slapping, but actually trying to make him scream or moan in honest-to-God pain.  To that end, I was a bit creative today.

Firstly, please understand that while my Boy is completely content to have his cock and balls tortured, I have, because I do not possess the same plumbing, been somewhat reluctant to truly push him.  I have contented myself with slapping and squeezing his bits, but this morning, for whatever reason, I found myself more aggressive than usual.

Boy was lying on the bed, doing what he does best, which is being cute and slutty at the same time.  It's a very appealing combination, let me tell you.  That being said, for some reason, I wasn't in the mood to indulge his desire to masturbate, so I simply grabbed my newest flogger (a lovely little pink and black leather number) and began to hit him between his spread legs.  The sheet and blanket were pulled up, so I was less afraid to genuinely damage him and, the humiliating patter began to flow rather well.

One of the most intense kinks in my Boy is the overwhelming desire to be controlled.  To have his sexuality utterly controlled, down to the times he's allowed to even touch himself to wash, much less bring himself to orgasm.  There's a "good Boy/bad Boy" dynamic that we play with.  Good Boys are controlled and the bit of flesh between their legs is not allowed to control them.  Bad Boys are not controlled, and they allow baser instincts to control them, touching themselves without regard to appropriateness or the effects it may have on their lives.  It sounds so odd when I write about it, and yet, it's powerfully erotic and exciting for us.

I began to tell Boy that the best way to ensure he was a Good Boy was to beat that erection out of him, to make sure that he realized that the pathetic and useless bit of flesh between his legs was causing him this pain, and that the only way for the pain to stop was to be controlled...a Good Boy. 

I stopped for a few minutes, and then began again, using a slightly more intense bit of banter along the same lines, this time however, making it seems as though he had been referred to me a pseudo-medical treatment.  I was going with a "Victorian doctor" idea, the ones who would treat any bizarre "ailment," usually with an equally bizarre "cure."  With the Boy blindfolded, and restrained, and covered with the blanket, I began striking his cock and balls quickly and rather hard.  Several times, he reared up, and on the next to final strike, he was literally in tears (although I will note his erection was not reduced by the rather copious amounts of pain).  I struck him once more, and then began scene after-care.

I am unsure as to why this is so appealing to me.  I struggle, rather often, with the fact that I am a sadist, and I enjoy hurting my Boy simply to see the expression on his face.  However, the idea of controlling his sex and sexuality is immensely powerful for me, and I enjoyed this morning intensely.  The eroticism of his moaning in pain while I derided him for the pathetic organ that he allowed to control his actions?  Oh God, how delicious.  The added thrill of seeing him writhe in erotic humiliation?  How powerful and arousing.

All in all, a wonderful morning.

But I suppose that it shall work. 

As my darling subboy_2004 noted, I have indeed been cross-dressing him.  After the experience with my ex-husband, I was terribly afraid that I would be utterly squicked by the sight of my boy in a skirt and stockings, but somehow...I am not.  I am not sure if it's that my boy is still signaling "masculine" because he's not changing his voice or his hair, or even attempting to look as anything but a tarted-up male, but the sight of Boy in his skimpy skirt, a tied up white button-down and stockings rather trips my aggressive "fuck him until he screams" trigger.

Oddly enough, cross-dressing used to be a hard limit for me.

Tonight, I was surprised and flattered that Boy took the initiative to not only dress himself up in his whorish outfit, but he also painted his nails and put on his own makeup.  I do think I spoiled his surprise by wandering in on him, but it was pleasing to me to see him taking the initiative.

We've speculated on why it is that he's interested in the forced feminization (even if it's only self-imposed), and I believe it's the need to be smaller and weaker, to be taken advantage of and forced.  He can enjoy himself that way.  There is no more conflict between the masculine self that he shows to society and the submissive bitch he is at home.  I find the dichotomy to be delicious and arousing.  I like fucking him when he's dressed up to rival the cheapest hooker on the boulevard, and he likes getting fucked when he's dressed that way.  He can, by accepting his role as slut, allow himself to completely enjoy the experience.

We have talked about how far this will go, and I am comfortable with our activities.  Besides, *someone* has to wear the skirts around here, and it isn't me.

But there are days when I'm so terribly grateful that I'm in a kink relationship and that I'm on top.

In my mundane LJ, one of the people on my f-list is having a bad night.  Her SO is being a jerk, and bailed out on her after playing WoW all afternoon.

The advice I gave her was to find someone to scream at, preferably a professional.  The advice I would like to give is this:

Grab that ungrateful wretch of a boy.  Throw him over your lap and beat his butt until he screams.  Then, using whatever method you like to keep him still, explain the new rules of the house. 

Rule number one:  WoW is a computer game.  It is not reality, and I will throw your computer out the window the next time you ignore me for a game.  Try me.  Please.

Rule number two:  Yes, your friends are important.  However, if you say that we do not have the gas money to take me anywhere, then when your friends call up needing a ride, the answer is no.  When you entered into a relationship with me, you decided that I come first.  I will never attempt to come between you and your friends, however I am the first relationship priority in your life. 

Rule number three:  Congratulations.  You have decided that I am a low priority for you, so, I have decided to make sure that you are more focused on me.  You will not have an orgasm this week.  You will not jerk off unless I give you permission and you will never orgasm without my consent.  If you would like to push this issue, I have a CB-3000 and a small Masterlock and I will use them on you.  Try me.  Please.

There would, of course, be more rules, but I think this would work for the shock treatment.

I am tired and I hurt, but living with my Boy is better than I'd ever dreamed it could be.  I have, as he has so cheekily noted, been nesting a bit and right now, the sheer scope of the amount of unpacking left to do makes me cringe.

However, the sex has been incredible.  Just to be able to reach out when I am aroused, to be able to touch him, to push him down and take what I want, to grab a Boy and to do whatever strikes my fancy.

I wish that I could say more, that more came to my fingers as I sit in front of the computer, but right now...I am mute from happiness.

I leave for Europe just after Valentine's Day to see my Boy.  Finally.  He should be back from Iraq about three days after I get to Germany, and then, we will have until the middle of March together.  After that, we will fly home to the United States to spend yet more time together.

It will be wonderful.

Wonderful. 

I will blame this on a not-to-be-named boy:

www.sinulatortoys.com

I think that perhaps I need a shower and this toy for my Boy.  Oh, the hours and hours of entertainment it could provide!

What do you get when you have a domme who loves romance novels, a sub with a history fetish and time on his hands, and a shared love of writing?

A kinky romance novel set in post-Roman Britain, with a Pictish heroine.

Excuse me while I go giggle for a while.  My Boy just called and we spent the entire half hour chatting about fictional characters.

Oh dear.

How delicious it is to play with my Boy when he is in a fairly public place and can't do much more than whimper and beg in a whisper.

How delicous it is to hear him squirm.

God how I miss him.

Please, let us get through this last few months, and then...it shall be as it is supposed to be.  We shall be together, and life will be good.

I find myself exhibiting more "domme"-ish behaviors lately. There have been times when my Boy and I are on the phone and I'll say something that would have never crossed my mind three years ago. Something along the lines of this is how our relationhsip is supposed to be, or just rather...dominant. From what I've been able to tell, my Boy rather likes this trend.

Although we are very sexually monogamous, I have had the opportunity to play with another boy. He's a bit younger than I am, and still, I think, figuring out his kinks and how far they truly go. He's a lovely boy, tall and lean, with a delectable ass. There are so many naughty thoughts that run through my mind when I think of him, although I've no idea if any of them will come true, or if they'll freak him out.

I think that I'm a bit more of a sadist than he is a masochist, and I don't know how far his actual submissive tendencies go, and whether it's a physical need as much as an emotional one, or if, when he does finish fighting off his own demons, he'll come to realize that he doesn't need to be topped.

He's a bit hard to read, silent most times, and I must judge what his reactions are by very subtle clues. This is a bit of a struggle sometimes, but I hope that with time and patience, he will learn that verbal cues are extremely effective and that vast enjoyment is gained from talking a bit.

One of these days, I would like for him to write down his fantasies for me, whether they involve me, or another boy, or both or none, and send them to me, to see if I can judge whether or not I should even be playing with him

Ah well...these are, in actuality, things I can do little about.

In other news, we are less than three months away from my Boy's redeployment from Iraq.

I'm very cautiously allowing myself to hope that he will indeed be home for Easter.

There are so many days when I wish that I could crawl into a hole and pull it in after me.  Tonight is one of those times.

I'm supposed to be helping to stabilize a friend who's suicidal.  How the fuck am I supposed to do that when I understand how he feels and think sometimes it's not such a bad idea.

It's funny, but I'm closer to my Boy coming home with every day, but I just want to run away from life.

Tonight, I'm feeling it more than normal. I want to crawl into bed, curl up around my teddy bear and bawl until the ache that has taken up permanent residence in the vicinity of my heart goes away. It won't though, not for a long, long time.

Being lonely is nothing new, honestly. I've been lonely, in one way or another, for most of my life. Either too young, too old, too smart, too weird, too liberal or too conservative. Too out of touch with pop culture, too snobbish with regards to the books I read and the movies I watch. Too oddball a sense of human. Too many things that make me different. I've always been the odd duck, the one with pink feathers when everyone else had blue, and by the time I'd turned my feathers blue, everyone had green. I'm always a step out of time, and some days it hurts.

Normally, I shrug it off. I laugh and say that being alone is my choice. I don't know that it is. I have no friends here. No one that I can call and go hang out with. No one to catch a movie with. No one to go grab a bite with, and no one to just remind me that if I die, someone other than my parents will miss me. My parents would, don't get me wrong. My folks live about three miles from me, and I hang out regularly with my mom, she's just that cool, but it's not quite the same.

I don't make friends easily. I have problems socializing, and no one believes that. I do. The idea of just going out and doing Something To Meet New People makes me want to throw up. The idea of trying to find someone who I can just click with is retarded and seems vaguely pathetic somehow, like no one else ever had to work at friendships.

I'd just like to have something that resembled a social life. You know, where I actually go out and do something (other than go get blitzed at some cheap dive, since that seems to be my co-workers' idea of a good time). Ideally, I'd get to do something my husband, but he's 9000 miles or so away, and the amount of time that we've still left to go seems like an eternity most days.

It's funny when you don't hear any noise in the apartment. I don't really even talk to myself when I'm alone. You can hear the whoosh of the AC unit, and the frantic scrabbling of fingers on the keys, but that's it. Nothing more. No laughter, no debate, nothing. Just quiet, and I think it's suffocating me.

Should not make you think of beating your Boy. It really shouldn't, but I think it's a by-product of not seeing him in so long.

Soon, please God. We should know about his visit in the next several weeks, and then, I will be on pins and needles until the day I pick him up from the airport. Expect a tremedous and horrible crash after he is gone.

Parting from him in August was quite possibly the hardest thing I have ever done in my life, and I did not handle my return to Iraq well. I'm still not handling this separation with anything resembling grace, damn my eyes, but I am getting through.

Each day is another 24 hours gone, another sunset, another sunrise closer to holding my boy in may arms. Each day is one day closer to feeling his skin and his breath and to just reach out and touch him.

One of the things my boy and I talk of, fairly often, is the fact that we are so in love that it would be scary if the other did not feel the same way. I have never understood what prompted Juliet to take her own life after Romeo's suicide, but I do now. I would not do it, but I understand the absolute lack of the desire to breathe after your love is taken from you. My boy is my breath and my heart, and every day I wonder more at his love. He is, quite simply, the most incredible thing in my life, and every morning I wake up terrified that I have dreamed him, dreamed our love and our marriage.

I was thinking about my most precious possessions today. I have realized that my wedding rings and my "belle dame sans merci" ring are my two most precious possessions. Not because of the gold, or the diamonds in them, but because right now, they are my most tangible link to my husband. If I ever doubt that he exists, the weight on my hands will remind me. There are times I stare at my rings, hardly daring to believe they're real, and that I am indeed part of such a magnificent and glorious love.

If I have not said it recently, my sweetest Boy, I love you so very much.

Still trying to avoid thinking about the next year. I know that I will be so busy that I will hardly have time to breathe, but the ache will stil be there.

Oh well. I am waiting on some critiquing on my application materials for a school, and then I should send them all off. I am going to go poke at the person who's supposed to be critting my photgraphs, and see if that yields anything but a broken stick.

My sweetest Boy got some new toys, and oh my. I had forgotten exactly how much fun he is with a vibrator in him. We kept going back and forth, from kinky to the mundane, all the while he had a lovely vibrator buzzing away.

He got very close to orgasm, then I told him to put it all away, and go back into his cage. I'm rather looking forward to talking to him this afternoon. I'd like to see how attentive and desperate he is.

:-)

My Boy mentioned feeling lonely, and I must confess that I am lonely as well.

I am surrounded by people. I live with another person, there are six people in the trailer itself. I am never truly physically alone, but in my heart and my soul I am, constantly.

This place is never silent. If the sound of the people in the next room doesn't bleed through the walls, the sound of the helicopters or the humvees or the small drones that fly overheard creeps into and over and through everthing. The silence is incomplete, even in the middle of the night when the stars hang quiet and cold in the sky and the glow on the horizon is pale and distant.

The inside of my heart is a quiet cavern, though. The small sounds of a life roll around like marbles in a vast bowl, the tiny clicking sounds of contact echoing up the walls in minutes that drag by like days. The sounds climb those walls, peeking over to slip like tears down a sheet of glass, smooth and impermeable, cold.

The glass is clear in some places, where the sun shines though, leaving a warm spot, passion and love and desire and intimacy hot enough to blister the tender flesh beneath it. In other places, it is tainted, stained with an oily rainbow of prickly anger and fear and despair, sins reflecting grey and grim and dreary on the landscape of my heart.

The time that we have spent together is hoarded like a miser's treasure, hidden and safe and precious. Those memories are a great shining heap of moments that glisten and gleam and chatter excitedly to themselves. I hear those whispers in the night if I listen closely enough, if I push away the keeing pain of that cloak of thorns, pulling them from my eyes and ears and fingertips, loosing the strangling hold of the thick heavy strands of hurt and misery.

I still bleed freely from the pricks of the thorns, but the brightness of those moments dries the blood on my body and soul, peeling it away like the cracked and worn skin of a snake. The blindness that infects me is swept away by love and laughter and the knowledge that this pain is endurable, merelyl the light of a fitful candle compared to the blazing glory of the sun.

The fetters that hold my Boy to me bind me as firmly to him as iron and stone and links of forged steel. They are a weight that I would not trade, heavy and solid and anchoring, and yet soft and light enough to allow me to fly, to leap into my dreams and my hopes from the safe place that he is. He draws from me the love and the strenth that I never knew I possessed, and his gives me that which I never knew I needed. He is my reflection, a human image of God, and I am in submission to his gift as much as he is in submission to me. I could not change our relationship upon pain or seperation, nor would I ever want to.

I will get through this. I will put this behind me when it is time to bring my Boy back to my arms, sheltering each other in joy.

But I find that I have little to say. My darling Boy describes our relationship more eloquently than I can, and I find myself stumbling through the darkness trying to describe the light that I'm follwing. It's very difficult, and I find myself frustrated and angry over things that I cannot explain.

There's a sense of rage that flickers in the corner of my heart, one that spreads like an oil slick, polluting and tainting the soul, turning me away from God and towards despair and desolation. In pain, I push away those who would help me stand, turning my back on both the human and Divine.

My Boy worries over me, trying to make me see what he does, and there are days when I pull back even from him, wanting to become numbed and silent, wrapping my misery around me like a cloak of thorns pricking at my skin and my eyes until I can no longer see a looming twilight.

My year in hell is slowly drawing to a close, at a creeping pace that stupefies me and yet, as I look back, it has flown by on a ceaseless desert wind, the seasons turning and turning until once again I am faced with the winter rains. The rains are both a welcome sight and a terrifying one, for as I leave the cold mud, my Boy arrives here.

We have, by my count, spent four weeks together out of the last 64. By the time his rotation here ends, it will be six weeks out of 116 or so.

There is never a day that I ask if this is worth it, worth the pain and the distance, worth the heartache and the tears. There is never a day that I doubt the strength of our love, and the fact that we will see this through.

My Boy is my knight. He moves towards the line as the sound of battle draws near, and were it not so, I would not love him so much, for he would not have the strength that I need so desperately.

No, his is not the only type of strength out there, but for me, it is the one that draws me in and shows me a safe place. Seeing his strength, I take comfort and he holds me up when my legs are weak and my heart is broken. My nightmares are chased into the light by his love and for that, I can never repay him, his sword shines so brightly that the darkest corners of my being are lit by his passion and love and strength.

He is my greatest blessing, and my other half. I will live as half a person until we are together again, my heart is in his keeping. He carries my heart, my soul and my prayers as a favor, keeping them safe until he can return them to me.

I am looking forward to returning home, but my heart is heavy as well. I have been here for almost a year. I have gone through things I never wanted to see, and I will come out on the other side, stained and bloody, but still walking. I will pull myself up and keep moving because my Boy deserved nothing less and I will make myself whole and straight once again, to care for my knight when he returns to me, battle-weary and heart-sore.

We will heal each other.

As subboy_2004 mentioned, I've been writing little bits of erotica for him, as we're not able to talk on the phone, and I've had some free time, with access to a keyboard. Evidently, it's rather frustrating for him, but he's begging for more, so I'll make the assumption that he likes it.

For your amusement, and perhaps a bit of critique, I'll put some of it behind a cut, and you can look, or not. The following themes are addressed, in case any of the are your squick point: schoolboy, corporal punishment, incest. There are probably a few I've missed, but that's a small warning at least.

subboy_2004, I've written this explicitly for you, so if you're uncomfortable having it up, please let me know, and we'll discuss it.

( She's going to ask for some tips to control unruly little brothers... )

Well, that's part of what I've written. Depending on how this is received and how much more I get written, I may post some more, or I may tell subboy_2004 to post it.