This week I’ve been painting the living room, but it does tend to cover your clothes, unless you take precautions…
See who else has been splashing stuff on the surfaces by clicking on the link below.
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Thoughts of you flow in rivers from my mind when I find myself in the shower. The slip of soap, the warm fingers of water shooing it away. The bubbling glass doors that tease the outside viewer.
Would I be pegged from behind, or maybe milked in a reach around by you? Maybe the force of being pushed up against the glass will create a sort-of ruined orgasm by frottage. I imagine your forearm across my shoulders and neck, you using your other arm to leverage yourself against me. As I get aroused by the force of your dominance, the position of my body in subservience to you, I can feel you up against me, naked, wet and shaking, your erect nipples dig into my back like thumbs.
But the glass is no longer a shower, it is the window to a hotel balcony, late at night. Below us the city traffic streams in iridescent snakes, under the golden glow of the urban nightscape. We can watch below, safe in the anonymity of the darkened room.
And now I feel you fully, as your outstretched arm finds its way between your legs, pumping your cunt with practised fingers as you grind against me. As your breath quickens, you keep up a steady stream of orders: “Take it, fucktoy, c’mon. Who owns you? You’ll come when I say you can and not before, we’re going to ruin that pretty little orgasm all over the glass and I’ll make you lick it off as I wank my clit…”
You bark an orgasm, rhythmic. Thrusts. Jolt. Through. Me. As you grasp and twist the climax from deep inside, croaking “come, now, Darling”. The change of tone and cracking vulnerability push my edging cock past the point of no return and I let you hold me tight against the cool, wobbling glass as the white streaks seep around the edges of my belly.
You’re sat cross-legged in the chair watching me prepare myself for today’s session. Your instructions were clear, but you wanted to be sure I would follow them closely. Having showered and cleaned up thoroughly, my balls freshly shaved and my anus douched with water, there seems little doubt as to the focus of today. But I am taking nothing for granted, as I stand naked before you, fastening my collar with due reverence, and attaching the leather cuffs to ankles and wrists under your silent gaze.
And now you are before me, nearly a whole foot shorter but your calm presence radiates control. My knees buckle a bit, but you catch me by the elbow, and I’m suddenly light as air. Short/tall, clothed/naked, D/s. We might seem in opposition, but we are simply two sides of the same coin. Your hands slide to my wrists and you raise them to place a kiss on the back of each fist, before clicking the catch that now binds them in front of me. Still holding my hands, like a couple pledging oaths at a wedding, you say to me:
“Trust is hard earned and easily broken, Little One. Yours is precious to me, but I will be testing you today. The flip side to trust is faith. Faith that I will never harm you. Do you have that faith, my precious boy?”
I am looking directly into your eyes, suddenly struck by their blueness. This causes me to pause and miss a beat – I see the flicker of a signal in your face. Does he believe? You seem to be asking. I blurt out, stumbling over my words:
“Yes, Miss, my faith is never, I, yes, Miss…”
My inarticulate pledge is enough, it seems, as you lead me to the bed. Patting it like you would for a dog, you say:
“Up here, good boy. All fours please”.
I amble into position, encumbered by my tied wrists.
“Wider, please” you say, tapping my ankles with two fingers. And I realise this position is going to tip me over, which seems to be part of the plan. I fall onto my forearms like a planking position as I slide my feet wider. I flinch slightly at the feel of cold steel, as you fix the spreader bar; you take this for nerves and begin to stroke my raised ass along its flank, as you would a spooked horse.
“It’s okay, Little One. This is what faith feels like.”
You push my knees in slightly, opening me up, a cold draft upon my vulnerable points of entry. By forcing my head down, there is no chance to see what you have planned. I have to take on trust what is coming, and show good faith by not recoiling, but feeling a part of your intentions.
One of the more popular misconceptions about male subs is they are somehow weaklings or emasculated incapables who swoon at the sight of danger, even by those who supposedly understand the world of kink. The fact that someone gets off on submitting control under consensual conditions of trust, in order to achieve personal and sexual gratification, doesn’t seem, to me, to have any bearing on personal bravery. At least not any more than the desire to look after one’s children would.
So under these misconceptions, it may surprise some people that, until recently, I have practised karate for many years, with some gaps in between. Karate is, after all, Budō – fighting art. Punches, kicks, strikes and blocks are designed to cause pain and physically immobilise. As someone who, as it happens, is a non-confrontational person by nature, what is it that attracts me to it and is there any kink crossover? To which the answer is ‘possibly because of kink crossover’ and ‘yes’.
So the first thing to say about karate, and all martial arts, is it takes place within an environment of consent. Anything that happens in the Dōjō is done in a spirit of honest competition; no one is deliberately hurt. It is not just a room, but a state of mind. In the Dōjō there is no swearing, no disrespect, no talking out of turn. It is the place of the Sensei, and we begin each session by a complete prostrate bow to him/her, with the spoken phrase “Sensei ni rei” (‘bow to Sensei’). (I am working on the assumption you have all seen enough martial arts movies to know that Sensei means ‘teacher’ in Japanese.) The most common phrase you will hear repeatedly muttered in the Dōjō is “oss”. It has multiple meanings in Japanese, from “I see” to “please” or “with your permission” and is uttered as a ‘mirroring phrase’ to show you have understood, that you agree and that you thank Sensei for showing you something.
It’s fairly well known that karate literally means ‘empty hand’ (or, sometimes, ‘open hand’), referring to the fact it is unarmed. The use of the body as a tool has an amazing effect upon the student; for someone who has lived with body-image issues, I can attest that the self-confidence and stature gained from karate lessons is remarkable. But what keeps me coming back – and I know I will be back at some point in the future – is the fact it is learning about yourself and learning about control. The whole system of belts shows that constant learning is built into it. Constant improvement also means adapting to the way your body changes over time. The commitment to personal development means putting yourself willingly in the hands of an expert to learn new techniques of body and mind control, and trusting them not to hurt you.
A less well-known phrase is the adage that ‘there is no opening move in karate’. Strictly speaking, karate is self-defence; if two practitioners meet, there should be no fighting, because you only act in response to the other. We willingly suspend this, in order to learn and compete, but that mindset of responsive techniques, adjusting to react to someone, understanding how you can use the movement of the opponent against them gives you wonderful flexibility and mental agility, as well as the correct attitude. Mental training, correct attitude, use of mantras, phrases and ritualised chants, an environment of consent and respect, and deference to the teacher. I’m sure you are already making the connection…
Taking up karate because you like fighting, is like taking up D/s because you like pain. Yes, there are large parts you will find rewarding, exciting and stimulating, but there are also whole chunks and chapters you are missing out on. And chances are you will end up hurting yourself and others in the process unless you understand the meaning of the acts and the importance of respect and control.
It seems hard to believe that everything in the universe – earth, moon and stars, Dinosaurs, electromagnetism and Celebrity Big Brother – all once fitted into a space the size of a sugarcube.
Space and time, the celestial Siamese Twins, two sides of the same coin: you wake, I sleep, I wake, you sleep. When distances, and the time it takes to get there, both exploded out of God’s own crucible it was a cruel process he set in place.
The selfishness of wanting, and not wanting to disappoint, leads us both to stay awake and fray at the edges.
We can both see the same traces of that seven-second binge of creation, written across the same night’s sky as if to make us feel even smaller. Are we small or just far away?
They say it’s a small world. How I wish it were.
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