Posts tagged Submission

Posted 1 year ago
rolledtrousers:
Thousand Yard Stare
I rarely feel as powerless as when you undress. Each piece of clothing tumbles from your body with all the urgency of an avalanche, and I just watch. It’s less an impotence and more a stasis, me put on hold while you do your thing, get ready for me. I watch, and my mind formulates, but it’s a window of time that doesn’t involve me, except to be the recipient, the passive. To observe, watch, stare. Not to do. 
As oxymoronic as it sounds, Dominance isn’t entirely about power. That would be boring, a petty dictator sitting on his throne and demanding this and that, obedience without respect, just orders followed out of a sense of duty, because that’s how things go and your head will be forfeit if you decide to transgress. No, Dominance is about controlling the flow of power, directing it, allowing it to breathe like a fine wine, flooding it out and then calling it back in. You’re a thaumatologist, standing in a storm and controlling the lightning in an impossible miracle.
Because this is a power exchange, and that’s a transaction that never stops taking place. You slip down your stockings and I can’t help but smile, can’t help but allow you that power over me. I’ll take it back, every last iota, within seconds, but for the moment I’m happy to allow it to rest in your hands, let you understand the weight of things before you surrender yourself to them. Because, after all, you can’t understand your sacrifice unless you know what you’re sacrificing.

rolledtrousers:

Thousand Yard Stare

I rarely feel as powerless as when you undress. Each piece of clothing tumbles from your body with all the urgency of an avalanche, and I just watch. It’s less an impotence and more a stasis, me put on hold while you do your thing, get ready for me. I watch, and my mind formulates, but it’s a window of time that doesn’t involve me, except to be the recipient, the passive. To observe, watch, stare. Not to do. 

As oxymoronic as it sounds, Dominance isn’t entirely about power. That would be boring, a petty dictator sitting on his throne and demanding this and that, obedience without respect, just orders followed out of a sense of duty, because that’s how things go and your head will be forfeit if you decide to transgress. No, Dominance is about controlling the flow of power, directing it, allowing it to breathe like a fine wine, flooding it out and then calling it back in. You’re a thaumatologist, standing in a storm and controlling the lightning in an impossible miracle.

Because this is a power exchange, and that’s a transaction that never stops taking place. You slip down your stockings and I can’t help but smile, can’t help but allow you that power over me. I’ll take it back, every last iota, within seconds, but for the moment I’m happy to allow it to rest in your hands, let you understand the weight of things before you surrender yourself to them. Because, after all, you can’t understand your sacrifice unless you know what you’re sacrificing.

(Source: dickronohue)

Posted 1 year ago
rolledtrousers:
On the Mind
“I’ve been thinking about getting them pierced.” She lay it out there with a little more of a sharpened point than ‘What do you think of piercings?’, but there was barely any commitment there. She was safe. 
His fingers circled the lip of the coffee mug like a shark, and his eyes flicked up to her. The silence drew out, stretched like skin, and then his lips parted and a nervous smile stumbled across her face.
“Are you sure? It might hurt.” He was mocking her, and she knew it. Eyes narrowed, and she buried the instant blush behind her cup, taking a long sip before she set it back down again, crossing her legs and smoothing out her skirt. He always made her fidget.
“I didn’t say I was going to do it, just that I had been thinking about it. There’s a certain appeal.” He nodded, smirking all the while.
“I don’t deny it. There is a certain appeal, and it’s very..” The smirk broadened. “Appealing.” She hated it when he was coy, when his words became clipped and he held things back from her. Things like his opinion, like what he really thought. She just wanted him to give her an order, tell her to go one way or another, and then it would be done. 
She had been thinking about it, but indecision had gripped her lip a hangman’s noose, and it was starting to suffocate. The piercing would fundamentally alter the way he looked at her, she knew that much, and she wanted to make sure that if it was something she was going to do, he wanted it.
“Well, what do you think?” She hated to be so blunt, but he was backing her into a corner. Again he shrugged, and she glared at him.
“I think that it’s your decision to make.” And there he was, doing it again. She started to lean forward, give him some choice words, but he held up a single finger, silencing her.
“I think you need to keep thinking about it. I think you should lie on your back at night and stare at the ceiling, while your hand wanders over your chest and tries pinching and twisting your naked nipple. I think you should do this, and think about what it would be like if there was something else there, something to get better purchase on, to twist and pinch even harder than you can at the moment. I think you should wander about how it might feel in a bra, against a shirt, about how you’d occasionally get reminders about it when you bent over, or arched your back, or how you’d eventually grow to accept it as a part of your own self image.”
The whole time he’d been talking, he’d been leaning progressively further forward, until his face was only a few scant millimeters from her face. Her lips were parted, almost asking for a kiss, pleading for one, but as he finished he just leaned back, settling into his chair as he took a sip of his coffee. A minute passed, her shellshock retreating in inches.
“Do you think you can do that?” He sounded amused.
She could only smile, only nod. Only say. “I think I could manage it.”

rolledtrousers:

On the Mind

“I’ve been thinking about getting them pierced.” She lay it out there with a little more of a sharpened point than ‘What do you think of piercings?’, but there was barely any commitment there. She was safe. 

His fingers circled the lip of the coffee mug like a shark, and his eyes flicked up to her. The silence drew out, stretched like skin, and then his lips parted and a nervous smile stumbled across her face.

“Are you sure? It might hurt.” He was mocking her, and she knew it. Eyes narrowed, and she buried the instant blush behind her cup, taking a long sip before she set it back down again, crossing her legs and smoothing out her skirt. He always made her fidget.

“I didn’t say I was going to do it, just that I had been thinking about it. There’s a certain appeal.” He nodded, smirking all the while.

“I don’t deny it. There is a certain appeal, and it’s very..” The smirk broadened. “Appealing.” She hated it when he was coy, when his words became clipped and he held things back from her. Things like his opinion, like what he really thought. She just wanted him to give her an order, tell her to go one way or another, and then it would be done. 

She had been thinking about it, but indecision had gripped her lip a hangman’s noose, and it was starting to suffocate. The piercing would fundamentally alter the way he looked at her, she knew that much, and she wanted to make sure that if it was something she was going to do, he wanted it.

“Well, what do you think?” She hated to be so blunt, but he was backing her into a corner. Again he shrugged, and she glared at him.

“I think that it’s your decision to make.” And there he was, doing it again. She started to lean forward, give him some choice words, but he held up a single finger, silencing her.

“I think you need to keep thinking about it. I think you should lie on your back at night and stare at the ceiling, while your hand wanders over your chest and tries pinching and twisting your naked nipple. I think you should do this, and think about what it would be like if there was something else there, something to get better purchase on, to twist and pinch even harder than you can at the moment. I think you should wander about how it might feel in a bra, against a shirt, about how you’d occasionally get reminders about it when you bent over, or arched your back, or how you’d eventually grow to accept it as a part of your own self image.”

The whole time he’d been talking, he’d been leaning progressively further forward, until his face was only a few scant millimeters from her face. Her lips were parted, almost asking for a kiss, pleading for one, but as he finished he just leaned back, settling into his chair as he took a sip of his coffee. A minute passed, her shellshock retreating in inches.

“Do you think you can do that?” He sounded amused.

She could only smile, only nod. Only say. “I think I could manage it.”

Posted 1 year ago
rolledtrousers:
Smells like Content
That’s surprise on my face, sitting there like an ugly accident. It’s not wholly unfamiliar, but it’s certainly not expected. That would kind of defeat the point. It’s not that I’m unfamiliar with hearing the truth, it’s just honesty of that kind isn’t something I’m used to dealing with.
“You always talk about yourself in terms of content.” 
She’s right. And it’s precisely that which I’m having a slight problem with. Films and bands reel off my tongue with a practiced ease, but they’re a smokescreen, a way to not talk about all the things which might leave me open, provide a blindside to be exploited. It’s my own personal defense mechanism, to express myself through the perspective of others. In particular, others I don’t know, artists who’s accomplishments I can stand behind, delegate judgement to.
I say all this, and something about my delivery just makes it sound like so much more bullshit, another way to put a bit of space between me and my words. When you think about what you’re saying all the time, the words you use, it’s almost impossible not to be all the more aware of the information you’re transmitting, the things you’re not saying, even as you continue to speak. I say it’s a way of creating some detachment, and she narrows her eyes. I imagine it’s a reflex when you’re faced with something that sounds like a contradiction, honesty hidden behind a smokescreen of fancy words.
“Is that why you like to Dominate?” It sounds almost off the cuff, a logical progression to a thought that just so happened to spill down a floor from her brain to her mouth, blurted out before due consideration. 
The thing is, it’s almost exactly right. There’s a detachment there, a built in space between me and you, that is definitely a draw. I can use the protocols, the scenes, as a buffer between the two of us, a universal translator that can communicate my feelings in a way that I understand, and, more importantly, feel comfortable with. It’s a way for me to open up by remaining closed. It’s a contradiction that somehow functions.
Except that’s only half the story. It might be why I find D/s comfortable, and why it makes sense to me, but it’s not why I love it. The beauty isn’t in the detachment, it’s in the bridging of that space, the removal of that buffer, the natural progression between two points, when they start so very far apart. I might begin with ropes and cable ties, standing on the other side of the room with little more than a smirk and an imagination, and you might well squirm and writhe and smile and bite your lip.
But by the time I’m done, we’re done. We’re clinging to one another in desperate rapture, and we’re no more Dominant and submissive than we are man and woman. We’re just two transient psyches completely fucking lost in a gorgeous haze of arousal and cognitive dissonance. Thoughts are non-existent, just a beautiful silence. The context frames everything, but you can’t help but become deconstructed by the process. 
Guards dropped, smoke screens dissipated, nothing but stark, breathtaking, beautiful honesty.

rolledtrousers:

Smells like Content

That’s surprise on my face, sitting there like an ugly accident. It’s not wholly unfamiliar, but it’s certainly not expected. That would kind of defeat the point. It’s not that I’m unfamiliar with hearing the truth, it’s just honesty of that kind isn’t something I’m used to dealing with.

“You always talk about yourself in terms of content.” 

She’s right. And it’s precisely that which I’m having a slight problem with. Films and bands reel off my tongue with a practiced ease, but they’re a smokescreen, a way to not talk about all the things which might leave me open, provide a blindside to be exploited. It’s my own personal defense mechanism, to express myself through the perspective of others. In particular, others I don’t know, artists who’s accomplishments I can stand behind, delegate judgement to.

I say all this, and something about my delivery just makes it sound like so much more bullshit, another way to put a bit of space between me and my words. When you think about what you’re saying all the time, the words you use, it’s almost impossible not to be all the more aware of the information you’re transmitting, the things you’re not saying, even as you continue to speak. I say it’s a way of creating some detachment, and she narrows her eyes. I imagine it’s a reflex when you’re faced with something that sounds like a contradiction, honesty hidden behind a smokescreen of fancy words.

“Is that why you like to Dominate?” It sounds almost off the cuff, a logical progression to a thought that just so happened to spill down a floor from her brain to her mouth, blurted out before due consideration. 

The thing is, it’s almost exactly right. There’s a detachment there, a built in space between me and you, that is definitely a draw. I can use the protocols, the scenes, as a buffer between the two of us, a universal translator that can communicate my feelings in a way that I understand, and, more importantly, feel comfortable with. It’s a way for me to open up by remaining closed. It’s a contradiction that somehow functions.

Except that’s only half the story. It might be why I find D/s comfortable, and why it makes sense to me, but it’s not why I love it. The beauty isn’t in the detachment, it’s in the bridging of that space, the removal of that buffer, the natural progression between two points, when they start so very far apart. I might begin with ropes and cable ties, standing on the other side of the room with little more than a smirk and an imagination, and you might well squirm and writhe and smile and bite your lip.

But by the time I’m done, we’re done. We’re clinging to one another in desperate rapture, and we’re no more Dominant and submissive than we are man and woman. We’re just two transient psyches completely fucking lost in a gorgeous haze of arousal and cognitive dissonance. Thoughts are non-existent, just a beautiful silence. The context frames everything, but you can’t help but become deconstructed by the process. 

Guards dropped, smoke screens dissipated, nothing but stark, breathtaking, beautiful honesty.

(Source: )

Posted 1 year ago
simplyourblog:
“Most welcome, bondage, for thou art a way, I think, to liberty.”
~William Shakespeare~

simplyourblog:

“Most welcome, bondage, for thou art a way, I think, to liberty.”

~William Shakespeare~

(Source: kinkysalon)

Posted 1 year ago

simplyourblog:

“We all submit our own will for the will of another in some way. It’s drawn out by the demands made of us. We decide who, how, what, and when we will submit. When we make wise choices that work for both of us, there is freedom.”

~Author Unknown~

(Source: will100)

Posted 1 year ago

rolledtrousers:

Kaleidoscope

Colours crashing into one another like stars, a firework of hues that coalesced into another geometric conflagration, and then back again. She’d spent hours lost in the kaleidoscopic as a child, lying on her back on the landing, staring up at the ceiling with one eye while the other was glued to cheap plastic and abstract beauty. The subtle swirls of the plaster had barely registered.

The feeling came rushing back whenever she pressed her eye against the slightly fatigued rubber of any telescope, regardless of whatever she was looking at. Usually some bland beach or homogeneously beautiful valley on some holiday she barely remembered. Beauty without form, but more importantly all the things you weren’t seeing; you tunnel your vision and you lose the periphery, and it was that absence that she felt the most keenly. All the things she was no longer seeing, to see the one thing in front of her.

Sex was telescopic. Myopic. She could only ever see one thing at a time. His chin, lightly brushed with stubble. His formarms, muscles teeming underneath the skin. His belly, slightly soft, dusted with hair. His cock, swollen, hard, that one thick vein trailing down the side. Every piece an involuntary synecdoche, her sense of him losing all sense of perspective and scale. She couldn’t hold all of him in her head, and it only made her feel him more keenly, from his will to his hand, his smirk to the head of him, soft and eager. 

She was telescopic, when he was around. Her submission was the only aspect of herself in view, the rest falling away, a surrendered periphery. The part represented the whole, but that didn’t make it any less difficult to attempt to occupy just that part. She squirmed and writhed, a conflicted mess of psyche and desire, and he pinned her down like an errant butterfly, something to be collected and examined. Which only made her vulnerabilities show up in sharper relief, her arousal a point of fact, rather than a subtle hint. 

She’d laid for hours on that landing, watching a cavalcade of colours converge into mathematical uncertainty, oblivious to the rest of the world. She’d need to be rescued, her name calling out of the spectrum, or someone trying to step over her. She’d have to be pulled from that pleasant pool, saved.  

Posted 1 year ago

rolledtrousers:

Other Corners

She says he doesn’t like rope, and not for the first time that night my eyebrows arch in surprise. I ask why, and she shrugs, explaining that he gets frustrated, the process of tying, working, creating exhausts him, each knot just another remind of what he wants to be doing, of what he’s not. Not for the first time, I realise there’s a gulf that I never anticipated.

Flavours proliferate. You start down the path and you can’t help but explore further, find yourself unsatisfied with what overwhelmed you yesterday. But more than that, the more you discover, the more you specialise, the more you customise your menu until you’re perfectly happy with what settles on your palette. It’s ludicrous to think that where my tastes lie is the same as every man, or every woman, but that doesn’t make the discovery any less surprising. It’s the sudden awareness that not only do they not enjoy things in the way I do, but they don’t even share the perspective.

I like rope because of the downtime it manifests. Because it frustrates, protracting out the scene and forcing you to focus on what you’re not getting, what’s not happening. All of those reasons listed as negatives are firmly in the positive column for me, and the shift in mentality was almost a revelation.

She shrugs, says that she’d like to be tied up, but it’s not a big deal. I smile, but my mind is already wandering off in another direction, a road paved with hemp and silk, with long, languishing silences where the only sound is the occasional gasp, the odd creak of a knot tightening. There’s so much space in D/s, it’s nice to remember that you’re only occupying one small corner. That there’s still so much for you to find and discover, and so much that you’ll never even need to.

(Source: spiritualbdsm)

Posted 1 year ago
simplyourblog:
“I want to be dominated…I am going to be pursued, fucked, possessed by the will of a male at his time, his bidding.”
~Anais Nin~

simplyourblog:

“I want to be dominated…I am going to be pursued, fucked, possessed by the will of a male at his time, his bidding.”

~Anais Nin~

Posted 1 year ago

rolledtrousers:

Keep Them On

It’s such a temptation to just say ‘No’. Leave you bereft. 

Take you out in public, show you off, occasionally slip my hand down the side of your waist, then a little further south, until I don’t trip on what I should have, fingers not stumbling on some seam or other, not catching on the line I should have. I know it, you know it, and the blush on your cheeks is all the evidence I was ever after. I’d smirk, and you’d wriggle, your eyes flaring ever so slightly while your hand runs over your stomach, questing for something that isn’t there.

It’s a temptation, but it’s one I rarely want to give in to. There’s too much fun to be had otherwise, too much for me to do, to enjoy, to just take them out of the equation entirely. Maybe when I’m not there, and I want to engineer a reminder, the soft kiss of the breeze between your legs when you sit, or that tiny spot of moisture on your skirt that makes you turn a lurid pink. 

But when I’m with you, I want to watch you slink out of that underwear. I want to grab it off your foot and bring it to my nose, narrow my eyes and arch my eyebrow before pressing it hard to your face. I want to ball it up and shove it in your mouth, I want to pull it down to your knees and force you to keep them closed while I fuck you. 

I’d tell you not to wear panties, but they’re just too much fun.

(Source: confessingmysins)

Posted 1 year ago
The Rewards of a Submissive
Much is written of submission on blogs and in chat rooms, and images abound of “submissive’s” and their so-called “Doms.” But what most BDSM sites and blogs present is entertainment, sexual titillation, and at times outright coercion and abuse rather than an exploration of genuine submission and the amazing rewards it can bring to a Dom. Earning the submission of another human being is a process that takes patience, dedication, concern, love, empathy, listening skills, and above all, integrity. But if or when it happens, the feeling is indescribable!
Submission is earned; it is neither coerced or manipulated. And to be meaningful for me, it must come from a woman whom I unreservedly revere and admire. The greater her will, intellect, artistic ability, grace, kindness and beauty, the greater the reward of earning her submission. To that end, earning the submission of such a woman is not the end state but rather just the beginning, because I want more. More of her. All of her. And to do that, she must be allowed to grow to her full potential, which means giving her the space and encouragement to be everything she is capable of being. She is the gift. The better and more whole she is, the more precious the gift to me.
Therefor, to my way of thinking, a submissive is not a slave. Quite the opposite. She is a free being who has chosen of her own will to give herself unreservedly to me. Catching a hummingbird in a net just feels mean spirited and destructive. Having that same hummingbird land on your fingertip of its own accord is a soaring experience. So it is for me with a woman’s submission.
There are many woman (and men) who are so insecure they will throw themselves at the feet of a Dom for mere acceptance and the illusion of love. This is not submission, it is desperation. In it, there is little reward for a Dom beyond pitty and satisfying their own broken wing syndrome; rescuing. This is not submission, it is codependence and is vastly unhealthy for all involved.
But, when a would-be Dom can reach into the mind of a confident, well-read, intelligent and capable woman, captivating her imagination and earning her respect and adoration, magic happens! When she bends her knees of her own accord. When you see the look of adoration in her eyes. When she unreservedly gives you her heart, mind, and soul. Pure Magic!
BDSM, S/M, and D/s imagery focusses most on the physical aspects of the power exchange. This is only natural…it is what the camera sees best. Only the occasional image adequately begins to convey the strength and beauty of the spiritual and emotional bond between a submissive and her Dom. But when it does, it is a special picture and genuinely stands out. Usually the devotion shows first in the eyes and secondarily in the postures of the Dom and/or his submissive. Feelings are so difficult to capture in an image and yet they are the essence of D/s.
In real life, the reward for me of submission is 90 percent mental, spiritual and emotional. When the bond is strong and the challenge of successfully leading a submissive is great, my heart and mind become immersed in the relationship and how to make it stronger and more fulfilling for both of us. My brain is fully engaged. My imagination is energized. My heart beats stronger. I want to be a better man and a better Dom…every day. I want to be all that I possibly can and in so doing inspire and motivate my submissive to strive for her full potential.
D/s between a healthy and confident man and woman (or any combination of the sexes) is an immensely positive relationship. Far from the dark imagery of floggings and physical challenges, it is a spiritually uplifting experience. And with that spiritual bond firmly established between a Dom and a sub, the bodies have no choice but to follow. With the combination of mutual devotion, trust and adoration, comes an environment where all physical experiences and rewards become possible. In that secure space that we create and nurture between us we can indulge in the physical, dance in the darkness, and explore the power exchange in all of its physical manifestations. More magic!
To the submissive - Give your heart, your mind, your soul to the right Dom and he will give you physical and emotional sensations unimaginable.
To the Dom - Lead genuinely with your heart and mind and the body will follow.
Caption © For the Love of A Submissive, 2012
Image Credit Unknown

The Rewards of a Submissive

Much is written of submission on blogs and in chat rooms, and images abound of “submissive’s” and their so-called “Doms.” But what most BDSM sites and blogs present is entertainment, sexual titillation, and at times outright coercion and abuse rather than an exploration of genuine submission and the amazing rewards it can bring to a Dom. Earning the submission of another human being is a process that takes patience, dedication, concern, love, empathy, listening skills, and above all, integrity. But if or when it happens, the feeling is indescribable!

Submission is earned; it is neither coerced or manipulated. And to be meaningful for me, it must come from a woman whom I unreservedly revere and admire. The greater her will, intellect, artistic ability, grace, kindness and beauty, the greater the reward of earning her submission. To that end, earning the submission of such a woman is not the end state but rather just the beginning, because I want more. More of her. All of her. And to do that, she must be allowed to grow to her full potential, which means giving her the space and encouragement to be everything she is capable of being. She is the gift. The better and more whole she is, the more precious the gift to me.

Therefor, to my way of thinking, a submissive is not a slave. Quite the opposite. She is a free being who has chosen of her own will to give herself unreservedly to me. Catching a hummingbird in a net just feels mean spirited and destructive. Having that same hummingbird land on your fingertip of its own accord is a soaring experience. So it is for me with a woman’s submission.

There are many woman (and men) who are so insecure they will throw themselves at the feet of a Dom for mere acceptance and the illusion of love. This is not submission, it is desperation. In it, there is little reward for a Dom beyond pitty and satisfying their own broken wing syndrome; rescuing. This is not submission, it is codependence and is vastly unhealthy for all involved.

But, when a would-be Dom can reach into the mind of a confident, well-read, intelligent and capable woman, captivating her imagination and earning her respect and adoration, magic happens! When she bends her knees of her own accord. When you see the look of adoration in her eyes. When she unreservedly gives you her heart, mind, and soul. Pure Magic!

BDSM, S/M, and D/s imagery focusses most on the physical aspects of the power exchange. This is only natural…it is what the camera sees best. Only the occasional image adequately begins to convey the strength and beauty of the spiritual and emotional bond between a submissive and her Dom. But when it does, it is a special picture and genuinely stands out. Usually the devotion shows first in the eyes and secondarily in the postures of the Dom and/or his submissive. Feelings are so difficult to capture in an image and yet they are the essence of D/s.

In real life, the reward for me of submission is 90 percent mental, spiritual and emotional. When the bond is strong and the challenge of successfully leading a submissive is great, my heart and mind become immersed in the relationship and how to make it stronger and more fulfilling for both of us. My brain is fully engaged. My imagination is energized. My heart beats stronger. I want to be a better man and a better Dom…every day. I want to be all that I possibly can and in so doing inspire and motivate my submissive to strive for her full potential.

D/s between a healthy and confident man and woman (or any combination of the sexes) is an immensely positive relationship. Far from the dark imagery of floggings and physical challenges, it is a spiritually uplifting experience. And with that spiritual bond firmly established between a Dom and a sub, the bodies have no choice but to follow. With the combination of mutual devotion, trust and adoration, comes an environment where all physical experiences and rewards become possible. In that secure space that we create and nurture between us we can indulge in the physical, dance in the darkness, and explore the power exchange in all of its physical manifestations. More magic!

To the submissive - Give your heart, your mind, your soul to the right Dom and he will give you physical and emotional sensations unimaginable.

To the Dom - Lead genuinely with your heart and mind and the body will follow.

Caption © For the Love of A Submissive, 2012

Image Credit Unknown