Monday, 30 September 2013

Aftercaring

Recently, we played in public. 
My arms were lashed to a St. Andrews cross.
He wailed on me, hard. 
Paddles and canes and the flogger. 
The flogger with the tied ends. 
The flogger that cuts like a whip. 
It wrapped around me, over and over. 
I whimpered. 
I made lots of mewling noises. 
He wanted tears. 
He took hold of my hair with one hand, titling my head back and with his other hand, kept working the impact tools. 
He got tears. 

Does anyone else loose sense of time while playing? It seemed like only minutes but was almost an hour. 
He untied my arms and draped me in a blanket. Gave me the biggest hug ever. 
This was an incredible experience, for both of us. 
I let go...certainly more than I thought I would in public. 
It was a wonderful night. 

Aftercare: Or as I have come to think of it, aftercaring. 
It went on for a week. I needed a week to recover. Not just to let the welts and bruises fade but to wrap my head around all that had happened. 
Horace let me out of most chores last week, with instructions to rest as much as I could. 
And I did. 
Nestled in soft liens and a nest of blankets, often. 
Subdrop hits me in kind of a delayed response: I won't feel it the night of the play or the day after but the day after that is when I feel unhinged and drop-y. 
 Horace took such great care of me during this week, giving me lots of space and a week without play. Which was a little annoying at times but Horace doesn't think I need bruises on top of brusies. We want to do this kinky thing for as long as possible. 
Why risk damage? 
 We enjoyed the week of recovering and there was this marital bliss that kind of snuck in and enfolded us. 
Life is very, very good. 
And I felt like the most treasured, most spoiled girl ever.





Friday, 20 September 2013

Friday Fragments: Flogging and Autumn

The last day of summer! 
Thankfully. 
Years past, I would be a little maudlin about the changing of the seasons-back when I still loved summer and not at quits--but this year, I am looking forward to autumn. 
Question, today for my readers. 

I am looking for a cat o'nine tails. 
Normally, Horace chooses and brings home the toys, though there have been occasions where he's instructed me to go pick something. 
That's always a task that's a little nerve-racking. 
What if he doesn't like the feel? What if its too soft or too hard (though there hasn't been any such thing)? What if he just doesn't like it, period? 

But not that long ago, we were at an event and I saw this flogger--it was a small cat o'nine and it was gorgeous. 
I have a love-hate relationship with most impact toys but did I ever tell you, I kind of dig medieval weaponry? Yeah. 
So I like the look of many an implement, I admire the craftsmanship and artistry, even if I don't necessarily want to feel it against my skin. I love how chains look, falling from a handle, but I hate metal striking skin.
The cat o'nine tails, I have been lusting after had nine falls, but had weights woven through. I think the weights were the same type that you use on a fishing line. 
Anyways, it looked beautiful. Sleek and shiny, what with all that leather and steel. 

Question: Does anyone know a good resource where I can find something fitting this description? Is there anyone in Blogland who makes leather floggers/cat o'nine tails? 

Happy Autumn Equinox! 

Tuesday, 17 September 2013

The Care and Feeding of the Dom Ego

(As usual, I write from the perspective of being a female in a monogamous D/s relationship and traditional gender roles)

This morning, as Horace kissed me goodbye and I told him to have a good day, I also said.
"You're my favouritest."
A couple years ago, Horace started to call a very dear friend, "my/your favouritest" when referring to friend in conversation and whatnot.
A few weeks ago, I told him that he was also my favouritest.
I can have two favouritests.

We exchange compliments and words of affection often, its part of our language.
But what I make a point of doing, is feeding his ego.
And I'm not being facetious, when I say that.
Its something I have come to understand over the years and its something that is firmly fixed in my head, now.
Almost one an unwritten rule, "Feed Master's Ego Daily."

I think it is more common to read and hear about the struggle of a submissive in a D/s dynamic: how hard it can be to learn how to submit, to be vulnerable, how much willpower and strength obeying can take, how mind-bending it is to make that power exchange, the emotional levels of giving someone authority over us.

But what about the Dom?
In so many ways, a D/s dynamic is going against what society taught them and what they learnt growing up.
The Dom: beats, degrades, humiliates, controls, punishes, takes and manipulates.
Sure, the Dom wants to do all that or versions of those things that in any other context would be seen as abusive and yes, we are consenting adults but that has to be a bit of a mindbend in itself.
And I think, just as we as the submissive can go through ranges of emotions and struggling with all those elements of the dynamic, so too can the Dom.
Just because you did it perfectly fine last week or six months ago, doesn't mean that today its going to be perfect.

Just like we bask in the praise and affirmations of our Dom's actions and words and how much stock we put in our partner;s appreciation of us, I think the Dom one needs that same recognition.
They need to be valued, appreciated, showered with compliments and reassurance--even if its subtle and even if they will never admit to needing it.


That's my opinion, anyways.
To that end, I've made it a point of expressing Ego-Dom-Boosting things, such as:

"I really liked how you maneuvered that situation, you made me feel protected".
"I like that you said 'no' to me on this one."
"I loved how you moved me in and out of that scene."


Its not something I say all at once and I have no script, and its unlikely that I will utter a compliment for punishing me, or taking control in the moment. But I do when those action moments have passed and I'm reflecting.

Basically, aside from complimenting Horace on his physical strength, rugged good-looks intellect and talents, I compliment him on the Domly actions and by doing so, feed the Dom Ego.
Its complimenting him and appreciating his efforts and everything he does to make this 24/7 thing move gracefully.

*






Friday, 13 September 2013

Friday Fragments: Happy Friday the 13th!!

A whirlwind week that hasn't let me step into Blogland very much.
 It's way. Too. Cold. 
Seriously. 
Now that status reports are out the way. 

Learning to being open and transparent was probably one of the most difficult things with this whole D/s thing. 
At times, I still find it mega-hard (I've ranted about it enough on here...)
I'm a private person. 
 I like being secretive. 
I don't like volunteering information or sharing what's on my mind. 
Or leaving my drawers wide open for someone else to paw through. 
I consider being asked what I had for lunch, to be a personal question. 
Its just parts of my lovely personality.

It may have took some patience on Horace's part and a lot of work on my part, and its one of those things where we started small, repeated often and built up, but I've gotten used to it. 
I've always found him to be easy to talk to--so the sharing what was on my mind, wasn't the hardest of the whole-being-transparent-thing--but volunteering information is still painful.
Even, that I have become used to.
So accustomed to this, that in fact, I now apparently do it with other people. 
Out of the blue. 
For no reason at all. 
And that my friends, is downright freaky. 

Last night, I attended a meeting. 
I was all kinds of nervous but survived. 
On break at the meeting, I talked to a girl I kind of new from other meetings. 
She told me about some health-procedure thing. 
And I... opened my mouth
 Said, "Oh really? How did it work out for you? I've been thinking about the same procedure too." 
Nice gal that she is, offered suggestions, told me what she had done and what was doing. 
I voluntarily told her what I had heard and what I had tried. 
This entire conversation exchange was five minutes. 
Break over, we returned to the meeting. 

Horace met me off the train-which was incredibly considerate of him. We walked home, chatted about our days. Stopped for a take-a-way. 
Returned to the hovel. 
Chatted some more. 
He tried out a new paddle on my arse. 
After talking to him about every little thing that happened during my day/night and him filling me in on what had happened to him, I asked to go to bed (which I always suspect but have never been able to confirm, that must be some sort of relief to him in these moments, after I spew out very thought that's been in my head for all these hours apart and I've finally stopped enough to feel tired), Horace agreed. 
He went and worked on a project. 

A hour later, I start to feel panicky. 
Got out of bed, went to find Horace. 
"What is it?" 
"I'm feel a little panicky. You know I told you about talking to the nice girl? I just feel like maybe I said too much. I don't want her to think ill of me or something, I don't want it to be awkward and weird the next time we see each other."
  Folks, this was now four hours after I had this five-minute conversation with the nice girl. 
"You need a hug."
A hug?! 

He hugged me and made lots of reassurances and patted my back and told me that, exchanging conversations like this, isn't weird. 
It is rather a normal occurrence. 
Especially, in his opinion, when girls get together. 
In my head, my introvert self is completely freaking out. 
He knew that.
Kept hugging me.
"You believe me?" ......
He was asking me to stop panicking. 

To trust, that in this situation, there really was nothing to feel alarmed about. 
He was nudging me to that place...the place we exist where I turn over everything to him and to his authority.
And because I trust him, I believed him.

 It wasn't an automatic snap, it took effort to focus on something else. 
It took willpower to turn my thoughts and feelings to another topic. 
But I did. 
And slept well. 

Blue Morgan has also been pretty quiet this week, which isn't the best plan for a new blog, but life has such a habit of getting in the way, doesn't it? 
 Speaking of Blue Morgan, I would really love to add one or two more beta-readers to my list.
 If any of my blog readers would be interested in reading a 50k, chick-lit, spanking romance, please get in touch. 
 The book will be finished over the course of the weekend and I'm hoping to have most of the edits and formatting done in the next two weeks.
After that's done (three weeks from now), I will turn the book over to betas. 

 I would really like it back within 2-3 weeks. 
If you're interested, let me know why you want to read, if you've beta-read before and what areas you think you would be good at focusing on (grammar, plot, consistency, details, general commentary). 
Send interest to: authorbluemorgan@gmail.com 

This self-pub thing is quite an undertaking. I surely can't do it without readers.
And the support from the readers of this blog, has been incredibly touching.

Many thanks.











Sunday, 8 September 2013

Not All At Once

"You don't pay me enough to slave away like this", I said. 
I was sitting cross-legged on the floor, fighting with sheets of plastic and card stock. 
 Having a debate in my head to what material I hated more: plastic, hands down. 
"You're paid plenty and your my slave in any way I want you to be," Horace replied.
I smiled and went back to fighting with plastic and card stock. 

We were preparing for one of the business events that take so much time and meticulous details.
 There is a thousand little things to do, like fighting with plastic and card stock (putting the sheets of card stock into those plastic sleeve things) and writing labels on packages, putting price tag stickers on everything, organizing and sorting and arranging. 

An hour before, Horace went and took all the materials out, I unpacked the pack, sorted and organized and separated everything into neat very-OCD like piles; to know what I had to label and stick next and in what order.
He started tearing things apart from a pile I hadn't organized yet. 
"Go do something. You are messing with my system."
"You only have a system because I let you."
"
"Out, seriously. Just allow me to do this", I shooed him off.  
"Use the yellow stickers, they look better", with that direction he turned to the computer stuff I can't do. 
Twenty minutes later, he's in my piles again. 
"Hey! I'm almost done".
"I just want to scan the information in the black folder-"
"Here", I passed it to him. "I already put stickers on those."
He looks at me, hands it back. I un-do what I had already done and handed it back to him. 

Started peeling off other stickers from the roll and marking them up. 
He finished the scans, handed it back to me and I re-stickered all the pages.
Singing, mimicking, and cursing as I fought again with plastic and card stock and stickers. 


Now, everything is all neatly organized, waiting for Horace to pack it all up and away we go bright and early tomorrow morning. 
Totally stress free; fighting with inanimate objects aside.
We've done enough of these events to know what works and how my skills (I'm a whizz with detailed things but not spacial things--like packing) can be of most use. He does the ground work, I take care of the little details and he sets us up for the big-picture stuff. 

These events, preparing for them, used to be complete and utter chaos. 
We would have materials and bags of stuff all over the place, frantically trying to organize it all in the nick of time, while having each of us fight for control ("I want to do it this way...no its better this way..). That was years ago now. 

This might look like speaking out of turn by my "shooing" him away, but we banter, we debate, we playfully argue: trust me, it keeps our sanity intact. 
Sometimes, the biggest role I play in the business is protecting Horace from himself; I'm his wife, his partner and his slave. 
Just like he protects me from myself when I want to go head first into a new project, without checking for rocks. 
 Our D/s dynamic is at play and work, here.
 Its how we take on so many projects, attend so many events, and get ready for whatever comes, without diving into utter chaos. 
We know who does what best and we leave each other to do it..even with a minor glitch here and there, we flow seamlessly; we aren't separated by this but working together, as one. 

Its beautiful to have this ebb and flow but we didn't get here all at once. 

Little bit by little bit, by communicating, taking time to figure it out, trying out different arrangements and plans and ideas, and exploring different concepts......then you might pause, when it occurs to you to take note of why its so easy.... before you even realize it, you have created a nearly flawless system, that is without chaos and has such an amazing balance, that you can get ready for anything, take anything that comes and know with absolute certainty, you aren't going to fall apart at the seams. 


Friday, 6 September 2013

Friday Fragments: Urgh...Can you look over here, please?

My body feels like been hit by a train and I'm sore and achy in the bad-pain way. 
 You know, not the good kink way.
And it sucks. 

I feel wretched. 
Horace is being so gentle *shudders* .

Yesterday, I had the pleasure of being part of a BlogFest over on my secret identity blog. If you like mysteries, conspiracy theories and have a fear of the flu, would you come on over and take a look?
Oh, and I was also invited to philosophize on how I think the world will end. 

http://bluemorgan.blogspot.ca/2013/09/a-shot-in-light-release-world-ends-how.html


I promise that I will remain shameless in promoting but not overbearing ;o)
 Good deal? 

Tuesday, 3 September 2013

Because He Wanted

I can't remember when Horace brought it home or from where, sometimes its best not to ask questions. 
But there is a bamboo cane in our collection of 'toys'.
 And I hate it. 
Its long and sturdy and packs a punch. 
It hurts like a mother and is pretty unforgiving.
 When Sir first tried it out on me, somehow I was under the impression that it would be kept in reserve as a punishment implement...you know, to be used rarely. 
That was complete conjecture on my part. 
In the early days, when we were trying structures and forms of thought on for size to create the dynamic that worked for us, something that was kept in reserve, was a natural step. It made sense. 
But now, in a way we have moved far beyond the "if you do this behaviour, it is met with this cane", sort of thinking into a more ebb and flow. 

Now, M/s probably fits us better than D/s. 
Now, it is completely 24/7 and moves almost flawlessly. 
Now, it is consensual non-consent. 
Now, the only hard and fast rule is to do what he says. 

In the beginning, I think it is important to be tense with the rules and to keep it all on a action to consequence bases. We certainly didn't get here overnight. 

At the ends of a lovely long weekend, after I had made cinnamon muffins , I was lying on the bed, propped up on my stomach flipping through notes for work. Horace came in from outside. 
"Why are you lying like that? That's an invitation for a paddle." 
I moved my work notes out of the way and smiled. 
"I was just lying here", I said. 
Honest. It was completely innocent. I had no hidden or ulterior motives. 
Horace came into the room, took the cane from the wall.
"That isn't a paddle". 

Yeah, I didn't think that was a wise thing to say, either. 
Two sharp strikes across the bottom of my thighs. 
Immediate tears. Did I mention this thing hurts? 
"I felt like the cane", I was informed. 
Mentally, I tried to chew on that for a moment but couldn't really complete where that thought was going because I felt five quick more strokes. 
"You are mine. If I feel like using the cane then I can," Horace reminded me with another stroke. 
I bit my lip and kind of toughed through it, as silently as I could. 
When he was finally done, he rubbed my back and heaped me with praise. 
And it led to a great play session. 
A very nice way to finish off the holiday weekend.