The space in my head

Subspace; it starts as soon as the binding are on. It continues, it deepens as we make our way through the scene.

The pounding leather on my back and tickling of electricity all work to bring out the screams, the release.

Slowly one tear rolls down my cheek. Soon they are pouring, tears and snot running around my gag.

I scream and spit around the gag. All the emotional pain: I scream it all out.

There is no more room for this in the space in my head. I only want the calm of subspace where everything feels right.

A simple Spanking

Photo by Dainis Graveris on Unsplash

Random spankings, I love these. Those moments of normal domestic life when I pass Dr. Payne, and he grabs me, bends me over something and swats my ass a few times. I love that warm feeling like my butt is glowing. Such a lovely innocent way to put kink into our everyday routine. Those brief moments when I can focus on us and our power exchange.

However, on this occasion something was different. I thought nothing of it when we passed each other in the bedroom one Saturday morning, and Dr. Payne bent me over the bed. I smiled with anticipation.

Two or three swats, and instead of the calm warmth I often feel; I was clawing at the bed cover with dread of what I was suddenly aware was about to happen.  I felt it welling up in my chest, that tight feeling, as my eyes began to water. It only took a moment:  I was sobbing.

These were not tears of pain, instead it was that gasping, clawing, mewling sob that comes from somewhere deep inside until it makes its way to the surface in cathartic release. I wasn’t even a planned release we often expect from a scene, when we know we need to get something out. This was sudden, shocking and I was unprepared for it.

Was it actually the spanking or had the process started as soon as I bent over? Putting myself in a physical position of surrender reminds me that Dr. Payne has me, he owns. He wants me to express my pain. In expressing my pain and releasing all my suppressed negative emotions, I am more capable of fully surrendering.

Misery requires attention, and the pain gives me an opportunity to focus on that thing some frustration or emotion pain that must be addressed.  If I give in and allow the cleansing of the emotional wound, I am opening myself up for growth. It would be so easy to just accept the pain but ignore where the core of the pain is coming from.

If I didn’t allow the cleansing, but instead used the pain as a distraction from whatever it was, I really needed to confront or focus on, I would be missing an amazing opportunity for healing and growth.

Often what I need to release is as minor as some frustration from a bad work week. However, this time, as can often be the case, it was is so much more: The buildup of weeks of stress. In some cases, it is an accumulation of years of emotional pain I have tried desperately to bury and ignore. But here it was these raw emotions spilling out onto the bed cover.

Though I may try to presume most days are ordinary they are not always. Somedays my anxiety is set off by the smallest of things: Two or more people at work demanding my attention at once, an errant driving cutting me off on the highway, or even some small task I forgot to do suddenly remembered. The act of submitting for Dr Payne in these moments allow me the opportunity to expel unresolved emotions. My pain, anxiety, and thoughts about the world around me, are not random they are opportunities for growth.

Words Paint me beautiful

Write the words

The things you love about me

The things we both know I need to overcome

Cover my body in the colors you love

I want to feel you through the paint, the ink

To feel your love, your ownership, your pride in your property

Then take me, bind me

Mingle our sweat with the words, the paint until it all becomes one

We’ll wash the skin to heal the mental wounds, and renew our bond Bound through the skin until again we can do that thing that we do

How many ways can my anxiety count the days?

Content note for self-harm

One-day, two-day, three-day, eighty.

It seems ironic that my mental health would take a nosedive in May: Mental Health Awareness Month. During this time, I am more cognizant of possible mental health issues, reading articles, meditating, and writing about mental health more. However, as time ticks on, I am aware that I am becoming less capable of coping with the chaos of the world. Or perhaps the world is becoming more chaotic than ever before? Both statements are true.

A significant sign that I am slipping when it comes to dealing with my anxiety and depression is that my people pleasing personality becomes more prominent than usual. It becomes apparent that the need to please everyone is seeping into all that I do. The awful problem with trying to please everyone is that I never feel good enough for anyone. This is a lesson and an old demon that I thought I had put to rest.

That is the trick depression plays on its sufferers; if you have maintained a healthy mindset for a long period, it’s easy to talk yourself into believing the illusion that you are recovered or have moved past your mental illness.

In the beginning of quarantine I am hanging on, not losing too much sleep, and not slipping into the deep dark rabbit hole that depression is. I am talking to Dr. Payne and I know He has me, and He will help me. Then I hit a major bump in the road: my personal physician decides that she wants me to try a new medication for my asthma.

This medication doesn’t simply lead me to slip down into the rabbit hole of depression, it throws me there head first and I am suddenly lost in a maze of awful thoughts: “Nobody loves me, and I can’t do anything right!” Then thoughts of self-harm creep in, “Why am I here? Something sharp cutting into my arm would feel better than these feelings!”

Depression lies to you; it tells you that making people happy is the only way to be loved. It also tells you that nobody loves you. I then feel that I must hide my feelings from those around me. Depression and anxiety begin to constantly whisper in my ear that Dr. Payne and Princess care more about each other than they do about me.

That is not true, and I know it isn’t true, but there are times at 2 am when anxiety tells me I have to make things perfect, that doing so is the only way to be happy. In those moments I lose my grip on my emotional and mental wellbeing. I then fall back asleep, and when I wake up, most days I am in control of the negative thoughts.

There are moments of clarity when I can see happiness and daylight, and I talk to my partners about what is going on in my head. However, this is not easy.

As time marches along, and what the world tries to refer to as the “new normal” becomes a scary thing, I ponder what the current state of the world and its unpredictability mean for my mental health. I fear I may not make it to the end of 2020 as an emotionally stable person.

I must fight the demons, the demons of fear that tell me I am too much emotional garbage to be worthy of anyone’s love and attention.

I can tell myself that I am worthy. I can stand up tall, smile, and say that I am loved, I am worthy. But there are moments when I wonder if fear is right, and I am the one lying to myself.

As we talk about the struggles, Dr. Payne reminds me that when times are rough it is more important than ever to rely on our protocols, those things about Power Exchange that keep us grounded. I wish it were as easy as that. I find I have to remind myself that I am collared and owned, that I am no longer the person who struggles daily with being in charge of myself. I fall back on old shameful behaviors that I should know do not work for me. We have had more tension events than is normal, and my anxiety and inability to remember who I am now is often at the center of the tension.

The world is still chaotic, and Dr. Payne tries to filter the outside disorder as much as possible. As time marches on and quarantine is extended, ten-weeks, twelve-weeks, thirteen-weeks, thirty, I touch and acknowledge my protocols and daily tasks: the simple act of drink service, blessing Sir’s tea, and kneeling at His feet when I am in need of guidance. I continue to love and support Princess, and give consent daily to the person who has agreed to be my Dominant, to protect and love me: Dr. Payne, my husband, my Dom, my forever partner.

It hurts

Photo by Bianca Salgado from Pexels

Today it hurts

My mental illness tries to own me

The anxiety throws me into the undertow

The depression drags me under

I worry if Sir will see me struggling and pull me out

Will He notice or will I quietly slip away

Then He takes my hand

He grabs my collar

He looks into my eyes

He says, “come back to me”

I remember who owns me

And the hurt is eased

The act of SHAME

How is it that as a kinky person I still feel shame for something I do? In fact, it’s the most sexually ordinary thing I do: masturbation.

I am delighted to write kinky stories, but to talk about my own masturbation makes me turn red and want to hide my face. Masturbation is something most kinky people will talk about freely, so why do I find it so hard?

I will masturbate for Dr. Payne, but to talk about sticking my fingers in my pussy or to use a toy, leaves me squeamish.  Is it the act, or the account, that I find shameful?

It’s an odd level of shame I have trouble understanding, and it sticks with me. Why? As a submissive my life is full of personal and sexual exploration. It is very much what I am about. Dr. Payne and I tell people to feel what you are going to feel. We know from experience that bottling up feelings and denying who you are is emotionally toxic.

Thus, I find myself asking: what is my deal with masturbation? Is talking about the act of sticking my fingers into my moist pussy a necessary thing?  I feel it’s something I have to explore.

Why do I have any shame about this, and why do I feel this need to figure out that shame?

There are kinks I now love and embrace happily, that were once hard limits. I did not accept these kinks as a part of me. In the early days, even the thought of getting naked in a public dungeon wasn’t just shameful, it was horrifying! There was a certain level of self-confidence I needed to get to, and a level of shame for those specific things I needed to get past.

So now I am back to wondering why I do I have this sense I need to examine and get past this most basic of sexual activities? Might it be that my need to get past this shame has to do with a very big fear: If I do not keep moving forward—learning, growing–might I go backward to the person who was ashamed of everything about themselves and had no self-love?

I understand how important it is to not let negative emotions control me, and shame was an awfully controlling force in my life for many years.

At the heart of why I need to assess my shame in talking about masturbation is about the fact that at some level, I am still allowing shame to seep in and control certain parts of my thinking. If I am allowing shame to control me who am I really submitting to?

Now I’m back to the shame and how do I get past it? Is it about the act?

The answer is in the why I need to delve into this: It is about my submission to Dr. Payne. In my heart I have a deep need to serve Dr. Payne and I desire to please the people around me. Masturbation is often a solo thing, for my pleasure only. Pleasing myself and doing thigs strictly for myself has been historically a difficult thing for me.

In the end it seems I am still learning to love me and allow myself to be sexually free and allow myself to do things that are just for me.

Soon I may be writing tales of sticking my tiny pink vibrator in my dripping pussy and squirting all over my sheets. 

Hmm.  That didn’t feel shameful to write.  Maybe, like masturbation itself, practicing writing about masturbation makes perfect.