I’ve had a post floating around in my head lately that revolves around a situation I had put out of my mind; a time when a partner pushed past my limits and took advantage of my submission and because I lack any . . . → Read More: Confession: I did not consent]]> Please note: This post may be triggering for some as it deals with sexual assault.

I’ve had a post floating around in my head lately that revolves around a situation I had put out of my mind; a time when a partner pushed past my limits and took advantage of my submission and because I lack any other word to describe it, raped me.

It was a few years ago now and I had all but put it out of my mind, until recently when I read a post somewhere about lack of consent in the BDSM community. I asked myself if a Dom had ever really crossed the line for me, and initially my answer was no, but upon closer reflection I realized that I was lying to myself.

In 2008, my step-brother died. Right before that happened I started to experiment more with D/s dynamics. Looking back, I don’t think that was the best time for me to be making such decisions about my sexual and mental health, but it’s what I escaped to as a way to deal with my grief. Harvey and I had been playing with D/s for a while, but I wanted to expand and learn more about the community. I joined CollarMe and met a couple of people, one being Jeff.

I met Jeff on the same day that I started talking to him. I ended up in his bedroom on that very same day and ended up submitting to him in ways I was still exploring my comfort level with. The first time wasn’t so bad. There were some things that I liked and some things that I hated, but I assumed that was part of the dynamic. I had yet to learn about trust, vulnerability and the idea that you can actually care about your submissive. I was aware that I was putting myself in an experimental situation but was still interested in going back for date #2.

The next time I saw him it was more of the same. He pushed me to do things; some that I really didn’t like, that I hadn’t thought of before. I didn’t realize that you could throw up from deep throating until he made me do it a ton of times. I’m not saying that was the worst thing, but it’s something that he pushed me to without discussion. I was still floating in a strange headspace, flirting with the idea that my consent meant nothing. I’m not sure where I got that idea from, but it was quite a strong force in my mind while I was there. I was escaping reality and did everything I was being told. Not because he deserved it, but because I needed to. He told me I was there to be used and since I hadn’t figured out yet that I prefer a slightly different (note: caring) dynamic, I went along with it.

I was the weak one in the situation; he the man with all of the control. He had me convinced that I was supposed to do whatever he said as there was never any discussion of safe words or boundaries. He was encouraging the dirty slut in me and I was excited to be getting to know her. I had yet to realize that my submissive side is so much more than “Look what I can do.”

Eventually he wanted to fuck me. The whole time, I had assumed that was part of the deal, perhaps because I hadn’t figured out how to say yes or no. I was pinned down and he refused to use a condom. Safe sex is obviously top priority in my marriage, but in that moment I was helpless to make him use one. I was in such a dangerously submissive headspace, wanting to do the right thing, whilst still knowing THIS WASN’T IT. I told him no. I told him that I didn’t want this and I asked him to get off of me. I even tried pushing him off, but there was no point. In no way did I say that it was ok for this act to happen.

Our evening didn’t end there and so I did my best to just forget that it happened. I convinced myself in the days to come that it was just part of the scene; that I shouldn’t have given myself to him so readily with everything else if I expected that one little point to matter. I didn’t tell my husband, nor have I ever told my friends. I thought Steph would be so mad at me for exposing us to potential STD risks as I felt like *I* had broken our #1 rule. I wouldn’t have admitted it at the time but I know I felt ashamed. Ashamed to admit to all of the other “dirty” things we got up to; ashamed that I let him put me in that situation; ashamed that I was helpless and mentally stunned. I’m an emotionally strong person, for the most part, and I let this asshole rape me?? I SHOULD have been ashamed of myself.

I’ve done a good job at not letting it really affect me emotionally, but that’s just because I’ve told myself that it was during an experimental time in my life. I haven’t wanted to tell other people about it because I’ve known quite a few folks who have been violently raped, and I haven’t felt like my situation was serious enough or could compare to their traumatic experiences. I don’t really want to sit down and ask myself if it hurt me because I’m afraid that the answer might be yes.

So here I am, a girl that enjoys surrendering control, has many a rape fantasy, but after 4 years am finally coming to terms with the fact that my consent was once heavily violated in a way that is absolutely not ok.

But I will be.

This post was inspired by @metricjulie’s recent post on consent. You may or may not agree with her, but consent is an issue that needs to always be discussed and for her post, I am grateful.

The “man” in question was arrested a year or two ago for something to do with child pornography. Serves the fucker right.

ADDENDUM: When I look back on my time with this guy, I actually feel like maybe I enjoyed most of it. I’ve convinced myself that this was just a little speck of bad in an ok enough time. I consider myself very lucky to have gotten through it with that feeling but others aren’t so lucky and we need to keep speaking out.

When the doorbell rang, I could feel myself getting anxious. I was about to let somebody else into this very personal space that has belonged to Harvey and I for years. I . . . → Read More: Three’s Company; part 2]]> This is Part Two to this story. If you haven’t read that one, this likely will not make much sense. So please read it first!

When the doorbell rang, I could feel myself getting anxious. I was about to let somebody else into this very personal space that has belonged to Harvey and I for years. I was excited to be able to show someone else just how good I can be for him, as well as to give him the threesome that he’s never had.

As our guest is a friend of mine, it wasn’t too difficult to be able to relax and enjoy a glass of wine while he cooked dinner. There was something very calming about the two of us sitting there, watching as he prepared a meal. I was at once highly on edge and completely chilled. I could still feel the wetness between my legs from my alone time with him and wondered if I would feel ashamed that there was someone else in the room now. I didn’t.

As he cooked, we all chatted. She had yet to be put into the head space that I was in, and I felt alright taking the liberty to escape mine a little. For a few moments, we were just normal, knowing that once dinner was over things would get very interesting.When the two of them started to discuss my relationship with him, I couldn’t help but start to feel proud. All of you, curious readers, know about Harvey already. My husband knows, as do my friends. But on his side, no one knows. It’s his choice to not tell his wife but he has said that it’s his burden and he doesn’t want to give it to his friends. So to be in the same room and hear him talk not to me, but about me, was kinda’ thrilling. I recognize that it’s a bit lame, and of course unethical, but it felt good and that’s important here.

After dinner we took her on a tour of the house. It was obviously that transition period between “Ok, we’ve had dinner. Now let’s have sex.”. Walking around, nonchalantly looking at furniture was a good in between. She kissed me in the hallway and then we headed to the den area where I had been earlier shining his boots and caught up in being a good girl.

It’s hard to remember the order of everything, isn’t it? That time when everyone goes from fully clothed to completely or almost completely naked. I can still see how slow paced everything was still. Harvey was in a slight state of can I say, shock? Seeing two women in front of him, ready to do his bidding while being intimate with one another. It was porn come to life, which I suppose for any first time threesomer can be a bit unreal.

I had no idea how it was going to feel, watching him be with someone else. I was slightly worried that I was going to feel jealousy, since our relationship has been so private and intimate for five years, but watching him have his way with her; seeing him so very much enjoying the gift I had brought him, took away any fear of that. I knew that she was a good choice the moment she stopped talking. The fire in her eyes was replaced by a wonderful submissive longing and it was so sexy to be a spectator. Though she’s not a pain slut, he clothespinned her breasts as I helped. I couldn’t help feeling like I wanted him to push her. Put her in intense subspace. Break her.

For the first little while, we were simply abusing her, experimenting with how far she could go. He pushed her up against the ottoman and used his talented hands to make her his. We would pause occasionally, all feeling very relaxed in our den of sin, all naked and stuff. I really relished in the time when she and I were making out in front of him. Sometimes it was softer, more like two women on even ground. Other times I wanted to show him my dominant side with certain women, something we’ve talked about but he has never seen. I would hold her down, control the situation, pull her hair. All while he was watching, approving, taking it all in. Knowing I learned much of my skills from him.

Those moments were nice, when I felt the freedom to do whatever I wanted to. He wasn’t as dominant overall as we had discussed he would be, but his mind was slightly overloaded at the fact that the threesome we’d talked about for years was finally happening, so that’s fair. When he was though, I found it fascinating how I wouldn’t even move without knowing if it was ok with him. I wanted this to be his show. Whatever he needed or wanted, I would do. I’ve never felt so giving before. She didn’t know how to follow his rules though, was brattier and was punished for it.

I was really craving some more submission after a while as our three person hot mess had become less kink than I was hoping for and I needed to be dominated. My initial fantasy was for her to be tied up and told to watch as he abused me, his precious girl, while she was nothing but a slutty worthless visitor who had to wait her turn. Somehow knowing that she got off on being called names appealed to my own fantasies as well. It was obvious in reality that she wasn’t going to be tied up, but I was still begging for that attention. I needed him to hit me. I needed to show someone else how good I can be for him, so he obliged. He lay me on the floor and smacked my face until I cried. She interrupted to ask if I was ok as she was genuinely concerned. I nodded yes, and he told her I was. I knew that I was perfectly safe but I imagine it was hard for her to see. I liked that. I wanted it to be challenging to watch while sexy at the same time. I think we achieved that.

It wasn’t just me that he beat though. He took sometime and smacked her in the face as well despite the fact that she’s not into pain at all, but something made her stay there then. Something made her want to try, to see if she was up to the challenge, and after a few smacks, he broke her. She was crying and it was beautiful. Completely cathartic and wonderful. And really fucking hot.

We were there for hours but I felt and still feel like there was so much more that we could do. So many more fantasies that are still waiting to be fulfilled. I can only hope that it doesn’t take 5 more years to get to them.

I suppose for . . . → Read More: Three’s Company; part 1]]> I believe pretty strongly that every man and woman deserves to be presented with the opportunity for group sex. It might not be their thing and it’s ok to say no, but with only one life to live on this earth, why do so many spend theirs not working harder on their bucket lists?

I suppose for some, it’s a matter of circumstance. Which is why I’ve been hoping for years to be able to offer Harvey a threesome. People in my life that are nice should have nice things. And what’s nicer than two gals willing to do what you say, all nekkid and stuff?

So I kept it in the back of my mind for years. Relationships with others came and went; Harvey was always around. While our level of interaction has changed over the years, the idea was never shelved. Though I don’t think he really expected it would happen; and who can blame him considering we’ve known each other for 4.5 years already, sans group sex.Then a few months or weeks ago … I don’t really remember … we started to head back down into dom/sub territory. It’s always been an aspect of our relationship; but not always at the forefront of our interactions. There isn’t simply one reason why we have explored it further lately. It’s been the perfect storm of Harvey spending more time understanding his dominant streak and gaining a new understanding for both before and aftercare of someone, combined with me having a shit time emotionally in 2011 and needing some clarity and grounding.

It’s a funny thing, to be completely aware of the fact that you’re giving more and more control to another person and to still let it happen. A few years ago it was probably a bad thing to use myself in a psychological experiment with him. Learning about submission while at the same time experiencing it with a man who hadn’t yet learned the importance of aftercare. There were many times I would go home crying, but not cathartic tears.

Now though, he gets it. And the appeal is so strong. To know, feel AND trust that he knows me; what I like, what I don’t, how far to push me and when to stop and hug … well it’s unreal. I have one wonderful man at home who takes care of me in so many ways and other out there who does in completely different ways. Sometimes it’s frustrating to have gotten so familiar with my submissive side as I realize what an important role she, Samantha, plays in the life of Sam.

But I digress.

This past weekend, Harvey had the house and some time to himself. I realized a couple of months ago that I knew a girl who might be perfect for a one time deal with him. Someone who understood discretion (though I hate that element – more on that later in part 2) and submission. After much personal anguish, the choice became clear, though complicated due to her being connected to friends of mine. While it may make some weirdness for me moving forward, I hope that it doesn’t because everything fit into place, which I had been looking for for so long.

I wanted to make sure that before she joined us that he and I had some time alone. I got over there mid afternoon and, besides some stomach wooziness, felt instant relaxation. It doesn’t matter what we’re doing, there is an undeniable sense of calm in the air when I hang out with him. No drama or passive aggressiveness. If there is aggression, it’s clear and strangely soothing, delivering catharsis, not confusion.

We hung out on the couch for a while. He worked me into a gentle fever with simple denial. Easy actions that removed my control of the situation, just, for lack of a better word, nicely. His tone changed, and he told me I was pretty. He asked his trademark question “Isn’t that lovely?’ and I wasn’t about to deny that it was. I don’t get off on degradation. I get off on making someone proud and doing a good job. When he called me his little girl a couple of times, I felt an overwhelming emotional surge. Feel free to Freud me up and down ’til the cows come home on this one and I’ll be the first to admit that I know I have Daddy issues (and he is often surprisingly very much like how I remember my dad sometimes). So maybe being called someone’s little girl is all inter-connected to my childhood and feelings of inadequacy when suddenly my family structure changed and I got a new step-mum and three step-brothers. Or hey, maybe it’s just relaxing to feel a strong man’s arms around me basically telling me I’m ok and don’t need to worry about anything.

Really, who the fuck cares, as long as my vagina was amused. Which it was, so very much.

After some amusement and a slow burn orgasm (always frustrating, never embarrassing) for me, he let me know I was going to give him a bath. I remember when I first started exploring kink, I read this book “Female Submission: The Journal of Madelaine“. In it, the author talks about bathing her Dom and how it felt so nice to be of service that way and it was always something I wanted to do. There is something so very appealing in taking care of a person in that way. It’s indulgent to indulge him. So I was more than happy to head upstairs and turn on the taps.

It was calming to wash him. How strange, right? But really, it’s kind of like ironing. Hmm, except ironing sucks so maybe that’s a bad example. Let’s say it’s like baking cookies. There’s this feeling of doing something good. Taking care of him and offering him relaxation and, as I said, indulgence. It’s so easy to zone out in that moment. To focus on nothing but the task at hand. Wet. Soap. Rinse. Repeat. Service based submission was almost built for people like me with a million things on the brain at any given moment … Peace. Quiet. One task. One objective.

When he was clean, I dried him. For a moment it didn’t feel like human to human interaction, but more like an art project of some kind. It was important to do a good job, to not miss a spot … to stay within the lines. Moving slowly to not miss a spot. Doing it softly, with affection and care.

When I went into the bedroom to get his clothes, I was thankful that he didn’t follow right behind me because I was slightly taken aback and needed a moment to breathe (Remember that a couple of hours of slow subspace can give tasks like this an extra layer of overwhelming). There on the bed was his outfit, his boots and his bag of tricks. His belt folded, ever so neatly on his shirt. His shirt folded, ever so neatly on his pants. It was obvious that thought went into placing every item so precisely. And whether it was to make me feel special or just show control, make me feel special it did. He came in the room and I basically dressed him. It’s strange, thinking about it now. Almost like I was a mother dressing a child … (I did think to myself while putting his socks on that it was good practice for when I have children) … except as the “mother” I was completely not the one running the show.

Fucking fascinating.

Then we headed back down to the couch area so I could shine his boots. Not before stopping off for a quick spanking (Something I wish there had been more of. Such a relaxing feeling giving into a spanking. I’m sure some would say the same about a hot bath, but I just find that boring and sweaty face making.)

Why the idea of shining his boots appealed to me I’m not sure. I know that I had been looking forward to it for weeks. He could mention it in a task and I would feel my shoulders shrug. My mouth going into that weird little sub pout and my eyes feeling slightly … doe-esque. Such a simple task but the meaning behind it, pretty awesome. Here I am on the floor, making sure to get every little bit of dirt off these boots. Knowing he loves the things so much, I was thrilled to make them look nice for him. Again, the zone out zen feeling of focusing on a task, knowing it’s something that you’re doing for someone, feels absolutely wonderful. Combined with the fact that he was wearing them and lightly flogging me as I lay there shining – when I had anticipated originally that they’d be off in a corner, not attached to his feet, while I did it – it was perfect.

The look of aggression was getting pretty strong in his eyes at this point. Once I was finished he slammed me to the floor and tied my hands. He gagged me (cursing my small head for being too small to really fit the gag) and abused me a little. All par for the course, really. It’s lovely to be abused sometimes. To be a doll for someone else’s amusement. Again, the lack of thought is zen. Why zen translates into a wet vagina is something that scientists can figure out. I am just glad it does and consider myself lucky to have made the connection.

After some abuse, I went into the bathroom to wash the polish off my hands. I came out, realized they weren’t totally dry and went back in to dry them completely. I paused just long enough to realize what had just happened. These, albeit strange to some people, fantasies that I had for so long; the bath, the planning, the boots, they had all just happened. He was of course doing it for himself, but I was certainly being considered. Another emotion wave hit me and before I knew it he was right behind me. His intuition has always been one of his stronger points and over the past little while has been ridiculously on point. At that moment when my subconscious started thinking “Woah, this is intense. You sure you’re handling it ok?”, I was able to collapse into a hug and have him tell me it was ok.

I hadn’t even had a chance to realize I was questioning it before he told me what the answer was.

Next we headed to the kitchen. Our guest was due to arrive in ten minutes.

More on that in the next post. It’s kind of ridiculous how many words this one got to already and I’m sleepy!

However, I’ve come to the conclusion that maybe I should start . . . → Read More: Y. Oh Y.]]> Unlike riding a bike, dating for me, is quite … unlike riding a bike. It’s not something I can just pick up again because there are so many factors like state of being, state of relationships and state of confidence that come into play each time.

However, I’ve come to the conclusion that maybe I should start at least consider dating again; men that is. I am really missing having another man in my life. As much as I lust and love after my husband, I cannot deny that other men bring a new emotional and / or sexual energy to my being that I haven’t connected with in a long time. To be honest though, I am pretty sure that the idea of dating again completely terrifies me. I don’t remember how to flirt with someone new and I’m pretty convinced that I don’t think I can be bothered with the whole “getting to know you” stage … again.

Plus, as much as I am trying to tell myself that I *want* to start dating men again; in reality, I just want my other two relationships back as they were. I miss them both terribly and feel like they’re both just floating in the ether and I can’t reach them. While both situations are very different, they happened at the same time and have both left me feeling empty. (Thank fuck I’m super busy at work and have other amazing people in my life that take me out and adore me or else I’d be a complete disaster.) The attempt to be friends with Don, which, while very difficult for me, I thought we were succeeding at, seems to have failed with no contact in a week after an intense email exchange. And while I remain hurt at Crush’s complete nonchalance about disappearing for so long, I’m also frozen at the idea of talking to him about it. What if I’m being too harsh? Or what if I’m right? It’s likely closure I need in both cases, but I feel like as soon as I get it, I’m slamming the door on possibility. And this fills my throat with a lump at the mere thought of it.

That’s another reason I’m scared to date. For the majority of my relationship with Don, I didn’t want to date any other guys. There were a multitude of reasons behind that, but the main one was that I felt fulfilled and just had no interest. I felt no craving for extra male energy so when Crush came along, it was a surprise to me that I fell down that rabbit hole. By now considering dating guys as a possibility, it’s like I am admitting total defeat and waving my white flag when it comes to accepting that things are no longer as they were.

Going back in time a few years, my relationship before this was six months long with S, and my “dating” phase before HIM was a BDSM discovery phase, which was certainly very, um, different than your standard first date, first base adventure. (First date, home run, whatever.)

The point is, I don’t remember how to be only in one relationship with a man – being my husband, of course – and meet a new guy as it has been a really long time since that has happened. When I met Crush, I had the security(?) of Don behind me and while I have two gorgeous and wonderful women in my life at the moment that bring me a lot of happiness, I have always found there to be distinct differences between dating men and dating women. While dating a lot of new people was something I was more comfortable with years ago when we opened up, now I feel full of fail at the very thought of it. My failure at keeping relationships healthy with two men I care deeply for has really kicked my confidence square in the nuts, despite the fact that I may be / have been helpless to save either of them. (note my not wanting to choose a tense there, as I don’t want to make assumptions on the status of either of them). Although I have met plenty of men and women that find my larger body size sexy and appealing, I have also stopped believing that the type of men I am attracted to might also be attracted to me. I can’t really explain it, but whatever that confidence was stored inside of before has cracked and now it has leaked out and disappeared.

I refuse to believe though that because I have suddenly reached this point in my life where I am very professionally confident for the first time ever, that I cannot have both this and personal confidence. I know that it’s up to me to just … fix it. I need to woman up, kick myself in the ass and be happy with myself again. I have done it before, although I haven’t been up against such strong interior and exterior demons. I need to date if I WANT to date, not because I feel I have to. But if I do find out that I want to, then I have to make myself available to do that. There’s nothing that says I must get into emotional relationships with people; although those types of gigs do follow me around. Why not consider casual and simply enjoy a sexy romp or two or seven? Either way, I will have to find time to write messages, meet people, ask people out, or respond if they ask me. I have to accept things about myself that will never change and either begin again to make changes on the things I can, or accept that I’m probably not going to. I have to not be afraid of rejection because its after effects have had me in their clutches for far too long and I am suffering for it.

I have to stop assuming that the cute boys I might want to get to know want me to go away. If they do, then I will. But what, I ask myself, if they don’t?

Maybe I’ll consider finding this out.

It was a quick hour and a half but it was totally what I needed to calm my brain down, if only for the time he was here. We haven’t been together in a . . . → Read More: Fit to be tied]]> Today I had an impromptu date with Harvey who happened to be available. I needed to escape into submission and he was available.

It was a quick hour and a half but it was totally what I needed to calm my brain down, if only for the time he was here. We haven’t been together in a long, long time so it was neat to see our relationship be able to go there again.

He tied me up, and it was my first time really being tied up with proper knots. The act of being tied up is such a good one for an active, broken brain, like mine. It forced me to slow down, pay attention to every word, every touch, every lift of my arms to get into position for whatever he was doing next.

It forced me to just focus on what was happening at that moment, to enjoy someone controlling the situation, falling under his spell and relaxing, regardless of it I felt embarrassed or not, which I did.

I sort of wanted it to go on for a lot longer, from a therapeutic standpoint, so that I could potentially cry and have a real, full release but maybe it’s better that I didn’t. Perhaps my morning panic attack had something to do with the fact that I thought that might happen. That I would be so into the headspace that I wouldn’t be able to control the emotions that would overtake me because of it and the breakup. That I would lose all control and be wailing on the floor like a little girl. It’s something that I have done before, and enjoy, but I’ve done so much crying lately that I really didn’t want that to happen today.

Thankfully it didn’t get too crazy. He hurt me, slapped me around, made me ridiculously turned on and was also gentle. In those moments I felt very comfortable and able to let go.

I have a sense of calm now. Who knows; it might only last another hour, it might last until tomorrow but I’m glad to have it while I do.