In a strange twist of events, Sir now wants to identify primarily as my Daddy. If I ever get around to explaining what’s happened since Thanksgiving, this might make a little more sense.
sir
I wish I could say my trip to see Sir over Thanksgiving was start-to-finish splendid. At the beginning, the whole thing was a little strained. I arrived the night before Thanksgiving in a terribly delayed flight, and then the next afternoon we had to go our separate ways to see our respective families. I got home at about seven, he didn’t get home until much later and I was too tired to do much of anything.
We watched a movie and he made drinks, so I was then way too tired and tipsy to do anything in our dynamic or have sex. And though I wasn’t trying to then, I had been generally evasive about our dynamic since I had arrived, and Sir had clearly picked up on it. Lying in bed, we proceeded to have an argument about how there was something off, we weren’t falling into whatever natural thing we usually did, I was resisting something.
“It’s just that…” I stammered out, and I felt myself start to cry. “So, like, I feel like I’m developing feelings for Pup beyond like sort of just being like fuckbuddies or occasional play partners and so I feel like I’ve been carrying this around since I went on that trip and that I haven’t been able to tell you because I didn’t want you to feel like I was just trying to sub him out for you because that isn’t it.”
It’s weird how – in a relationship complicit in allowing us to date other people – I was ashamed to admit I actually liked those people. I felt like I had somehow betrayed him by letting myself actually care about Pup, and so I was tip-toeing around everything to avoid it.
"I told you to be careful,” Sir said, I realized he misunderstood. “This is what happens when you get vulnerable with people, you have to be careful.”
“No, stupid, he likes me back. I think.” I proceeded to explain the conversations Pup and I had been having. The fact that while I was away on that trip, I’d gotten drunk and went to text him saying I missed him, only to find that he had sent me a text like that, and wound up having this awkwardly frank conversation about liking each other. “You’re not mad, right?”
Sir cracked a smile, “so, sweetheart’s got a little crush, huh?”
I felt like something had been exorcised from the room.
The weird fact that gifs like these make me feel nostalgic.
My flight home to see Sir during the Thanksgiving holiday ended up delayed by a snowstorm. I wound up arriving at his place several hours late, hungry and exhausted. He had dinner ready, and afterwards we took a bath together.
I’ve talked about the fact that I’ve never taken a bath with a partner on this blog a couple of times. It’s something I’ve always intended on doing, but between dorm showers and my own apartment only having a small standing shower, it never happened.
I was kind of looking forward to coming back and jumping his bones, but I enjoyed the fact that we were able to have a little bit of sweet d/s instead. I washed him, and then he washed me. I cannot begin to describe the thrill of having his hands on me again, of sleeping beside him that night.
Sir shipped me some of my things from his place and they arrived the other day. Among them was my tail. Even though I have it here now and even though I haven’t been able to be a kitty in a while, I don’t think I would be able to do it with anybody but Sir. Which stinks, because I miss doing that stuff so much.
I’ve been putting off making this post because I always hate writing about the tough stuff.
Back in October and early November, Sir and I were having a little trouble. He was in the awkward position of being about to move but wanting to explore kink/poly stuff. And though I encouraged him, he kept snagging on the fact that he would be gone in a few months. To top things off, his other main partner had moved away.
As a result, there was a little bit of understandable bitterness. But, I ended up feeling awkward and evasive, like the problem wasn’t Sir’s own frustration with his situation but that I had somehow wronged him by being with other people. I felt guilty, and more than that, worried that he would become resentful from me and that this would ruin our relationship.
Instead of articulating this to him, I just started walking on eggshells and avoiding talking about poly. I hid behind excuses and tried to deflect away from the things I was doing for fear of upsetting him. I didn’t want to lose what I had, and so I just pretended I didn’t have it.
The tension came to a head the night when he was complaining to me about the dilemma of starting to like someone but feeling like everything was coming to an end too soon, and was therefore useless. Feeling guilty and anxious, I lied, said I was going to sleep, and went to Pup’s place instead to mess around. Instantly, I felt awful and, on my way home, called Sir to tell him what I had done and that I had been avoiding him because of my fear of having to choose between his happiness/security and non-monogamy.
“Okay,” Sir said. “Okay, we need to talk about this.”
And, finally, we did.
Look Daddy stinging nettles! mastersubverter
So that’s a thing? I thought it was just a bitch getting swatted and stabbed with some random shrubbery. I’m so ignorant of this stuff.
What are nettles?
They’re shit that gets put in panties when someone misbehaves.
Haha. You’re an asshole, Sir. <3
Full Service, Part Eight
We were curled up together in bed afterwards. Craftsmate had untied me and my head was kind of spinning. I had kind of fallen back into subspace during sex once more, especially when he pulled out and made me cum by grinding his thumb really hard into my g-spot. He knows I like the tension between things hurting and feeling pleasurable, such as getting overstimulated by a vibrator or getting spanked on my cunt.
But, anyway, I was a little hazy. The inside of my mouth tasted like condom and cum and I wanted to close my eyes for a bit.
Craftsmate reached over and pinched my nipples between his fingers. “You know, if I ever collar you and own you,” he said, pinching a little harder, “I would pierce these with little rings.”
“We’ll talk about it, Sir,” I replied.
He nodded and kissed my forehead. “Of course. I’d never make you. But maybe one day.” He released my nipples. “Anyway, you were a very good girl today.”
Swelling with pride, I let my eyes close and curled up in his arms.
In retrospect, I’m happy I pierced them on my own terms. When I was ready to admit to myself that I’d wanted them for years and that it was okay to take a risk and get them, when I did it how I wanted it to be done. (I think rings aren’t as cute as barbels.)
“Are you sure this isn’t because I like them?” Sir had asked me while we were waiting for the piercer. “This is what you want, right?”
I shook my head. “Are you kidding? This is all for me.”
We’re both glad about that fact.
In which the patriarchy probably influences my sexuality quite a bit, maybe.
StandardI kink on possessiveness. Sir and I identify within the owner/owned paradigm. And, otherwise, I like the idea of someone feeling protective over me not just because they want to keep me safe, but because they feel like they have some sort of authority over me.
We were out last night – some people from my kink community (YES I AM TELLING MY LIFE OUT OF ORDER WHATEVER I HAVE AUTHORITY OVER THIS NARRATIVE I AM THE GOD OF THIS BLOG) and Pup and I – at karaoke. I had just sang and was feeling kind of silly so I went to the bar for another drink.
As I was waiting to order, this guy came up next to me and we engaged in the following:
Guy: Nice bag.
Me: Oh, thanks.
Guy: I’ve got the same one.
Me: Did you forget it at home?
Guy: You were very cute up there.
Me: Well, thanks.
Pup came over and stood beside me. He leaned against the bar and started playing with my hair. The guy kind of muttered an apology and walked away from the bar.
“Way to cockblock me,” I joked when we walked back towards our friends.
“Well, yeah, I’ve got you tonight,” he said. “Go find him and give him your number.”
I blushed and shook my head. “It’s okay,” I replied. “I kind of like it when you get a little jealous and possessive.”
Which was totally hot until this morning, when we talked about it again, and he started smacking my stomach with his flaccid penis and going, “dibs, dibs, dibs.”
Me, during the hours when Sir and I are both actually awake and available.