When I started writing this blog, as many may know, it was about my BDSM relationship with Angel. Since then, it has become a weird therapeutic rant page. The last 6 months have been some of the most stressful and emotional time that I have lived in my life. But, through it all, that now dormant dominant in me is still right there.
I was reminded yesterday, just how strong. I actually had to stop myself from writing yesterday, as I wanted to see how deep seeded that feeling still is. How strong it is, and how long it would bubble inside me.
Angel and I have been talking more, and I have been enjoying it. We have kept it to friendship and, well, not at all sexual (for the most part). We don’t have any set goals, other than both of us figuring out what we want and need in life, and still being there for each other and sharing our days. I have been enjoying our time, and honestly, been focused on just making sure that I am myself.
Part of myself is “Sir”. That dominant man who Angel knew and trusted so deeply. That dom who she could cry too when she needed it, and would discipline her when she needed it. That dom that she was safe with, the one who was honest and blunt. Who told her exactly how he felt, and swore himself to love, protect and support Angel. That was until he was slipped into a coma, sort of.
Yesterday, Angel sent me a text saying “Hey. Just a quick question lol. Where do you think this bruise would have rated on the old scale?” and I was mentally transported to a different place for a moment. I flashed to a dark room, Kitten against the wall and me with a handful of her hair at her scalp. That look in her eye, pleasure and pain as I inspected her arm and decided the punishment for allowing my property to be damaged. Yes, my property.
In our rules, Angel was to protect her body at all costs, as any bruise would equal a punishment. She was to do this to help me, for I couldn’t be there always to protect her. The severity of the bruise equaled the severity of the punishment. There were times I thought she was excited, even if she felt bad, to show me a mark or bruise that would trigger the strict “Sir” in me. Yesterday, it did. But, I quelled it with her in my response. I know the last time I pushed at all there, it didn’t end well. We surely haven’t discussed the probability of any of our BDSM relationship and if it will ever return. I chose to be honest, but not emotional.
“That would be cane worthy” as the bruise on her arm was large and dark. It would have been cane worthy, and I didn’t want to side step it. She told me that it was the worst bruise she had received in a while, and that it was where her brian went”. Ya, me too, that’s exactly where mine went. I could see the cane in my hand as I bent her over the bed, in my head. Listening to her breathe as I rubbed the spot that would be soon receiving the cane strike as her punishment.
I went on about my day, trying to work through the images. But, there she was, against the wall. My body against her as I inspected her, the look in her eyes, the fire, bending her over the bed. It was all right there. It felt so natural to see it and feel it. It felt so good to have her in my hands, even if only for a moment in my head. It felt the most like me I had felt in a while. Even today, I have seen it over and over. I have felt the part of my brain and heart that dominance rises from bubbling and flowing. I could almost taste her.
A coma, yeah maybe my dominant side was in a coma. But it is amazing, to see how even in just a simple moment, that side of me can explode to the surface, all because of a picture. I have thought a lot all day, about Kitten being in my collar. Holding her close. Giving her ecstasy that she gives me. Feeling that closeness, that tenderness in all of the sessions, no matter how hard they were. I felt the after care, holding her, taking care of her, knowing that I am her only line of protection in those moments. Sir still is alive, and at some point he is going to start looking for her…..