Under His Hand

The journal of a slave

April A to Z — Q is for…

Q is for Quality and Quantity.

Many, many eons ago, Master declared it to be a Law of the Land that our play would henceforth be governed by the Quality over Quantity clause.

We had, at that point in our play, fallen into a trap of thinking we HAD to do *something* all the time, every day, or whenever we could. We’d be cramming these mini play sessions in, sessions that often left one or both of us hanging because there wasn’t time to finish it.

“Finish” can mean a multitude of things. It might mean one or both of us didn’t orgasm because often our play is very sexual. It might mean one or both of us didn’t have time to reach a high or, worse, that one of us reached a high and it was cut off at the knees.

Masochism, at least my particular version of masochism, isn’t about finding pleasure in pain. It’s more the exchange of power and energy, coupled with the endorphin rush that physical pain provides. So, it seemed like all too often, in these rushed mini sessions there would be just all pain and no energy, which fell very flat for both of us.

He likened it to taking 12 mini weekend vacations a year to a local attraction versus saving up all year and taking a 2-week vacation in Paris. Or the Bahamas. (Or Germany)

So the law was declared. If it was determined that we didn’t have the time for a proper scene, or if we both weren’t equally into it, he would say “Quality over quantity!” and instead we’d go watch a movie or just fuck or, you know, whatever.

All’s well that end’s well.

Except.

Sometimes I feel like we’ve gone too far the other way.

Like maybe we’re putting too much emphasis on quality. Not every interaction has to be a tour-de-force performance.

Sometimes I feel like we might both really be in the mood for something but we know we have limited time/energy/whatever so we don’t even try.

I think, in general, quality over quantity is a good standard to have, especially if quality had begun to suffer. But I don’t think that should mean we dismiss quantity all together.

There CAN be exceptional quality in large quantities.

I mean, a weekend vacation to the nearest beach once in awhile is pretty fucking sweet, right?

;-)

April A to Z — O and P are for…

O is for Oh, shit, April is almost over, there’s no way I’m going to get through the rest of the alphabet.

O is for Oh, well. I’ll get done what I get done. :)

P is for Plot Twist!

So, interesting– I fought to get him back, or at least his attentions and focus…. aaaaaaaaaaaand now I don’t want it.

Haha.

I don’t want to play. Nope. Not interested. Tra la la.

But not like jaded or cynical or petulant “don’t wanna!”, just genuinely not in the mood.

Does he care? Not in the least. :)

But doesn’t it just figure? He’s up, I’m down; I’m down, he’s up.

Insanity, I tell you.

April A to Z — L is for…

L is for Laughter.

It’s a key component in lasting relationships, I think, don’t you? Master and I both have a kooky sense of humor and we make each other laugh all the time. He is fun. Fun to be around. He is always making me laugh- and I do the same to him.

I know I sometimes give the impression that things here at casa de cunt are rocky or strained, and that’s not the case at all. Just because I come here and angst and navel gaze doesn’t mean our relationship is teetering on the edge. I assure you it’s not. We always figure things out.

In spite of the fact that we DO have some things we need to figure out, we’re still making each other laugh, still having fun, still committed to each other, to this, to M/s.

I’m grateful that Master isn’t one of those high protocol sort. He enjoys my humor and the banter we have, that someone who is high protocol would probably find disrespectful. We are constantly calling each other names, exchanging mock insults, cracking jokes, making horrible puns, and generally being inappropriate for our own amusement.

I like to think that even if, for whatever reason, the M/s took a hiatus, we’d still find pleasure in each other’s company. Because even through this latest bump, we’re still enjoying each other’s company. :)

L is for Let it go.

(Did you just sing that? Cuz I did. I haven’t been nonconsensually forced to watch Frozen in over a year but I still can’t not sing that fucking song.)

I would like to say that I was slavey enough to have come to the conclusion that I needed no changes from him in order to “let it go” but that would be a big bucket of bullshit. :)

I did need some changes from him.

What I got wasn’t any sort of compromise or acquiescence to my demands on his behavior. What he HAS done is acknowledge that he unplugged from me. What he HAS done is be more present.

That game he deleted? It’s been reinstalled. He’s playing it. I’m fine with that.

But what happened over a week or two of not having it there as a distraction was making him see how distracted he really was. In the time it was gone, we’ve played, we’ve had lots of sex, we’ve spent time together just watching movies, talking, laughing, going for walks.

I’m trying to be mindful of the part I played in being an obstacle myself. Enthusiasm and agreeable are my middle names these days.

We are letting go of old hurts, of cynicism and grudges. I’m not allowed to bring up things from the past, neither is he. We can only be present in this moment. If I am falling back into old behaviors, he will tell me what he is seeing NOW. Same for me. I can say what I’m feeling today.

Here’s an example:

When he’s playing his game, he wears headphones and is chatting with other players or listening to music. Or both. So getting his attention isn’t as easy as just saying “Hey Master?” or whatever. I have to either holler or tap on his shoulder. He’d started to respond negatively to me, no matter how I “interrupted” him, because that’s what he felt I was doing- interrupting.

However, my rules are that I have to ask permission for, like, everything so I began to respond just as negatively. I might not ask at all, and risk being called on it. I might stomp away muttering under my breath. I might tell him he’s being a dickhead and to stop fucking ignoring me.

But that’s not communicating.

So, just the other day, after he’d started to get testy about being “interrupted”, he stopped and made me come over to him. He put the headphones on me and then talked to me. I couldn’t hear a word he was saying, of course. While I understand that he legitimately cannot hear me, that doesn’t address the issue.

I said “Perhaps you need to consider relieving me of the burden of having to ask you things if you don’t want me interrupting you. Because it’s hurtful when you snap at me when all I’m doing is following your rules. It makes me reluctant to be obedient.”

We just don’t look at it from the other’s perspective, but now that we have, in order to avoid future unpleasantness over it, there has to be some allowances made. He obviously doesn’t want me to be reluctant to be obedient and hadn’t realized he’d put me in the position of choosing whether being disobedient was the lesser of two evils, but neither is he setting me up to fail by giving me rules and then “punishing” me for following them, which is how it felt to me.

I think that getting to be and do whatever they want is a valid draw to being the Boss, but I don’t know that they always comprehend our responses to it. I’m not sure he’d even considered WHY I was responding so negatively other than “she’s just being a bitch because I’m playing the game so I’m going to be a dick right back”. Which is far too simplistic.

It’s pretty amazing what you discover when you start talking. O.O

L is for Learning Curve.

Because duh, lol.

April A to Z — K is for…

K is for Kissing.

Many, many moons ago, I wrote about how my childhood trauma had left me unable to enjoy a deep kiss. A quick peck I could handle, but a lengthy or, god forbid, a french kiss was a serious trigger.

My reactions to a deep kiss are visceral, unpleasant. The immediate response is to get away. To jerk and jump away, like a spider just ran across my arm.

Then I’m flooded with anger- deep, intense, irrational, claw-your-eyes-out anger.

There’s a wave of nausea; the kind that makes your saliva come too fast and makes you swallow too hard.

And then feeling… squicked. Just, icky. I have to wipe my mouth, I have to get a drink of water to change the taste, to change the lingering, crawling sensation.

I’ll get breathless, but not swoony-breathless, more like hyperventilating breathless. My lungs will feel emptied, like I can’t fill them. Should the kiss last for more than a second, I will feel like I am being suffocated, like I am under water. I can’t breathe, at all, and then.. Panic.

I might walk away and need a moment to compose myself. I’ll be shaky, maybe only inside, but maybe outside, too. I’ll need a minute to… stop wanting to stab you.

We’re talking about events that happened between 30 and 40 years ago. Talk about your lingering side effects!

Master and I have been together for almost 12 years now. Master likes to kiss. Master is not a psychologist, and neither have I always been self-aware enough to know why I felt the way I did, or how to deal with it.

Looking back, there were some serious mistakes. He tried to force. I tried to pretend. He liked to do the whole movie-scene, unsuspecting, dipped, lingering kiss (worst. move. ever. Cue immediate and lengthy panic, and hours of anxiety, and weeks/months of being on edge every time he came near me).

It’s odd to me that of all the ways that childhood trauma could have manifested itself it went like this- with kissing. Yes, there are traumatic moments related to kissing, but so are there with many other sexually related activities, and I’m okay with all of them.

Though I did have to do some mental gymnastics to “get over” being triggered by him waking me up in the middle of night by way of fondling/groping/stabbing me with his dick. What’s odd though is that I DID. I mean, I got over it. It is not in any way a trigger for me anymore, and I got over that relatively quickly with him.

But this kissing business had proved a much harder trigger to be in control of.

I’m better now. Which is why, today, K is for Kissing. :)

Flash forward these past 12 years and I’m in a relatively good place with kissing. I can still be triggered by it, but it’s much less often. I can’t do the sneak attacks, and while that puts a harsh on his spontaneity buzz, being catapulted into a panic attack harshes my buzz, too, yo.

But it’s not as if I need him to step back and say, loudly and clearly, “I’m going to kiss you now” (though, truth be told, he HAS done exactly that. I just don’t need it like that *anymore*) but I do need just a second to stomp down on that trigger.

He almost always starts with a couple of pecks on the lips as a lead in (or, if you’re me and you’re fucked up like I am- you might call it a warning). Then perhaps a short flick of the tongue. By then, I’m ready. Usually. I still get a little bit of that drowning feeling if it’s too long of a kiss, so mostly we just don’t have long, lingering kisses, and that’s okay. I don’t really know what I’m doing, mentally, to “be ready”, I just know that I am, that it’s different when I have a minute versus not having any, or enough, warning.

Trauma is weird, right?

Sometimes, I’ll even be the one to initiate the kiss. And enjoy it. And not feel anything unpleasant at all.

Another 30 or 40 years and I might be over it completely, lol.

Oy vey.