Kai Under Cover of Darkness

Sometimes, to serve me, you have to serve yourself.

There are times when the kink world bleeds into the vanilla world. I recognized this less when I was here last, when I largely measured the amount of kink in our life by how often we scened. There have been occasions when I have seen the bleed-through before: when we went out to dinner with a remote vibrator hidden in my pants, battery case concealed beneath my shirt; when the timbre of his voice changes to tell me that I'm on shaky ground and should watch what I do or say--the small things that come out of our interactions, whether expected or not. We did not play when he visited me at my parents' house, but we looked at toy stores online, talked through a BDSM checklist, and went out to buy me a leash. And the thing is, the small things do count. I didn't really think they did before, which perhaps had a lot to do with the small things being less frequent and less noticeable. Even now I wouldn't call them extremely frequent... but they are frequent enough, and I have come to value them.

Last night, DW held me on top of him, holding my wrists above his head, and gave me my first command. He has been working very hard towards getting me to finish without assistance during sex, and he made me promise to find what feels best to me, what works best for me, and to not hold myself back when I'm close. It isn't that I hold myself back on purpose... I don't even realize that I'm doing it. But we have talked at some length about orgasm control, and that can't even be attempted if I can't learn to let go all the way during sex. And so he told me in no uncertain terms that until the end of the evening, the sex was not about him. I was not allowed to think about it as being about him, was not allowed to see the goal as getting him to finish, was simply to focus on what felt good to me. As it says at the beginning of this entry, he told me that sometimes in order to serve him, I would have to serve myself.

It was strange, in a way. And it was good. And it was scary. And, in a way, it was still about him... because he was the one who told me that it was now my job to focus on and learn something about myself. I found what felt best to me and pushed myself into it, but the fact that he wanted it of me made it somehow more. He commanded me. I served him. I served me. Perhaps this is one of the ways in which dominants and submissives tie themselves together. And he told me about the different sides of me that he had seen: the submissive who takes pleasure in withstanding pain and the much smaller submissive who enjoys the pain itself; the submissive that is desperate to please and will do almost anything in order to do so; the nymphomaniac who will throw everything into sex and get lost in it. There might very well have been others... I might have forgotten. He held my gaze and I saw nothing outside of it while he spoke to me. It was like being in sub space, and I wonder now if maybe it was. It had so many aspects of a scene without actually being one, and, for me, broke down some of the boundary that has always separated play and sex.

I am uncertain as to whether or not I have said anything of significance with this entry... but I felt that it warranted a moment here all the same.