Another long weekend, another exploration into unexpected realms, and a broadening of the definition of that it means to be owner and owned.
Our foray into the little/caregiver dynamic continues apace. On Friday morning, a slow work-from-home day, I’m woken with treats: First there is a temporary tattoo that reads ‘Sissy’ in lovely joined up script. This is applied to my pelvis, just above her locked property to wonderful effect.
My second treat is that I’m asked how I’d like to spend the day. Feeling lazy, I request a day being a little. We chill together on the couch, where I feed lazily every few hours. In this role, I’m not allowed to use my vape, or drink beer, or watch ‘adult’ TV and we spend the day watching cartoons. The effect is strangely pacifying. I feel quiet, almost shy, and I relish these small restrictions.
At mid-morning, I’m talced and diapered. I love how this soft, restrictive layer provides an extra barrier between her locked property and my wandering hands; the half-shame of secret occasional leaks.
Another treat is in store before lunch: Bath time, with a gorgeous glittery bath bomb that leaves my skin feeling silky soft, just like a real baby. There is more unexpected dissonance between the way I expected to feel being treated this way, and the way it actually feels. I’d always imagined feeling shamed and humiliated at being ‘forced’ into the role of baby. In reality, there’s little forcing or humiliation. The feeling is more akin to being catatonic, quietened…pacified…and extremely content.
Later in the evening, I’m unlocked cleaned and milked. This, too, confounds my expectations. Instead of the clinical, methodical act I expected, I end up writhing in pleasure on the prostate massager, hungry to be filled. Afterwards, I’m left with in that ecstatic, frustrated state of being limp, unable even to get hard, yet feeling on the very brink of impending orgasm.
On Saturday, we go out for drinks. The moment we’re home, I’m ordered to the bathroom to clean up, and told that Miss intends to have my ass. When I enter the bedroom, Miss looks unbelievably divine in a body suit of black lace, riding crop in hand. Her tone is stricter than usual, with a harsh matter-of-fact edge. There could hardly be a greater contrast from yesterday’s maternal fussing and cooing.
She takes me doggy-style, occasionally reaching around to stroke her unlocked property which remains resolutely limp as it often does during anal play. Her love making builds in intensity until I’m being fucked hard to my limits. I feel like a real sissy slut now, and I love it.
We take some gentle mood enhancers, which send us both to a place of playful experimentation and spontaneity. For a while, we play hunter and prey. I cower, trembling with fear as my Miss becomes a primal cat, pinning me to the bed. Softly, she growls and bites, breathing in my awe and fear. Now I’m vulnerable in a way I’ve never been before; feeling that at any moment my Miss could tear at my jugular and devour me whole like the goddess Kali feasting on a mouse.
We play and writhe like this for a while. There are moments when I’m being emptied, my psychic energy drawn from me and into her as we dance through a realm of archetypes.
I think my Miss knows I’m prone to metaphysical thinking after our mood enhancing potions. Something she says lights my imagination: How I am hers for all eternity, in this life and every life thereafter. These lives flash at me briefly: My Miss as Emerald Wasp, and I her insect prey. My Miss as high-born noble Roman and I her gelded slave. Then she is the goddess Kali again, and I am the conquered, the supplicant Lord Shiva lain beneath her feet. In the body-less moments between such lives she harnesses my soul with chains of stars.
We play this way until the early hours. She has me dry hump her. My cock, (her cock) still limp discombobulated from anal play and dissociatives aches wildly to be inside her. In my addled state I somehow manage to don my own cock – a nice thick strapon and we make love.
This, too, is curious. My Miss wants to feel my passion, some animal dominance. I pin her wrists to the bed, burying myself deep inside while I beseech her in a tone somewhere between encouragement and begging to come beneath me. I want this more than anything because I sense that she does too. This strange act of being bidden to be forceful makes me feel strangely even more submissive, since I feel able to give what I sense she needs, as though I am the truest slave of her pleasure.
And so it seems, that none of this is panning out how I’d expected. We shift from archetype to archetype, exploring power in all of its forms and the experience is a far richer one than I’ve ever dreamed possible.
I sense that my Miss is giving some serious thought to the role of chastity in our relationship, since I received some thoughts along those lines by text. In a 5-6 weeks, we are taking a holiday for which I’ll be unlocked so that she may feel my passion for her unadulterated. I’ll remain submissive, but freely able to sate my desire for her – a deep want that’s been carefully cultivated over the past month as one would tend a garden. In the past I might have felt some anxiety about the diluting of my submission, but not so now.
I’m beginning to feel we could frame anything within this dynamic without losing our love, our passion for each other, or the sense of play and exploration that’s making this whole journey so damn delicious.