A Dominants Perspective on Feeling Safe

My impression is that a feeling of safety is a necessity to make submissives (and dominants) want to play, but when this feeling of relaxation and safety is developed, it persists through humiliation, pain, tears and even fear. If consent is not violated, of course.

To feel safe is paramount for both submissives and dominants before, during and after play, but it is also my impression that what makes a submissive feel safe is not necessarily what makes a dominant feel safe. And of course, there will always be differences between people, even if they use the same label.

Feeling safe when bound tight with ropes does not make much sense for me, but I know of several who feel safe that way.

Feeling safe with a hand or two around my throat does not make much sense either.

To give up all my power to someone else, even someone I trust, is not safety, for me.

I have other safety triggers, so to speak.

Lying in bed with my girlfriend with a leg over her legs, my face snuggled against her neck and a hand at her throat makes me feel loved and safe, because she trusts me and feels safe that way. Being the big spoon with my arms around her is also a good place to be.

It makes me feel safe when she tells me that something is wrong during or after play. She takes responsibility and help me take care of her, and of us. She does not want to hurt me by letting me hurt her.

To have one hand in her hair or a hand around her jaw, or even better both, makes me feel both powerful, relaxed and safe.

It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy when she kneels by my feet and put her head in my lap. Or when she sits in front of my chair so I can lean forward and embrace her, and maybe give her some cuddly pain.

To have one or both hands around her throat does not only feel good to me, it feels safe. She has given herself up to me, and I find a sense of well-being in that.

Sometimes putting my collar on her makes me feels safe. In a particularly stressful situation some months back I got up, found her collar and put it on her, so I would have control over a part of my life – her. It made me feel better.

All this is not to say that I never feel safe when I am the little spoon or when I have my head in her lap – I do, no doubt about it. However, I think these examples are good illustrations as to how dominants and submissive have different ways to feel safe, as well as similarities.

This is just my perspective, of course.

Wonderful Vulnerability

Before yesterday, I didn’t understand why having someone that was vulnerable towards me could be a good thing. Why should someone be vulnerable? What did I get out of it and what could she possibly get out of it? We could do everything we wanted without her being vulnerable – and wasn’t it better that way?

We really can do whatever we want, and whatever I want, without her being especially vulnerable, but yesterday’s session was … a bit magical.

The beginning wasn’t promising at all. I had a headache that was on its way from bad to worse and that kind of pain makes me unhappy and slow. On the other hand, I knew that it would be a while before I would have her with me again and I wanted some private time with her. Private time is not the same as playtime; we could just have cuddled and talked. It was my decision to do otherwise. I had one thing I wanted to use on her and another thing I wanted to try for the first time. Because of this, it was playtime.

In lack of a better description – the energy exchange began almost immediately. It was like turning on a switch. I was her dominant and she was mine to do as I pleased. I don’t think it has been like that for me, ever before. We could both feel it – a closeness, an intimacy, which has been with us in the past, but maybe not like this. No, not quite like this.

Between my orders and my giving her pain, there was hugging, petting, stroking and kissing. We were in our own little bubble, our own space, where only we existed. It was like floating. Floating on her expressions, her whimpers and moans, her softness and her kisses. We have had similar experiences, or I have at least felt almost like this before, but not quite this strongly. As I said, it was a bit magical. (I wonder if it was domspace I was in?)

At one point she said in a low voice that she liked being vulnerable to me. That she felt so safe with me that her vulnerability was something she wanted to give me. If I ever have gotten a bigger compliment from anyone, I can’t remember it. My breath caught in my throat, I could feel tears threatening and I leaned forward and hugged her. Hugged her hard while we both struggled to get our emotions under control.

I believe her vulnerability was a big part of making that session so special, so intimate. It wasn’t anything I thought about then and there, at least not before her quiet words. I simply noticed, on some level, her openness, her susceptibility, and I took what she offered me, and used it. Both of us where very satisfied with the outcome.

When I think back on yesterday’s session and on the playtime’s before I can see that I more than once have put her in slightly vulnerable situations and liked it. I just haven’t really thought through what I have liked about it and why.

Now I know; I like it when she is vulnerable towards me and I like it a lot. Vulnerability in my partner is wonderful.

Later that evening when we both had gotten home, I called her and we talked a bit more. One of the things that she mentioned was that during that session I was more in control than before, I was more confident in myself and what I wanted and what I wanted her to do, and not do.

Therefore, the question is this; did her vulnerability make me take more charge of the session, or did the fact that I was more confident with myself and with being in charge make her more vulnerable?

I really don’t know. I only know that it takes two to tango and that I truly like this dance of power exchange.

Fuck Toy

I don’t remember when I first began to think about the idea of a fuck toy. I don’t remember why or how the idea arrived in my head and my fantasies, nor do I particularly understand why it remained, why it became one of those fantasies that I wanted to explore. I just know that it did.

I do know that the notion had spun inside my head for a while before I acted on it.

I remember the first time I treated my girlfriend as my fuck toy and little else. Without explaining anything or telling her what to expect, I told her to undress while I stayed clothed. Already there it felt like something exciting and fun. To fuck her and almost pretend that I was detached from what I did to her and what she felt was sexy. To feel, hear and smell her reactions while she did exactly what I told her and simply accepted what I wanted to give … it was beyond sexy.

Afterwards I felt a bit like a cat that had found a perfect spot in the sun and was warm, relaxed and very satisfied with life and everything in it.

I knew I wanted to do it again, soon.

Later my girlfriend told me that I had taken her by surprise that day. (Which I liked a lot, of course.) She hadn’t believed that I was interested in doing something like that, maybe not even capable of liking it. She said that she hadn’t believed it of me when we began to get to know each other, at least. Then again, neither had I.

Now the term fuck toy is almost an endearment in my vocabulary and I like to remind her that she is mine.

Cuddly Pain and Trust

A couple of days ago, at a kinky gathering, I was cuddling with my girlfriend. It had been a week since the last time I saw her and I had a hard time keeping my hands of her. Hugging, stroking, kissing, running my hands through her hair, squeezing her hand, kissing her neck and cheek, pinching, biting and pulling her hair … Wait a minute, that’s not cuddling!

At one point I recognized what I was doing; I was giving her pain and cuddling at the same time. It was almost like I had been doing it on autopilot, not really aware, but having a good time nonetheless. I enjoy her sounds of contentment as much as I enjoy her sounds of pain. A hug there – a pinch here. A kiss on the cheek – a bite on the neck. The usual. The thing is; it kind of has become the usual. Not to say that we never cuddle without any pain, we do (I think), but cuddling and pain goes hand in hand, so to speak. Personally, I think they do great together.

When I realized what I was doing, I also realized that we hadn’t discussed whether my girlfriend was okay with it or not. At no point had she protested or asked me to stop, but still, I had to ask, to be sure. My girlfriend assured me that she was okay with the cuddly pain and of course she would tell me if she wasn’t. Her one reservation was that there would be no cuddly pain in vanilla situations and I readily agreed.

I have quite often come across writings that state that the bottom must trust the top before any play take place. The bottom must trust the top to respect his or hers boundaries, he or she must trust the top to release them at the end (if there is bondage), not to harm them and to help them if anything should go wrong. I wholeheartedly agree at all points and then some.

Something that doesn’t get as much attention is the fact that the top must trust the bottom just as much. A top must trust the bottom to tell him or her everything that might have an impact on the play and to be honest about his or her health, physical as well as mental and emotional. The top must trust the bottom to give feedback and to stop the play if anything should go wrong or feel wrong, and he or she must trust that the bottom won’t turn against the top should a mishap occur.

I have believed that being the bottom would have to be the scariest thing, what with the helplessness and all, and that trust had to be paramount for the sake of the bottom. I have felt that being in control in a scene is daunting too, but a bit less so. Now I’m not so sure. I doubt that I would be as relaxed if I didn’t trust my girlfriend and I wouldn’t be able to go from stroking to pinching and from kissing to biting without a thought if I wasn’t convinced she would tell me to stop if she disliked it.

I trust my girlfriend. I trust her to tell me if something is wrong, if something is too much, too little or simply not right. I trust her the same way I hope she trust me, to speak up for herself when needed. Even so … I’m not able to stop worrying. I worry that I might do something wrong, and not only with the cuddly pain; I worry about the all kinds of pain and pleasure in addition to the small dose of D/s we have dabbled with. I worry that I do or push too much, too little or in the wrong places or circumstances. In short, I worry – which is nothing new. What’s new is the fact that I give someone pain, I hurt her and I like it (a lot) and that’s worth worrying about. (Not that I like it, that’s not the issue here.) So now there’s a small, nagging part of me that goes: What if she doesn’t tell you if she’s had enough, what then, hmm?

Luckily the small, nagging and very annoying part doesn’t get a lot of room. Partly because I know my girlfriend quite well now, and partly because my girlfriend is very good at giving feedback; no matter what I do to her, her noises tells me how she feels about it. I might miss a hint now and again or misinterpret a sound, but if I’m in doubt I ask. (Right now I will most likely piss her of by asking is she’s okay, long before I drive her off by doing something really wrong. Not that I really believe that either of those will happen.)

While I wait for my doubts to shut up (and yes, it’s likely to be a very long wait) I will indulge in a bit more of cuddly pain with my girlfriend and take one day at a time.

And for the record, cuddly pain is so a term – as of now.

Moments

My hands are stroking down her back. I hear soft sounds in response.

There is slap when I hit her ass. My palm stings and I’m rewarded by a low moan. I continue to hit, she continues to moan.

I try a zipper for the first time. The high pitched sobbing sends small lightnings through me. I want more.

My fingers curl around her chin, keeping her head still, keeping all her attention on me and only me. I kiss, lick and bite my way up her back, over her shoulders and up her throat.

“Mine now,” I whisper in her ear. “Mine.”

Her breath comes a bit faster.

I hit her ass until it is warm and red before I position myself against her back and slip my arm around her chest. I hold her tight and dig my fingernails into that red and tender skin.

When she gasps and moans I want to lick it up, her sounds, her pain, her pleasure, her, all of her. It’s so delicious, she is so delicious. I lick and bite her throat instead and I’m trying to hold my own response back, just a bit, just enough.

The room is warm. She is naked and standing still, I’m not. It’s too warm and I pull my dress over my head before I continue to beat her ass.

I try the zipper once more. I don’t think she likes it much, but when asked she says I can use it again. My heart melts a little.

Standing behind her with my hand around her chin fast becomes a favorite. I’m so close to her and I can bite her shoulders, nip at her ears and dig my nails into her ass, another favorite of mine.

When we are finished I remove her blindfold. The first words out of her mouth are: “You have been beating me in that!” She almost looks disappointed that I have been hurting her just in my underwear and stay ups, or maybe the disappointment stems from the fact that she hasn’t been able to watch. Who knows?

We relax. I stroke her hair. We talk a bit. Both of us are finding our way back to earth and normal life before we leave the room to rejoin the rest of the play party.

 

Change in relationship status

My date and I decided that we aren’t going to keep calling what we do, for dating. In all honesty it stopped being dating about a month ago. That’s when it started to feel like a relationship. A couple of weeks ago we talked and agreed that it did feel more like a relationship that dating someone we might or might not end up in a relationship with. She told me that she more than once have thought of me like her girlfriend and I admitted that the word “mine” came up again and again when I was with her or thought about her.

That’s what she felt like, and what she feels like even more now; mine. Mine to hold, hug, kiss, look at and talk, laugh and do stuff with. Whether the stuff we are doing is walking, watching a movie or making dinner, or less innocent stuff; she is mine.

The first time that word, mine, was at the tip of my tongue, I swallowed it down. I didn’t know if she would be comfortable with such a word. Some people are, and some aren’t, even in an established relationship and we weren’t in one, at that time. Sometime later the word slipped out in spite of my intentions; the day after that, we had our little talk.

So now she is mine as much as I’m hers. We are no longer dating, but I think we will keep planning dates, because we like them.

I also know that she doesn’t mind the word “mine”. I’m grateful for that, because it happens to be a word I like.

Mine.

What is my “type”?

While it sometimes happens that I think a random woman on the street is beautiful, I don’t have a physical “type” that interests me more than others. Or, if I do, I have not found it yet. I think it’s fascinating how some of my friends seem to have a physical “type” they like better than other types. It might be that someone with long, brown hair, square jaw and muscle appeals more than other features. Or it might be a more general look, like someone with Asian features or Nordic, Hispanic or Italian features. Of course, the fact that someone likes to watch people that look so and so, doesn’t mean that they always fall in love with someone that looks like that.

Physical looks are, after all, only the first impression, and while the first impression matters, it’s unlikely to do any good if the person is a jerk.

When my friends and I talk about types and they list features that makes them turn their heads or personality traits that makes them pay closer attention, and then ask about my type, I can’t give them an answer. We have used hours to try and find my type, without success. Sure, I like that girls have some hair on their heads and I like it if their clothing style are girlish more than boyish, but neither is a must have. When it comes to hair, eye and skin color I have no preferences that I know of. It’s not like I can’t see a woman and like what I see, I most certainly can, but there is no straight answer to exactly why I like her looks. And if you put her exact opposite next to her, I might like her just as much.

While I don’t have a physical type, that I have discovered, I do have a list with preferences. I would like it if we have some, or a lot, of the same interests. We must be able to talk, and talk and talk and laugh a lot together. I would prefer it if we were quite close in age, give or take about three years. And there must be chemistry, lots of good chemistry, and a spark. The spark isn’t necessary to begin with; if the right chemistry is there, the spark might just come in its own time.

Of course, now that I’m carefully dipping my toes in the BDSM world, I would like it very much if we were compatible in that area too. Not that I’m entirely aware of what that would mean, for my part, but I’m beginning to get a notion of it.

So far none of those I have fallen in love with have been even the slightest bit alike, physically. They have been on completely different ends of the spectrum, both in features and colors. I think that the personality catches my attention first and if other things are right, the fact that I like how she looks kind of sneaks up on me until I one day realize she is beautiful, stylish and so very cute. There is no other way to describe it.

My type is the one I fall in love with.