13 March 2010


There are certain words that have always been “hot buttons” for me, ever since I was a little girl (pun sort of intended). Granted, back then, I didn’t understand (and perhaps, in some cases, I still don’t) what that electrical surge that coursed through my body was. Yet upon hearing words like torture, submission, collar, surrender, training, and force, I would feel my core melt into a writhing pool of sexuality. The part of me that was most instinctual and most feral responded intrinsically to these triggers, making my pussy damp and my stomach pleasingly tight with the need for release. I’m sure that I will discuss each of these words at some point, but for now, surrender is calling my attention and, let’s be honest, who am I to deny its call?

When I think of “surrender,” my brain doesn’t automatically jump to the Oxford English definition of what some stodgy, professorial types think it should mean. My first impressions of surrender are sharp-focused mental images of a woman (oh, who am I kidding? It’s me.) on her knees, blindfolded, with her hands bound together at the wrists and a tear running down her face. She is broken and totally stripped of every last defense that she ever had…surrender is her only option. And because surrender would not be complete without someone present to accept the willing (or unwilling) defeat, my mind conjured up a hazy-figured man looking down upon his submissive quarry, knowing that he has finally gotten what he always wanted – her…every facet of her being…every inch of her body…every soft whimper…every moan of ecstasy…every plea for mercy…he has everything.

Until recently, it was enough for the “hazy-figured man” to simply exist. As I would bring myself to climax, I could imagine him standing there, lording over me and taking possession of me. This man now has a face, has a defined shape and has a name…well, a couple of names, actually. Whether he is Daddy, demanding that his baby girl cum for him and filling her with his seed as he breeds her, or Master, pushing his slave’s limits beyond her most deviant imagination, he is a very real presence now…and so the true surrender begins.

Although I’ve always wanted to surrender – to completely relinquish my being to another – I’ve never had the opportunity to do so. But things have changed for me. It started slowly…a discussion of interests and proclivities…the mention of a collar…the use of words like “baby girl” and “breeding”… I was surrendering so quickly that I didn’t have an opportunity to check myself and ask if this is what I really wanted. But honestly, I already knew the answer to that question. Soon Daddy took control of my pleasure and my orgasms…the surrender was so natural and second-nature that I knew that he was the only one who truly deserved my everything.

But what I have learned from my Daddy, and it is something that I never could have realized on my own, is that surrender is a two-way street. Whereas I admit my (albeit proud) defeat, Master now takes on a tremendous responsibility. Those who accept the surrender are accountable for the well-being, safety, pleasure and pain of their possession. My fantasies had always ended at my climax, with the hazy figure looming heavily in the shadows. How was I to know that one day I would find the one that would accept my willing surrender and, in exchange, open my eyes to a world of possibilities that I had never even considered?

Call the Oxford guys. I’ve got a whole new definition of “surrender” for them.

No comments:

Post a Comment