#kitten thinks

[hisgoodkitten]

Having two teenagers in the house makes it difficult to be properly freeuse, so the times when @cruelsadisticlove can find a way to message me, send me into the bedroom, and make use of me for any reason or no reason at all are pretty magical. When he tells me I'm so wet that he doesn't have to finger me to slam his big cock home in my soaked cunt. When he reminds me that he'd have to go slow for someone else, but he's spent a decade training me to take him, so he can bottom out in me in one big stroke. When he rails into me, reminding me that I won't come until tonight, no matter how much I want to. I'm for him, for him to use. I'm his, entirely. 

He didn't come this time; I think he might have just wanted to remind me that I was his. That he could. That I'd already said yes once, so he didn't need to ask again. 

When he'd had enough, he pulled out, wiped his cock off on the inside of my thigh, and told me to get dressed. That I'd been a good girl, so I'd get to come tonight. 

[hisgoodkitten]

Story time, Tumblr, because I owe @cruelsadisticlove a love letter, and because I need to try and explain the enormity of what happened to me last night. 

We met when I was about 33, and in a very bad marriage. We were friends first, a gradual deepening of affection that bloomed into something warmer but still fairly vanilla for a long time. And while I was a girl who knew that I liked my sex a little rough, I liked a little bit of edge in the bedroom, my knowledge of BDSM was of the "walking naked around the house with a chain on your throat" and "kept in a gimp suit and begging to be hurt" variety. I knew that it was a relief when a partner of mine gave me clear, direct instructions—"Come here." "Get on your knees." "Suck my cock."—but I thought the idea of submission, of being forced to kneel for someone, was a load of bullshit. I think I said something to him like "I want someone to make me want to kneel." 

He, delightful and wonderful man that he was (and is) decided that was a challenge. 

It was a long journey. I don't think I ever rose to the standard of a brat (I'm sure he'll say if he disagrees), but I was almost never willing to do something just because he said. I needed to hear him explain to me why it was good, why it was right, why he wanted it, and more importantly, why I wanted it. Why I should want it. I needed to know that it was okay for me to fantasize about dark things, about being spanked until I couldn't think anymore, about being held down and forced to accept something, about sleeping with a cuff around my wrist so that I would stay exactly where I was put. (I write that out and I understand better why the identity of Daddy Dom is so comfortable and resonates with him. That, and because Daddy was the only honorific that ever made sense for us, ever.)

I started to lean on him more, with time. I went through a very bad divorce and then a very traumatic move. My (our, now) kids were...hard. I'm autistic as hell and I tend towards hyperfunctioning, and when he started suggesting little ways he could help, I gradually embraced them. Unsure which necklace or bracelet I should wear today? Let Daddy pick. Unclear which shirts I should buy? Daddy has a good sense of both what I like and what he thinks looks good on me, get his opinion. Know I need to set up my bullet journal every week, but keep getting busy and forget to get it done? Promise Daddy that I'll show him the layout every Sunday night so he knows that it'll get done. (I write that all out, and I understand better why the identity of little (or, more properly I think, middle) has been settling on my shoulders like a comfortable and safe blanket, filling my belly like sweet hot tea.)

But all through this, I didn't particular enjoy kneeling. I did it without reservation when he told me to, when he wanted to hear something from me when I was on my knees or he wanted to hear me beg, but I can't think of a time where I initiated it, when I said I wanted to kneel for him. It just...wasn't part of my emotional or submissive repertoire. 

At the very beginning of this year, some stuff happened that forced me to do a deep and critical inventory of my...well, entire self over the last few years. I came to some important conclusions that I could only resolve with a leap into faith (thank you, Chidi Anagonye). And when I did, the resulting truth came with a wave of unmitigated softness and vulnerability and sheer, intense submission unlike anything I'd ever felt. It has been a dizzying journey, the past 30-or-so days. I've often felt unsure of my footing while also knowing that I'm exactly where I need and want to be and I'm held more carefully and closely than I have been at any point in my life. 

One feature of this was several weeks ago, when I was at work and, between one second and another, was bowled over by the incredible, overwhelming need to say 'yes' to something. It wasn't just to submit, that was part of it, but it was more than that. It's still difficult to explain; this might be an iykyk moment for a certain type of sub? Unclear. Feel free to weigh in and let me know your thoughts. Anyway, I told him that, this compulsion, and we talked through it a bunch in text while I tried to get through my work day. And yes, when I got home, I dropped to my knees in front of him and told him that I needed to say yes to something, to anything, could he give me something to say yes to? 

He did. It was a wonderful night. 

Since then, this has become something of a feature of our dynamic. It's not constant, but sometimes I need to say yes like I need to breathe. As a kind and loving Daddy, he's happy to assist. 

But last night was different, though I didn't realize it at the time. 

See, two nights ago, he collared me properly. We've had various bits of significant jewelry over the years—bracelets, anklets—but they've broken at various times and left me in incredible distress. He decided he'd had enough of that, and bought me a beautiful, discrete, permanent collar that I can wear all day and all night and just...not worry about. It feels perfect and pretty and I'm so fucking happy about it. 

And yesterday (what is it about Wednesdays?? I have no idea), that urge came over me, but it was different. I messaged him and said that I wanted to do something. I needed it. He helped me figure out how to be safe, and when I came home, we went about our usual night. Made dinner. I curled up in his lap and he pet my hair while we watched some silly thing. And when we went to bed, I offered the thing we'd been talking about. I asked him. 

I asked him if I could knell for him. 

He said yes. 

I did. 

Nothing particularly sexy happened. We talked for a little bit, about our day, about what today might be. When my ankles hurt, he let me stand and we crawled into bed together, slept tangled up together. 

After a little more than 10 years, give or take, I finally understand what it is to want to kneel for someone. 

He has alerts on my posts, so he's going to wake up and see this. And know from the moment he's awake that I'm his, all the way, completely and entirely, without hesitation or reservation. His kitten, his good girl. 

I can't think of anything else I could possibly want to be. 

[hisgoodkitten]

Last night as I cuddled up under his chin, and when he asked me why it felt good, I finally admitted that it was because he felt big and warm and safe.

Today once I am done work I'm going to try and rearrange the shelves in my office so that I have space to put my stuffies and funkos in the place where I spend a lot of my day.

While I'm wearing a thong, because I'm only allowed panties that have lace or thongs now.

And I wait to see if I've been good enough to play with the very special package that should be in the mail.

And it's not even date day.

[hisgoodkitten]

There is something about nipple clamps that just shuts my brain off. It's wild. Like, we've determined that I can't offer meaningful consent while even the mildest pressure is applied.

So having vibrating nipple clamps as a present was.

An experience.

(A very good one with carefully negotiated boundaries BEFORE we were even naked, the safe-sane-consensual girl in me insists on noting. And to anyone who thinks consent can't be sexy, I need you to understand that my hands were held over my head while he traced clamps over my [clothed] breasts and murmured that no matter how much I begged, I could be held down while he played with these, not until he understood how I reacted better, so I could beg as much as I wanted, but I couldn't have it, and uuuuunf)

And that was just "experimenting to see how they worked."

Today is date day, with the kids out of the house for 3–4 hours.

I'm...

Excited.

[hisgoodkitten]

I've never cried from a spanking, from a hairbrush, from a belt. I'll whimper and cry and beg and moan, but even if I've had to safeword, I've never really cried. Just, no tears.

Today, my Daddy went after my tits, ass, and clit with a hairbrush until I was red and whimpering, but I didn't start crying until he was fucking me slow and soft, keeping me right at the edge, while he told me what loved, good, sweet girl I was, what a good kitten, so pretty. THEN I started crying.

This says something about me, I'll let you decide what.

[hisgoodkitten]

The thing about an under the bed bondage kit is that now I'm sleeping on the ropes @cruelsadisticlove used to tie me down, and every time I lie down, he could do it again.

Any time.

And he tied me down. Not up. Down. So I wouldn't fly away.

So fucking good.

[hisgoodkitten]

So I see doms talk every so often about kayfabe—which, if you don't know, is the thing in wrestling where they're all acting, screaming that they're going to kill each other with chairs or whatever—and when they turn kayfabe off (@cruelsadisticlove specifically did this yesterday, I think, when he was talking about a particular bit of scene negotiation that we were going through). I think subs should do this more. 

I find that I refer to him a bunch of different ways on Tumblr. He's my partner when I'm talking about our day to day, he's my Daddy when I'm talking about specific kink things. In the outside world, I exclusively refer to him as my partner; in our bedroom, me calling him by his legal name is so out of character that it's practically my safeword. And I was thinking this morning, as we were playing out a scene—he woke me up from sleeping, told me he couldn't hold back anymore, he couldn't wait anymore, he'd been waiting for me to wake up from my nap, but he couldn't, and now he was going to take what he needed, and I understood that, didn't I? Didn't I understand?—that I wanted to write about it, write it out like it was real, not play, and write what I was thinking, what I was feeling. And I still might. 

But then I wanted to say this more. 

Don't misunderstand me. I'm 100% here for the gifs of girls being tied down and taken. Pretty sluts being spanked until they're bruised. Stories about darkness, about ultimate submission, about not being able to think without Daddy's permission.

But I also need to keep saying: I'm in a 24/7 dynamic, and that's not my 24/7. 

I was so scared of kink for such a long time. If I didn't want the most extreme version of a thing, did it even count? Could I even ask for a spanking if I just wanted a hand, not a belt, not a paddle, not a whip? If I didn't want to be forced, could I ask to fight back for a minute, to be told I was going to take it no matter what? 

CLEARLY the answer is yes. 

The internet constantly exposes us to the most extreme version of a thing, and I think I want to let the mask slip sometimes. Sometimes a little, sometimes a lot. Sometimes I want to talk about how my partner and I agreed that I have an unhealthy relationship with social media and I should probably set myself some time limits if I'm going to have a Tumblr blog, and sometimes I want to talk about how my Daddy told me that if I didn't listen, if I broke my time limits or looked when I wasn't supposed to, then he'd be very disappointed in me.

(Or, in the first punishment I've gotten in *years* and I'm very cross with myself about it, have my nipples whipped with a hair brush while I cried and counted and repeated that I would be more careful, Daddy. Still smarts. Both from the whipping, and from the niggling frustration of having behaved incorrectly without realizing it.)

That's, I think, why I'm going to periodically talk about sourdough bread, show off the pretzels I'm going to make tonight, and just generally...be a person. A sub, a kitten, someone with a bracelet that I've had since COVID, and have only taken off when I needed to have a specific medical test, and even then he took it off before I went to the appointment and put it back on when I got home. And a person, above and beyond and integrated with all of that. 

Okay. Off to go make pretzels. 

Kayfabe on.

[hisgoodkitten]

My subby loves, you have got to find yourself a dom who will, like, wait until you want to kneel at his feet and ask for him to fuck your throat, then take you to bed and fuck you dry, edging you until you're sobbing, finally let you come as long as you scream his name—and then cuddle you while you cry through your drop, buy you a calzone because it's the only thing that sounds like food in the world, and get you some seltzer because it's easier to drink than plain water when you're coming down. 

Who will promise to let you practice having your face fucked once the kids go to bed, but will absolutely cuddle up and watch an episode of a goofy documentary about a weird leggings-based Mormon-y MLM because it makes you smile. 

I spent so, so long not thinking of myself as a sub because I didn't want to be beaten and bruised and pissed on and made to sleep under a table because I was subhuman. And like if that's your thing (and my Daddy is very happy to enjoy all sorts of things with his good girl, which I love for both of them) then more power to you, but it's not mine, and I thought that, since it didn't get me wet, I obviously wasn't a sub. 

Even though I come harder when I get held down. Even though pain regulates my sensory system. Even though I sometimes desperately need to shut off my brain and be taken care of. Even though ropes tight on flesh make me whimper. Even though I crave the opportunity to serve, to take care of someone. To make them happy. To be a good girl. Even though lying in his lap while he strokes my hair is often the best part of my day. 

Gentle doms and Daddy doms, soft subs and service subs. Stern Brunch Daddy. 

Just. Here's what I want to say. My subby loves, demand aftercare, because you deserve it. You give up so much control and give so much trust, and you should be praised and told you're a good girl for it. And like, the form that takes for you personally might vary. Maybe LuLaRich just ain't it—but you should feel like you fucking matter, and if you don't, that dom doesn't deserve you.

And then, when the drop passes, ask your dom how they're doing, *especially* if you just had a heavy scene. Tell them how safe you felt, how satisfied you are, how loved you feel. How trusted. Because they need to hear it. I promise.