My Complete Submission
Friday, February 5th, 2010This is from Thursday, yesterday. We’re both offering our perspectives, but we were too tired to finish, and post it, last night. It’s a long one!
As I think back over the day, one phrase keeps coming to mind. “Complete Submission.” Over, and over, and over, today, that has been the focus. Brought about in so many of the smaller ways, my awareness of my submission was brought to a height, time after time after time.
When KYOTKGUY first got here, I was in one of those “jumpy” moods. . . . . . . . . . like, the slightest movements would startle me, and I was aware of everything going on in my environment. Not that I was scared of him, in the slightest. . . . . . . . . . I was just jumpy.
Slowly, he brought my awareness to him. He would takes my wrists, and hold them firmly, and gently whisper into my ear, “Who are you?” My response. . . . . . . . “I’m yours.” “What do you offer me?” “My complete submission, Sir.”
We did this over, and over, and over, in varying fashions. Sometimes, it caught me off guard, and other times, I expected it. During a long drive to a friend’s house, we were able to do something we rarely get a chance to do. . . . . . . . . . simply be, and talk, without interruption. Perfectly at peace, we covered topics ranging from random trivia, to goals for the future, and, of course, my complete submission.
Once at my friend’s house, we began moving some stuff from the garage, to the basement. Quite a long haul, and nothing was light! Now, this is a place that I’m going to be spending a good amount of time at, in the near future. . . . . . . . My friend left for a meeting, and I was downstairs, looking out the window, thinking about how thrilled I was to be spending this chunk of time with him, when I suddenly found myself turned over his knee.
I hadn’t done anything wrong; no, far from it. He leaned down, and whispered into the back of my head, “What do you offer me?” “My complete submission, Sir.”
He then proceeded to spank me in every room of the house. After each spanking, I would cling to him tighter and tighter, because they were hurting more and more. At the same point in time, I felt completely open, connected, perfect, his. At one point in time, as I was being spanked on yet ANOTHER couch, he asked me, “What do you offer me?” “My complete submission, Sir.” “Willingly?” “Yes, Sir.” “Of your own free will?” “Yes, Sir.” It was after this one that tears came to my eyes. . . . . . . . . .and there were three more left to go. After the very last spanking, in the bathroom, I just buried my head in his neck and cried. I knew, however, that without fail, I would remember this trip, this session in submission, and would think of him every time I walked through the doors.
On the way back to my apartment, we spent the time laughing, talking, and setting goals. Now, this whole “goal setting” conversation was not one I was interested in having, and at one point in time, I stubbornly informed him that I was FINISHED with this conversation. I was sullenly staring out the window, watching the fence lines go by, fed-up and frustrated with my own in-ability to put into words my feelings, when my head was grabbed, and I was made to look at him. There was a bit of flint in his voice, and steel in his eyes, as he asked, “WHEN are we finished with this conversation?” The phrase “complete submission” rolled through my head as I softly answered, “Whenever you are finished, Sir.” We continued the conversation, needless to say.
Once back at the apartment, we carried a couple of things upstairs, and we were laying on the bed, talking, being, just enjoying each other’s company, when he pinned me, flat on my back, wrists in his hold, and began nuzzling my neck. He gently nipped at my ear as he asked, “What do you offer me?” Absorbing his touch, I replied, “My complete submission, Sir.” He nuzzled back down by my head as he softly stated, “Again.” A bit stronger, I replied. . . . . . . . “I offer you my complete submission, Sir.” Into my ear, he softly, gently, tenderly asked, “Do you need to be reminded of your submission?”
Pinned, flat on my back, wrists firmly in hold, I gazed into his eyes as I thought about that question. My entire life, it seems, as of late, has been crazyyyyyy. Like, everything being turned every which way and craziness and just rocky instability and happenings and not-happenings, and it just feels like a spiraling, out-of-control MESS. He has said to me a couple days prior, “When it all FEELS out of control. . . . . . . . know that it’s wrong, because *I* am still VERY much in control, and you can rest on that.”
Yes, I knew that fact. I knew he was in control. I knew he was solid. I knew he was THERE. But. . . . . after days and days and days of FEELING like an out-of-control mess. . . . . . . . . . I knew that I NEEDED to be re-assured that it all wasn’t crazy. . . . . . .that there was still a rock out in the midst of the stormy sea. So, I looked at him, and I very, very quietly said, “It would probably do some good.” I had no idea what form this exercise in submission would take. It could be gentle; it could be harsher. It could be VERY painful, or it could simply be an exercise in trust. It could be any number of things, but it was now in his hands.
What followed was a whirlwind of sensation and emotion. I was rolled onto my belly, fully clothed, with both hands placed in the small of my back. My stomach sank and my blood turned to ice as I heard the restraints bag. . . . . . . . . . . . . . for I have only ever been restrained for spankings during which the pain is so severe I cannot keep still; I cannot simply be pinned physically.
It seemed as if he was working FOREVER, but he finally managed to restrain my hands the way he wanted to, and he pushed my shirt up out of the way. . . . . . . . . . . and then he pushed it a little bit further. Now, we’re both “touch” people. . . . . . . . . we both enjoy skin on skin contact. . . . . . . . so my thought was simply that he wanted open access to my back.
*confirms* He did. I’m not sure why he chose to go for my back, but the first stroke caught me off guard. It was gentle, light, and repeated, over, and over, and over. It was all a deep sensation, at first, and then the sting really started to build. I began to squirm, and then, I locked my elbows straight so that the tawse was landing across both forearms, instead of contacting my back. I heard the restraints jingle as they were gently, tenderly, undone, and both of my hands were pinned above my head. I was told to slip my shirt off, and I did so, baring my back completely. At this time, my focus was on his touch, and the soothing, gentle contact his hand was offering as he rubbed my back. He restrained both hands above my head, and continued the steady, light strokes across my back, and ribs. Never hard, never heavy, but enough that the sting would build. As the sting built, I had to focus more and more at remaining relaxed, at maintaining position. My quiet whimpers and yelps mixed with the song the leather was singing, and after awhile, they began to blend. It was never enough to be horrible pain, but it was enough to continually build, to offer a challenge to my submission. It stang quite a bit, but it wasn’t extremely intense, if that makes any sense. It was on the line of really wanting it to stop, and being able to handle it with focus.
While it was obvious that Kea was much more relaxed and centered than when I arrived, I felt she needed something “off the beaten path” (no pun intended). As I laid her down, I just instinctively raised her shirt because she loves having her back rubbed. The first thing that caught my attention was the tawse. It occurred to me that perhaps a little “leather and lace” was in order and I began very lightly applying the tawse to her exposed back. The way her pale white skin would almost instantly turn the most beautiful shade of pink was mesmerizing. Listening to her body speak to me as the tawse landed was like listening to an beautiful musical masterpiece.
I was amazed at the constant sense of trust and relaxation. I am extremely wary, almost guarded, about my back being touched at all, and yet, not once did I feel fear. Not once was I scared; not once did I want to tense out of trepidation. Even when the pain began to build. . . . . . . . . there was no fear, only openness, trusting vulnerability, and submission.
All of a sudden, a heavy, hard stroke cut across the top of my left thigh, and I howled as I jerked my hands under my body. That’s my first response to sudden, unexpected pain. It’s not instinctual; it’s trained. It’s what I do to keep my hands from covering my bottom, because that just REALLY hurts worse in the end. Here, though, jerking my hands under my body caused more pain, too. Two hard, heavy strokes landed in the same place as he asked, “Where are your hands supposed to be?” Nearly in tears, I pushed them out in front of me. “What do you offer me, Kea?” With tears apparent in my voice, I answered. “My complete submission, Sir.”
A while later in this exercise, I was asked to close my eyes again, I heard his hands at my belt buckle. The sense of trust, openness, vulnerability, submission, was astounding, at this point. I was completely relaxed, almost limp, absorbing, taking in the sensation of his hands, of the gentle rubbing, and of the random stroke. Suddenly rolled onto my belly, the strapping continued. All the way up and down the back of my body, everything was game from my shoulders to my knees. Most of the strokes were gentle, but out of nowhere, a hard and heavy one would keep my focused, aware of my submission, and make me have to fight to maintain position, and relaxation. My back was sensitized, and the strokes across my shoulders were ESPECIALLY hurting towards the end, but it was the hard, heavy ones across my sitspot every few moments that almost brought me to tears, continually.
I don’t exactly remember when, but I remember ending up over his knee. The spanking culminating with his hand, the strokes were hard, deep, and heavy. Crying, I absorbed the pain, the sting, the burn, and fought to stay relaxed, to accept. That was the point at which he pulled me into his arms, and just held me tight. He whispered into my hair, “What do you offer me?”
Sniffling, I replied. “My complete submission, Sir.” Complete indeed…
