I love this topic. There are so many ways control – having it, losing it, giving it up, having it taken from me – lives large in my life. I love it, I need it, I want it; I want to give it up, want it taken from me, want to lose it. I am struggling all the time to gain it, to maintain it; control of my diet, of my daily habits, of myself is an on-going battle. In my relationship with V, I say “take it” and then I struggle against him and fight against losing the control that I say I want to give up.
Control is, of course, at the heart of my D/s relationship with Viper. More than the sadism/masochism, more than the rough sex, being controlled is at the very deepest heart of my submission to him; it’s what makes me tick, what I need most in our relationship.
Okay, the beatings and hot sex, the orgasm-control, the breath control, the control he exerts when he makes me take just a little more pain, or pushes me to the floor and makes me service him, when he tells me to pleasure myself for him – or refuses to allow me pleasure – those are all pretty super too. But on a day-to-day basis, it is his control over my life in the many small ways that he exerts it that makes my world a better place, that makes me feel settled and content, that keeps me coming back even through the times when every other part of our relationship feels out-of-control, or worse yet, controlled by someone else.
There is also the very large topic of self-control. More than with my diet and exercise and habits, but with my emotions. That is one place that I believe I have grown the most within the aegis of this relationship, and a way that D/s has helped enormously. Yes, it has challenged me in countless ways, but it has also given me the support and tools to surmount those challenges.
At the moment, though, my life feels controlled by a very pissed off Mother Nature. As I mentioned earlier, I got back from my D.C. trip Friday and went to the dentist to get a wisdom tooth pulled. That was miserable enough, though by Saturday I was feeling somewhat better… Until, suddenly, I wasn’t. I’d started to feel poorly when Mr. Photographer dropped me off, by the next morning I was in an unbearable amount of pain. I saw the dentist Monday morning to discover that “dry socket” is a thing, and I had one. It is an agony. And the only thing that will cure it is time – the open, nerves-and-bone exposing wound just has to heal. Meanwhile, I am stuck taking a prescription drug that dulls the pain but also makes me feel like shit; that or over-the-counter Tylonol/Ibuprophen that tears my stomach up. All Adam’s birthday plans have been postponed, I’ve been on a mostly liquid-ish diet for days, and how my body feels is so out of my – or anyone’s – control that sometimes it feels like a nightmare that I can’t wake up from.
So, what started as a going-to-be sexy post about – YUM – being controlled and losing control in countless sexy ways, has turned out to be me whining about my physical ailments. Still, the original title holds.
It’s not entirely off the topic of D/s, either. V has been very solicitous of me, very concerned and loving and not having expectations that would make me feel bad because I simply can’t fulfill them. But today, when I told him I was feeling a tiny bit better, he reminded me that I am still his kitty, and still very much Owned, in spite of that bitch Mother Nature and the cruelties she is visiting upon me. It helped, a lot, to be reminded of that.