All ‘femdom relationships’ category posts

posted by on femdom relationships, happy femdom

I cannot tell you how delighted I was when I read this story. It was Sunday morning, and I had my coffee in hand when I opened my emails. Moments later I was almost in tears with an idiot-smile on my face as I read this absolutely wonderful happy-making tale *delighted sigh*.

Author: Master Joy’s boy

I saw your call for sharing happy and healthy stories. Thank you for all the work that goes into making your site happen.

The realization hit me I can either continue lurking or stop being lazy (Ferns, you think you are lazy… I’m very competitive when it comes to being lazy!) and contribute by holding myself and the relationship I’m in as an example instead of a hidden treasure. So, here goes…

I had a healthy and very happy childhood, with 2 wonderful parents who were together from high school until one died in their mid-80’s. I’m well adjusted and by most any measure have a successful career, continue to be a successful parent, and have a very successful marriage. Important note: I did not say perfect. Like everyone, we have challenges. We each wake up in the night – more often than we care to think about – anxious about work, about kids, about the future. I believe anyone who says they don’t have anxieties is either in deep denial or heavily medicated.

When I was dating, I could sense I was attracted to women with strong personalities, not wall flowers. Not that there’s anything wrong with wall flowers, I just realized gravitated to what I sensed as strong and commanding women. I just didn’t know to use the words dominant or submissive.

I met my love, my life, my Master in college 32 years ago. She is friendly, out going and approachable. Our first interactions started simply as friends, part of a larger group of people who spent time together in the common link of school. Her friendliness made it relatively easy for me to get up the nerve to ask her for a date. Looking back today, I realize it was the first intimate relationship step I would take to offer myself up to her as Her boy. To put a little bow on the entire picture, she was the first person with whom I had ever had intercourse. She had some experience. I was clueless. Given our relationship dynamics, that is so fitting, so right.

Our D/s relationship evolved, slowly. We didn’t know what we were doing. We simply did what felt right and encouraged each other. Encouraging each other to is at the core of our relationship. It’s encouragement to follow who we are, to be each other’s primary cheerleader, and to long for each other’s happiness. It’s also a sense of knowing we each have to pull our weight, to work hard at our relationship and live up to our responsibilities.

We started by playing with ropes in bed (both a bit clueless on what and how). Then came books like the Anne Rice Sleeping Beauty series. Next came a visit, then lots of visits, to a BDSM house that prides themselves on training of masters and slaves. First, it was just the 2 of us visiting the house, learning about protocols (she’s really into protocols) and D/s awareness. We attended BDSM seminars to learn a range of topics – some engaging, some boring.

Through encouragement of the people who ran the house, we started attending parties. The best part of attending the parties and the seminars was three-fold. One was the social dynamic of being able to interact in a formalized high(er) protocol dynamic with other people who generally understood what was going on. A second was the pride we both took in our relationship dynamic and being able to be social about it with other people – to share the happiness. A third was learning and evolving from conversations and interactions with others who understood the D/s dynamic – some of it good, some not.

We learned a huge huge huge (my non-writer way to emphasize the point) amount through all of those adventures. She insisted on being called Master, not because she’s butch. She not. She’s very feminine. She wanted to be called Master because she thought Mistress was too closely associated with some guy who was having a fling on the side.

Along the way, we had kids, nurture them into young adults, dealt with the challenge of raising kids, or aging parents, and of the many challenges that come with daily living. Along the way, we also had disagreements and frustrations with one another. It’s important to stress, even when our D/s relationship might have been at it’s weakest – it ebbs and flows – we’ve always been civil to one another. We’ve always valued one another more than anything in the world and remind each other of that – frequently. And, through that we’ve known that we complete each other in a complex number of ways. We are not equals.

She is Master. I am her slave. What we are is one.

The brief history of time I just described has happened over 32 years. In the past 10-15 years we’ve done a deeper dive into our D/s relationship. What’s been remarkable is that as the D/s relationship has strengthened, we’ve found greater harmony, fewer disagreements, and an even stronger connection When decisions need to be made (what days goes by that does not require decisions?), the training has taught us both to discuss it, for her to weigh the merits and for me to understand her decision is her belief in what is best, right, and final. That approach has helped to eliminate a great deal of anxiety for us both.

Each day starts with me whispering my purpose to her – to serve her pleasure. It’s about 29 words long. Each night ends with my whispering the same purpose to her. After stating my purpose, I kneel and wait for her simple instructions – to join her, to get her something, or whatever. It’s a wonderfully harmoniousness way to live. I feel fortunate to have found a true master to whom I can offer up my slave soul, a master who has accepted that offering and encourages me embrace my purpose fully and completely.

Hoping you found this a worthwhile read,

Master Joy’s boy

___

This post is part of an ongoing project to share happy, positive femdom relationship stories.  If you have a story and are willing to share it, please email it to me (ferns AT domme-chronicles DOT com).

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posted by on femdom relationships, First

There is something between us.

He felt it early on, some pull towards me, ghosts of our D/s relationship tugging at something in him.

You still have a hold over me. How? Why?
I hate it.
Is there something about submitting to a person that can never be undone?

He has never submitted to anyone else, so it makes sense that as he has unravelled past hurts and the idea of submission comes tentatively floating back, it would be tied to me. I’m his link to that part of himself. His only one. All of the intense emotions, the impossible intimacy of play, the angst of a boy in love, the vulnerability of his submission, they are all linked to me. I was his first. And his last.

It might be different if he had gone on to have multiple relationships where he was the submissive partner after me. Perhaps it might have diluted those feelings. I don’t know if it really works like that.

We have been emailing and chatting, old things, new things, feeling out possibilities.

I feel the pull of him also. It is difficult to tell how much is some kind of D/s muscle-memory and how much is the here and now. I see glimpses of the young submissive he was, now in the body of a mature man. I see him peeking out now and then, shy and curious, and have to fight myself not to crouch down and entice him into the light. To nudge at him to see what’s there.

I don’t though. I am cautious with him for reasons that are not mine to share.

I am impressed by the man he has become, not least because he is capable of unflinching honesty about himself, and he shares that with me openly. Fearless.

He mentioned that he was pondering sitting at someone’s feet, watching TV, collar on. I asked him how that felt to him. He said in his mind, those feet never belonged to anyone but me, that the thought made him feel calm, peaceful, empowered, strong. This melts everything in me.

We have had some long and frank discussions about where we are and what is going on between us.

He cannot imagine submitting to anyone else, ever, not even now. This is an honour I don’t take lightly, it makes my head spin, I am made messy by it. And of course when he called me ‘Ma’am’, I felt my brain scramble with the shocking power of it.

I wonder what it would be like to kiss him, to push him up against a wall by his throat, to growl at him to kneel, to grab a fistful of his hair. But more subtly, I wonder if a gentle hand on his cheek would make him soften and lean in, if he would melt if he was petted, if a nod at an empty water glass would have him smiling happily and moving to fill it. I am curious what we might be like now.

There is something there.

I made him an offer. “Here’s the deal with our mutual curiosity: If you ever make your way up here on your world trip, now-me will meet now-you for a drink and we will see how it feels to let the ghosts go.”

“Deal,” he said.

So we will see.

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posted by on femdom relationships, First

I’ve written about the things I screwed up in my relationship with my First and touched on how I didn’t feel loved.

One of the things that I learnt from that relationship is that submissive behaviours can obscure traits that I would have seen a mile off in a vanilla man, but didn’t yet have the experience to see in a submissive. If you overlay ‘submission’ on a relationship, it can be harder to pinpoint where a feeling of disquiet is coming from (the same is true of dominants of course) because the agreed D/s behaviours can hide what’s underneath.

I thought he was selfish, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on why I thought that when he was really doing everything I asked of him. It was a vague and nebulous discomfort, the feeling that he weighed everything in terms of ‘what’s in it for me’ as if he thought I was always trying to ‘get one over’ on him (in hindsight, this makes more sense given the betrayal-that-wasn’t: I imagine a distrustful hurt boy trying to protect himself from falling apart).

By the time we got together, I’d fallen in love twice in my life, and I had been the target of love more times than that. I knew what it felt like to be loved and I struggled with the fact that what we had, what he claimed, didn’t feel like love to me. But nailing down ‘why’ was near impossible.

And one day, something happened that exemplified and clarified it for me.

I wrote about it here when I described still having my First’s sweatshirt. But I wrote it as a little piece of nostalgia without explaining its significance.

___

my firsts sweatshirtMy sweatshirt, too big, an unattractive colour really, is one that I grabbed out of my first submissive’s ‘give away’ bag when we were clearing out clothes to take to good will. He probably had it for quite a while before I took it. I plucked it out of the box by the front door.

“I’ll have that,” I said, putting it on.

He looked at me in it.

“It looks good,” he said.

I laughed, twirled.

“It looks *really* good,” he said again.

I nodded. “Ahh hmmm…”

He looked at me sheepishly.

“Can I have it back?”

I looked at him, raised an eyebrow.

“What?!” I figured he was joking.

“It looks so good on you, I want it back.” He had the grace to look embarrassed.

“You have *got* to be kidding me! You were going to throw this out!”

“Yeah, I know… but it looks so good on you… Now I want it back… please Ma’am?”

*laugh* “Fuck off.”

___

It seems a small thing, but that was the moment that illustrated and brought home to me why I didn’t feel loved.

My experience of vanilla men was that they would literally give me the shirt off their back if I asked for it. I knew that if I was to go into their wardrobe and pick out their absolute favourite shirt, they would gladly offer it up to me if they thought it would make me happy. Because they loved me. And they would go above and beyond to show that in a million different ways.

And here I was with a man who claimed to love me, a *submissive* man whose goal was to please me, and he couldn’t even bear to give me a shirt that essentially came out of his garbage. OUT OF HIS GARBAGE!

It was a defining moment for me. Perhaps even a relief that I could see tangible evidence of what I had felt in nebulous, indefinable ways, but couldn’t put my finger on.

And to be clear: it’s not that he didn’t love me in his own way, it’s that to me that’s not what love looks like, and having something concrete to hang that feeling on was a blessed relief.

I love that sweatshirt, more perhaps *because* of the way it came into my hands. I bring it out every winter: slipping into something old and worn that holds my history has a lovely comfortable familiarity to it.

It’s been a long time: I’ve grown, I’ve learnt things, I’ve changed. He has too. But the hints of familiarity are there with him also. We are working on getting to know the new people we’ve become, and our history is a lovely bond, even if we shake our heads at past-us, even if we didn’t navigate all that as well as we might have.

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Short circuiting

Jan
2015
19

posted by on femdom relationships, First

My First: Are you sure the wine and yourself haven’t made each other’s acquaintance tonight?
Me: Shush!
First: Yes Ma’am
Me:


jfdjlgjlkbalkjfdjkl;fj
*laugh*
First: That’s the first thing you’ve instructed me to do since we moved apart
Me: I was thinking VERY IMPORTANT THINGS! Stop short circuiting me!
First: Sorry Ma’am
Me: Bzzzttttt

Seriously, I can’t put a coherent thought together now. Holy fuck.

___

Apparently some things retain their power.

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posted by on femdom relationships, First

My First and I met in a BDSM chat room, on IRC. I can’t remember the details. What I remember is that we were attracted to each other, got chatting, emailing, talking, we exchanged photos. There was definitely something there.

He was some 6 years younger at 25, lived about 900kms away, had just finished his masters. He was restless, was looking to move, he was unhappy where he was, I can’t remember why exactly. He had had what to me seemed like a lot of BDSM experience: lots of different partners, lots of different kinds of public play, lots of activities that were way beyond my experience. In my mind we were always ‘novice Domme with experienced submissive’.

I helped him look for a job in my city, both of us bubbling over with glee and excitement over the potential before we’d even met. We told ourselves that he was just looking for promising opportunities, but we both knew I was a big factor in his decisions.

In July, he travelled the 11 hours by train to come and meet me and to go to a job interview. I got up at some ungodly hour to greet him at the station. And there he was: 6′ tall, lean, dark hair, inquisitive eyes, a broad eager smile, quick to blush.

He wrote in my blog:

“I arrived at 6am Sunday morning after an eleven hour train ride during which I amassed no more than thirty minutes sleep. Consequently much of my expected nervousness was replaced by sheer exhaustion and I avoided making a complete fool of myself at our initial meeting. Physically, Sharyn turned out be much as expected: tall, slender, highly attractive with the most beautiful long hair and eyes so deep and dark that (forgive the cliché) I honestly believe I could lose myself in them.”

I took him back to my place and he made me pancakes for breakfast (even way back then I was doing all the things you’re always told you shouldn’t do with strange men off the internet: DON’T get in a car with him, DON’T take him back to your house, and FFS DON’T EVER have him stay with you! Noooo!).

Later on that first day, we wandered some markets, I took him shopping for the kind of boxer briefs I like. I picked them out and squeezed into the dressing room with him so I could watch him try them on. He was embarrassed at this forced intimacy, but also thrilled to be the object of that sort of attention. He had the most beautiful legs. I can’t remember if I told him that, but I remember watching him change and thinking it. It seems like the sort of thing I would say out loud. Amazingly he still has these boxers and they still look hellishly cute *smile*.

He stayed for ten days.

Most of the detail of that initial meeting is gone, but it went well. We agreed there was something worth pursuing. I summarised the visit at the time with this:

“Taking time to know him, questioning, testing, videos, movies, cafes, bondage, nail polish, lacy panties, door bolts, clips, clasps, clamps, cuffs, mouths, hands, hitting, biting, smell of lubricant, slippery, fear, trust, wallowing, wailing, latex, plastic, water, flesh, warm, cold…”

In August he moved to my city and by November we were living together.

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Past-me

Jan
2015
16

posted by on femdom relationships, First

I found a copy of my old hand-coded blog from the time my First and I were in our relationship. I wonder if there was a private journal also, but I haven’t taken the time to really look for it. My blog at the time was also BDSM-focussed (oh, what a surprise!), documenting my early explorations and relationships, but the content is frustratingly sporadic and incomplete. My play posts about my First were based on what I wrote there.

My First had access to the blog (indeed, the first time he told me he loved me, he wrote it in my blog), so he was aware of it and I was brutally honest in it, shockingly so, both about myself and about him. Surprisingly, he doesn’t remember the blog at all.

Obviously I wasn’t aware of the betrayal-that-wasn’t at the time, but he tells me it happened relatively early on and when I re-read what I wrote about our relationship, I wonder how it impacted our interactions.

I wasn’t a brand new Domme when I met my First. I’d probably been exploring BDSM for about a year or maybe a bit more when we met. Perhaps longer online before that.

I was part of some online communities (primarily IRC where I met him), I had a group who I went to munches with, I had explored some bottoming with an experienced Dom, I had gone to play parties, I joined a private BDSM club, played in public, dated some submissives for short periods, had a sweet young submissive under my wing for caretaking.

But I’d never had a full-on D/s relationship before. In that, he was my first.

I wrote about struggling with the balance in the D/s relationship. I didn’t want 24/7, but I wasn’t sure what I DID want. I worried that I was too lazy to ‘be a Domme’ (despite knowing better in my head, I still *felt* like I had to be in some kind of Domme-mode more and always).

I recognised at the time that his submission made him reluctant to bring up anything that would displease me and I knew that it hindered our communication, but I didn’t know what to do about it.

We obviously didn’t (couldn’t) communicate about our difficulties (or any other thing), though he read my blog, so he knew what I was thinking. I had not yet learnt not to use my blog as some kind of sideways communication tool, but of course, him knowing what I was thinking was obviously not the same as us talking about it and figuring out what to do.

Past-me could have used someone much wiser and more experienced to sort out the not-actually-very-difficult shit that I was struggling so much with in our relationship. Similarly, he said he was frustrated with past-him: that he’d like to go back in time, slap him, give him a hug, some lessons, and slap him until he absorbs it all.

More to come from past-me… I haven’t exhausted this topic yet…

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Come whisper in my ear...

Showing off

Jan
2015
13

posted by on femdom relationships

I like it when he shows off for me.

In the beginning, when he doesn’t know me so well, it happens inadvertently. And I love that. It’s a huge compatibility marker for me. When he unconsciously says something in a particular way, moves just like ‘that’, gives me a look, does something that hits me like a freight train and I’m left reeling. He might, at that stage, know me well enough to see the impact but in case he doesn’t, I’m not subtle in letting him see my reaction. I *want* him to see it, I want to reward him for doing a thing that makes me hungry.

If he’s tuned into me (and holy god, I love it when he is), he will know the second it’s happened. He’ll catch a quick hitch of my breath or a slow smile or even in email he’ll see a reaction: it will be enough to make him stop, register the reaction, tuck it away in his memory for next time. I can see his surprise and delight at realising he’s found a button, we both know he will press it again.

Then we play a game as we get to know each other. He has to be good at it, sophisticated, almost innocent: He will show off for me.

He pretends he’s not, the pretence makes him seem naive and I love that contrast. But by the time he’s comfortable enough to do it, he knows exactly what he’s doing, how it impacts me. It makes me laugh with delight when he exercises this power, it makes me catch my breath, it makes me helpless with want.

Perhaps he looks at me just so, or moves into my line of sight to take his shirt off over his head slowly, or maybe he tilts his head like a confused puppy at something I’ve said, or lowers his voice tone with me, or almost casually does any one of a million things that makes everything in me spiky and ragged.

And sometimes, rarely, I call him on it because that too is a delight.

“Are you showing off for me?”

A sheepish look, a shy smile, perhaps a blush. “Yes Ma’am.”

“Holy god, you’re beautiful. Come here, boy.”

 

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