Learning to Let Go

This poem was inspired by a recent conversation between Sir and I, where we had discussed the "pressures" of the DD lifestyle, and the "spanking dynamic" of dominance and submission.
 


We have often talked about his side of things... whether from his side, or my feelings on how he should act while "in the act" of things... but I realized, during this last debate, that my struggles with submission had never really been talked about in relation to us having a session.

After stating my feelings on the act of submission (like how his tone of voice has the ability to awaken a STRONG resistance in me) I sat and thought about things a bit more...

Its hard not to "top from the bottom". Its not that I want to control the outcome of the situation (lack of control is Actually what I'm trying to find) but trust is not so easily found within such a vulnerable circumstance. Very often I can feel bulldozed and bullied by his requests. I can feel overlooked, in a way, even though I am the focus of our little rendezvous. And although I want to present myself and my actions as a gift to him, it seems at times like my offerings are taken rather than received.




These words are simply a artistic presentation of the emotions and experiences of a naturally dominant woman, as she tries to find comfort within submission...




Learning to Let Go


Initially I'm confident - I tease and prod and play,
but nervousness creeps up my neck as we make our way -
down the hall and to to the room where we have made the plans we chose.
Very quickly I am nervous, and my brazen nature goes.

In the corner I am standing and I will not meet your eyes,
meek and bashful as I wait there, hoping you will compromise.
Skip the talking and the questions, and the actions and requests...
As the scene plays out, I'm fighting every urge to shout protests.

Very slowing, with intensity, you strip me of my clothes,
my protection and my walls, until before you I'm exposed.
But you are not quick to re-cover, or to shelter what you own,
overwhelmed by my emotions... I am distant and alone.

You may touch me while I'm standing - bittersweet it feels, if so,
I melt into your intrusion, but I'm fearful you won't go -
to the duties we are here for, to the part I really crave.
So I try to show some patience, not to rush you, to behave.

If you question me I'm dying, please release me from this place...
can't we talk once this is over, across your lap where I feel safe?
And by now I've showed in protest, resistant pauses and small sighs,
that I'm ever more than ready to be draped over your thighs.

So you take me to position, pulling me with strength and ease,
shifting me until my bottom is uplifted, as to seize -
every smack that I have coming, every spank that you desire,
till my breath has turned to panting and cheeks burn as if on fire.

As you spank me, I grow closer, and I offer myself up;
rising high to meet each strike, and spreading wider as you cup -
underneath me. I moan softly, begging for your every touch,
each caress draws out a shiver, as my hands search out to clutch...

...at the sheets spread out around me, and I pray that you won't stop.
Tease me, spank me, till I'm ready - or when tears begin to drop.
Make me hot and red and raw for you, a girl to serve you well.
Use the rhythm of your hands, to erase the thoughts that dwell -

The thoughts that tell me that I can't, and won't - submission is too hard.
Keep me hanging on the edge of pain, until I can discard...
every brick from every wall I build, prideful words that underscore -
my resistance to be taken...
                                                    ...to admit that I am yours.

August 2013