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The touch that triggers panic

July 12, 2020 By Christmas Bunny 3 Comments

choke neck squeeze of submissive woman by dom
via stock.adobe.com

I have a trigger.  I hate using that word, since it brings to mind the watered-down version of today’s culture, which seems to mean I got uncomfortable or had my feelings hurt.

No.

I mean the word as it meant to be used.  A series of specific physical stimuli can create a panic response in me, to the point of a legitimate panic attack.  We discovered it by accident, as one often does with this sort of thing.

I’ve had an issue with having my neck touched for a very long time.  In fact, it is solidly on my hard limit list.  It was from a bad experience 10+ years ago.  Not long after that, I had a partner come up behind me and loop an arm around my neck and he found himself dangling across my back, the only thing keeping him from a judo throw and a potential back injury was that my blind response no longer had hold of me once the pressure on my neck was gone.  Not so when combined with other sensations.  Better to just not provoke my body’s fight response.

Early on with my current partner, I informed him of my issue.  We made the decision together to attempt to soften the aversion I held for that touch.

I want to be really clear for a moment.  None of what we attempted or accomplished was with the assistance of a counselor or therapist, and other than a basic idea of the concept of immersion therapy, and have little to no actual educational basis for our actions.  We were lucky to find some modicum of success.  Not everyone who attempts to overcome their own stuff will have the same result.  Hell, perhaps no one else will.  I cannot speak for anyone else.

We began slowly.  Over an extended period of time – days, not hours, he touched my collarbone non-threateningly for just a moment.  The next time it was a moment longer.  Once I gained some comfort with that action, we moved his hand slightly and repeated the process.  After concerted effort, we succeeded in him being able to rest his hand upon my neck fully.  After additional time had passed we were able to explore some mild breath play.

The trouble came when it combined with other sensations which could potentially be interpreted as negative.  The first time it happened I was not in a position to communicate effectively regarding my distress.  Having no idea I had a hidden landmine, we tripped it and I discovered what a panic attack was.

Well.  After a little distance and some self-analysis, I decided it was a combination of sensations which pushed me over the edge.  Having newly recognized and super fun trauma to overcome in the context of our D/s dynamic meant there were times we were going to work on it when it killed any sexual enjoyment I had been experiencing.  It was like a light switch, and where once the light shone warmly, the moment effectively flipped the switch to anxiety and a desire to flee.

But we continued.  We set up an emergency signal to indicate emotional anxiety during times when I couldn’t speak the words.  We added those individual elements back into our sexual repertoire, albeit individually and in small increments.  As we worked on those things separately, over time, we we able to get to the point of recombining them.  It took possibly a year or so by my estimation, clearly not a quick process or one without risk of explosion.

I celebrated mightily the day we were able to do those things again.  I don’t remember how – perhaps I sang some Queen and took a lap.  It wasn’t so much that I enjoyed the experience as it was the triumph of regaining the ability to do them without falling apart.  Most of my enjoyment came from that victory rather than from the ability to take pleasure in the act itself.  I hoped in time that would change and I would have my freedom from those chains.

Of course it did, just not as I hoped.  It was one thing to say the words that this would always be with me, a completely different thing to actually understand the magnitude of them.  We went through a period of time when the things which had comprised that emotional land mine were less present for us.  We avoided touching my throat because I got sick and it was swollen.  It just fell away a bit.  Somewhere along the way I backslid.  I lost some of the progress I’d made, and things we’d been able to do six months ago bring anxiety and the first rushes of panic again.  It was a hard realization that this really will be with me forever, in some sense.

I celebrate that I made progress in this battle, and I will overcome again.  I don’t have to think about it the way it stole my thoughts before, since it only rears up on occasion anymore.  I hope some day it will lie dormant, an emotional cancer finally eliminated by radiation.

Whether I get there or not, I will continue to fight for myself and my mental well-being, and I will continue to encourage others to find the paths they need in order to face their own landmines with courage.  In solidarity, we can all become better versions of ourselves, one day at a time, whatever the method of achievement may be.

About the Author

Christmas bunny has been exploring kink since she was legal to do so.  Her serious writing started in college, where she accidently got some of her papers published in educational journals.  She has recently expanded her writing to include her kink journey.  She began writing in the physical realm, but shed some of her inhibitions and began sharing those entries with others.  She now keeps an active blog of her personal growth and her relationship with her Master / Daddy Dominant and writes helpful educational posts on a variety of subjects.

Tagged With: bdsm, choking, christmas bunny, kink, neck, trigger

Feelings in Poly & BDSM

July 5, 2020 By Christmas Bunny 2 Comments

submissive poly woman is looks sad while experiencing some feelings
via stock.adobe.com

Feelings are a funny thing.

Sometimes we have them and aren’t really sure why, or can’t put it into words.  It can take some introspection to thoughtfully realize a root cause and then some work to find the right words to express those feels in a way that doesn’t assign blame to another.

Let’s all say it together:  “Feelings aren’t right or wrong, good or bad.  Feelings just are.  The part that really matters is how we each choose to respond to those feelings, since that’s the only part we can truly control.”

It’s true, though, as much as it may sound like a platitude.  I think of it more like my mantra.  When I have unexpected or confusing feelings, I remind myself that they are an automatic response to a set of stimuli rather than something I can control.  In my case, often the response is initially rooted in my abandonment issues.  Any time they have an opportunity to rear their heads, they generally take it, and quite gleefully, I’d suspect, if they could.

*You aren’t good enough,* they whisper.  *You’ll never be good enough.*  *He’s going to leave you, the only question is when, not if.*

They have a litany of my flaws, which they collect on a scroll and delight in reading to me at random moments.  They try to push me to run as a first response to any sign that someone is displeased with me, or that conflict is imminent.  They will take hiding as a second choice when I push back against running, which has meant Santa has once or twice found me curled up in a corner or tucked in a nook in the closet.

But how do I handle unknown things?  Particularly when I’ve spent a day and a half both actively trying to ascertain the root of said feelings and also quietly avoiding thinking by loudly singing along with the Dave Matthews Band station on iHeartRadio while cutting deliciously supple bullhide at my work station.

I find emotion a hindrance when attempting to find the root of feelings.  Being emotional has never given me a boost when it comes to attempting rational thought.  The first thing I have to do is set them aside, as clinically as possible.  Yes, I can still feel them if I allow myself to dwell, but that isn’t a helpful exercise.  Rather, I need to be able to form them into a lump and examine them from the outside in order to work my way to their core.

Let’s take a simple but real scenario and break it down.  It’s one that happened recently and required a lot of dissection for me to understand it.  My partner was unable to make plans with his other partner because of a statewide shutdown, so she made arrangements to spend time with him at our shared residence.  I was happy to see her when she arrived, lingered downstairs for a popsicle, then wandered to my workroom to avoid intruding on their time together.  Except I realized I had left my phone charging in the room they were in, and me barging in to get it might very well ruin an intimate moment at that point.  So I dug out my laptop, messaged my partner there (since he’d be unlikely to be looking at his phone during any fun stuff), and asked that when he had a moment, could he toss my phone out.

Whew!  Awkwardness averted.  About half an hour later, he popped out with my phone, gave me a kiss, and returned to the room.  I had been totally fine the entire time.

Then he shut the door behind him.  My stomach twisted into a knot and I felt sick.  Why on earth was I upset?  It wasn’t at all rational.  I wasn’t jealous of their time together.  I knew I needed to poke at it, but in the moment was exactly the worst time to attempt to do so.  Knowing I was emotional, but unsure why, I held my tongue.  I continued to work and listen to music, deciding there would be time.

After a time, the door opened and I was invited to come hang with them for a while, so I gave them space on the couch and pulled up a spot on the bed that wasn’t between them.  We had a lovely rest of the afternoon, just chatting and enjoying one another’s company.  I waited to share my feelings with my partner until after the visit, not wanting to create a dark cloud over their limited time together.

I explained that I’d had some feelings.  I also stated that the feeling didn’t seem, on the surface, to be jealousy, but that I’d need some time to poke at it before I was really sure what the root was.  I planned to reach out to her once I had worked through it, so I wasn’t coming at her from a place of emotion, but just keeping lines of communication open so there would be no falsehood between us, either as friends or as metamours.

Over the next two days I poked at that strange emotion I’d experienced.  Was I wrong?  Could it be jealousy?  I examined it carefully before again discarding that conclusion.  Jealous is a fear of loss, and that wasn’t an accurate assessment of my feeling in that moment.  I spent some time journaling for myself in an attempt to understand.  It was something about that door.  That was the moment.

I explored that some more.  Why would a door closing bother me so?  Well, past experience has taught me about slamming doors.  I thought back upon my relationship with my partner.  Had there been a door slammed between us before?  I couldn’t recall even one.  In fact, pursing that thought process, I couldn’t recall any door other than one for a bathroom which had been closed between us for anything other than work or necessity.  Even when we’ve had other partners, often the relationships intertwined in ways that would mean even when a door was closed, it could still be opened at any time.  This was the first moment I could recall when I was not welcomed into a room with him, and in fact, actively shut out.

New things can be difficult.  However, understanding myself and my response was important, rather than becoming emotional and creating pain for him or his other partner.  I took the time to explore my feelings without needing to resolve them immediately.  For this particular example, the only real resolution was for me to understand myself.  I wasn’t seeking a change in his behavior, I just needed him to be aware that I had discovered something about myself.  Once I’d figured it out, we discussed it again, and I told him how I felt.  He gave me some affection, and the incident was over.

I addressed it with her afterwards, explaining that I’d had the feeling, and wanted her to know, but that it didn’t require any action on her part.  Submissives can sometimes be fixers, though, and she offered some compromise solutions that I knew would actually make her uncomfortable.  It was sweet, but I declined and reiterated that no action was necessary, but that I believe hiding things like these moments from partners, and even peripheral partners, such as my meta, is practicing dishonesty.  Those things can eat away at us, and become larger and more out of control the more we push them aside.

Feelings aren’t good or bad.  They just are.  Spend some time with yourself when you’ve experienced a strong emotion and do the work to understand why you respond the way you do.  It is important we have healthy responses to the way we handle possible conflict in our kink relationships.

About the Author
Christmas bunny has been exploring kink since she was legal to do so.  Her serious writing started in college, where she accidently got some of her papers published in educational journals.  She has recently expanded her writing to include her kink journey.  She began writing in the physical realm, but shed some of her inhibitions and began sharing those entries with others.  She now keeps an active blog of her personal growth and her relationship with her Master / Daddy Dominant and writes helpful educational posts on a variety of subjects.

Tagged With: bdsm, christmas bunny, fetish, kink

The Inking

July 5, 2020 By Christmas Bunny 3 Comments

submissive woman gets tattoo on ribs
via stock.adobe.com
She could feel the nerves set in the moment her eyes opened.
Yes, He owns me, she told herself.  Yes, He has married me as part of His claiming.  Yes, He has had this body pierced because it pleases Him.
But she had always felt that ink was different.  Legal contracts can be dissolved, albeit with some difficulty.  Piercings can grow in.  Tattoo removal is a lot more challenging.
So as permanent as those things are, she had both longed for and dreaded ink since He claimed her.
Yes, there was a sense of dread.  Will this ink be bad luck?  Am I etching what could become a painful daily reminder of loss onto my skin?  What if He changes His mind?  She questioned herself unmercifully.
People do that, after all.  Leave.
So up until the moment the ink touched her skin, there was a sense that there was time to turn back.  There was time to ask Him four more times if He is sure He wants her forever before we arrived at the deserted shop for the appointment.
He didn’t disappoint her, though.  He reassured her like it was His profession.  In a way, perhaps it is.
Warm thumb brushing across her knuckles, He drew her hand to His lips.  The exhale of breath contained the quietest words, the weight of Atlas in their echo.
Mine.  Forever.
 
All that in a breath.
Inside, she had to pee four times while He and the artist finalized the design and put the stencil on twice.  She knew it was just nerves and wished she’d had something to calm them, but nothing that would have helped would have been good for the process of inking.
Because of health issues, the ink was just for her.  I carry this art for both of us, he had said.  It is a weighty thought.
She tucked one hand into the small of her back, feeling the texture beneath her fingers as thoughts raced.  There is still plenty of time to change my mind.  The thought comforted her.
Suddenly, breasts bared to the empty room, the needle was on her skin.  Her exhale was shaky as she groped for purchase with her free hand, finding Him beneath her palm.  He lovingly lifted the hand and entwined her fingers with His own.
For the next hour, her eyes seldom left His face.  There were moments of conversation she tried to focus on, but she was mostly far away.  She found her happy place until the artist reached her floating ribs, and her vision swam a little as the pain that had been humming along at endorphin-triggering levels suddenly spiked.
“Just breathe normally,” she heard in her ear.  Then a few minutes later, “Are you going pass out?”
He laughed.  He knew her pain face well.  “She’s fine,” He responded, her glazed eyes meeting His.  The artist, understanding the collar, smiled and continued.
Her eyes roamed His face.  His lips whispered for her, but she struggled to make sense of them.
Good girl and then Mine a few minutes later.  Something in His proprietous gaze made her suspect the next sex they had would be full of rough hair pulling and urgent biting, ankles held captive so He could see His new mark.
A pause came in the buzzing, and something cold touching her skin.  She mositened her lips.  “Are you done?” she asked.
The artist laughed.  “Men don’t generally like it when you ask that,” he responded.
The buzzing began again, catching the tender spots he wasn’t pleased with.  After cleaning, he gently pressed a bandage to her skin and she absently slid her soft shirt over her head, piercings obvious in its thin, draped fabric.
He took care of the details as she floated along, awash in the endorphins that made the hour bearable.
They got in the car.  “Show me,” He commanded.
She lifted her shirt obediently.
He made a sound close to growling.  He crushed her mouth to His, rough in His passion.  Mine, she heard again, only this time she felt it between her breasts and tasted it on His lips.

Tagged With: bdsm, christmas bunny, fetish, kink

Reconciling After Bad Behavior

June 28, 2020 By Christmas Bunny 2 Comments

Writing a journal in a kinky world
via stock.adobe.com

Being part of a community with all kinds of kinks means I am bound to come into contact with people who are less than savory.  I will also, sadly, likely give someone untrustworthy my trust.

Have, actually.  More than once.  Which presents a dilemma.

I am not responsible for someone else’s actions.  My warning or lack thereof is unlikely to change anything other than the way the object of warning sees me – as suddenly a meddlesome shittalker, determined to undermine some innocent person for my own reasons, to satisfy my own agenda.

Yet if I have had a notably negative experience with a person in the community, who am I to approach others about it?

The thing is, I often see two roads when it comes to things we see as consent violations. The first is denial or dismissal. The second is scorched earth. We really have no community consensus on how to proceed.

Is that the best way to handle things? The first is problematic, as by not speaking up, this person who doesn’t have the ability to comprehend that their actions caused pain is likely to repeat those actions (as I’ve seen), with the unspoken blessing of all those who turn a blind eye.  Such as me.

The second solution is problematic as it drives this person out of the scene, leaving them to prey upon members who may be less connected or outside of it, often leaving those other people without the resources or support that could have helped them.

How do we find a middle ground?

How do we implement a system that will identify people who are potentially dangerous and keep people safe while also allowing them to learn from their mistakes and become better aware of others, better negotiators, better people?

Can we genuinely help people understand and rehabilitate and where do we draw the line if they cannot acknowlege the damage they do or if it seems they don’t care?

Are there cases where we can see people benefiting from community involvement as learners, participants, but being careful to exclude them from leadership and the hazards that can bring?

Even after people behave badly, isn’t the goal to help them learn from their mistakes and become better people?  It seems we are often very long on memory and very short on forgiveness.  While I don’t have the answers to these questions, I believe we have to consider them within our own communities, have the hard conversations, and make decisions about how to handle these situations.  Sadly, we never know when we may need to have already done so.

About the Author

Christmas bunny has been exploring kink since she was legal to do so.  Her serious writing started in college, where she accidently got some of her papers published in educational journals.  She has recently expanded her writing to include her kink journey.  She began writing in the physical realm, but shed some of her inhibitions and began sharing those entries with others.  She now keeps an active blog of her personal growth and her relationship with her Master / Daddy Dominant and writes helpful educational posts on a variety of subjects.

Tagged With: bdsm, christmas bunny, fetish, kink

Being The Gambler

June 21, 2020 By Christmas Bunny 2 Comments

One of the most challenging things about human relationships can be knowing when to walk away from them.  Hell, knowing when to run can be just as difficult.

This time has been particularly challenging for relationships.  I’ve seen ones that seemed solid crumble early on in the lockdown, while others I knew were shaky have held on because the people in them felt they had no other options.  Finances are in trouble, sex is a struggle even on the best days, and those two things already point straight at a split or divorce without factoring in that everyone is stressed in ways many of us never anticipated.

But when is the time to go?

Well, if you’re asking yourself that, it probably already isn’t a great sign for the longevity of your relationship.  When your reason becomes staying because you can’t afford not to or because of the kids or the dog, it is long past time to have gone.

Ideally a breakup should happen when people realize they aren’t compatible long-term.  Unfortunately, feelings are messy and seldom so cut and dried.  Love, memories of past love, and misguided honor can keep us in bad or simply ill-fitting situations longer than we should let them.

If practicality can win, a separation occurs more clinically and the ability to retain friendship remains.  It happens before the disagreements become fights and the fights become unresolved issues and finally resentment.  Resentment generally become a rather drawn out an expensive divorce, in my experience.

The hardest part?  It isn’t admitting things aren’t working.  Odds are good your best friend or your mother or someone else you’re close to already knows.  You’ve told them yourself, even if it isn’t in those words.  The hardest part is letting go of what you believed your life was going to look like with that person.  You are letting go of your vision of your future, even if you’ve never sat down and explicitly planned it.  Maybe it was a flash of you with them in a rocking chair on a porch, white-haired and laughing.  Maybe it was visions of a mobile home driving cross country or living on a cruise ship.

You have to let those things go.  Maybe people are finding it easier to walk away from relationships now because they are already having to let go of what they imagined their futures would look like.  Letting go of a partner is just one more release among many, and the grieving can happen together.

You are exchanging your happy vision of what might be with a blank canvas.  That’s really fucking scary, particularly now.  But maybe there’s a better way to look at it.

You are exchanging nights of fighting in a home that feels like a war zone for nights of peace, wandering through the house in pajamas not worrying about the next fight.  You are exchanging words of hostility for silence, or even better, for the possibility of words of love and support from others.  You are exchanging eggshells for wood floors and peace and the possibilities ahead are endless.

You are exchanging a guarantee – misery every day or however often for a possibility of happiness in the future.  The unknown is a scary place, and it can be hard to give up even a miserable present in exchange for a world you can’t imagine.

When I was a little girl, my parents wanted the best for me.  They wanted me to be happy and find a partner who loved and cherished me.  As I got older, that desire didn’t change.  It’s what we all want for our children.  I have learned to ask myself questions.

Would my parents be filled with joy at how happy I am if they could see inside my relationship?  (Discounting any assumptions about bias – they don’t have to approve of the relationship, just my happiness level.)  Would they feel my partner treats me well or would they want to punch my partner if they really knew how they treat me?

And most of all:  do I want my children to grow up and have a relationship like this?  Is that the happiness I envision for them?  They will model their relationships on what they see from me.  Would I want my child to stay with a partner who makes them miserably unhappy, or would I open my arms, tell them to come come, and support them pursuing happiness?

If I wouldn’t want it for someone I love, the real question is, why don’t I love myself enough not to want it for me?

About the Author

Christmas bunny has been exploring kink since she was legal to do so.  Her serious writing started in college, where she accidently got some of her papers published in educational journals.  She has recently expanded her writing to include her kink journey.  She began writing in the physical realm, but shed some of her inhibitions and began sharing those entries with others.  She now keeps an active blog of her personal growth and her relationship with her Master / Daddy Dominant and writes helpful educational posts on a variety of subjects.

Tagged With: bdsm, christmas bunny, fetish, kink

Manipulation, Passive Aggression & Want vs Need

June 14, 2020 By Christmas Bunny 2 Comments

Once upon a time I was following along with an interesting conversation in a chat group I belong to.  It wandered to the subject of partners and scening, impact and desires, as conversations do on occasion amongst kinky folks.  I wasn’t particularly engaged until something caught my eye.  I shall paraphrase:  “It’s most certainly a need for me. Getting pain safely from my Dominant keeps me from self harming.”

I suddenly saw red flags and heard alarm bells everywhere.  First issue:  this person was claiming that the endorphin rush from pain was a need rather than a strong want.  Second issue:  this person was placing their mental health directly on someone else’s doorstep rather than taking personal responsibility for it.  Third issue:  this person was creating a situation which had become manipulative – they were making their D-type feel guilty for not giving them what they wanted when they wanted it.

Need vs Want

The debate over whether kink is a need or a want is one I’ve heard a lot of takes on.  Ultimately, the arguments boil down to a few simple ones.  On the side arguing for it being a want, needs are defined as the things our bodies require to live, such as food, water, shelter, etx.  Spankings are not required to live.  On the side arguing for it being a need, people point out that in order to feel totally ourselves or release stress or whatnot, these releases are required, making it a mental health need.  Except I still feel that the word need is too strong.  Unless someone’s brain chemistry is such that they have become addicted in a way that going without regular doses of strong endorphins could be physically harmful, I still see kink as a want rather than a need.

Which means we need to discuss the possibility of being addicted to the endorphins.  I poked around the internet quite a bit before finally stumbling across an article discussing becoming addicted to endorphins, and mentioned the possibility of addiction to dopamine and oxytocin.  It basically suggested seeking out safe ways to indulge in scratching that itch, such as riding roller coasters.

Personal Responsibility for Mental Health

I absolutely believe that even if somene has become addicted to endorphins, placing the responsibility for their mental well-being upon someone else is just shitty behavior.  We are all each only responsible for ourselves.  I say this as someone in a 24/7 Total Power Exchange.  I am absolutely the only person responsible for my mental health.  It is not my partner’s job to “fix” me.  If I have an issue, I need to seek counseling or other professional assistance.  Dropping that burden at someone else’s feet is a cop-out, and completely unfair to them.  Most people sign on for a competent and functional partner rather than someone for whom they have to keep at a certain numerical score of happiness.  That’s what Sims are for, not romantic partners.

Bringing Manipulative and Passive Aggressive Behaviors into Relationships

Manipulation and passive-aggression are tools for the unempowered.  If someone has a relationship built on good communication, they have no need for those things.

It begins when they talk their partner into guilt that they shouldn’t rightfully bear.  The couple who agreed upon an open relationship with full disclosure shouldn’t be a cover for lying.  “I never really wanted this but I agreed because you caught me cheating, which I totally had an excellent reason for that I will justify, but now that you’re actually seeing someone else, you need to know how much it hurts me.  So just do whatever you want and I’ll find a way to deal with the pain you put me through.”

Yeah.  The genie is flashing red whilst reciting warnings of an imminent plane crash.  They seem like a loving partner because they are sacrificing their needs for the other person, when what they are really doing is trying to guilt them into doing what their will.

Of course, that wasn’t their first play.  The first thing they did was play on their partner’s insecurities.  The manipulator points out what their partner does or has done wrong and how they could have done it better, because helping them learn means they have their partner’s best interests at heart, right?  Except what they really want is for their partner to feel like they know things they don’t so they look to the manipulator for guidance.  Like setting themselves up as an experienced top, and then getting angry when they hurt their bottom and they want to stop, because the bottom must not be doing something right.  A loving partner would be concerned rather than angry they didn’t get their way.  Or like leading a group on polyamory and choosing a partner new to that relationship style, because that way they can be the expert and everyone else is “doing it wrong.”

Most of all, manipulators make other people responsible for their emotions.

Because then, their happiness, unhappiness, anger, or whatnot is all someone else’s fault.

So please be cautious.  People who don’t take personal responsibility, people who manipulate their partners – these are the kinds of people who are potentially dangerous, both to the individual and to their communities.

 

Further reading:

https://science.howstuffworks.com/life/inside-the-mind/human-brain/can-be-addicted-to-endorphins.htm

https://psychcentral.com/blog/5-warning-signs-of-manipulation-in-relationships/

https://time.com/5411624/how-to-tell-if-being-manipulated/

https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/communication-success/201510/14-signs-psychological-and-emotional-manipulation

About the Author
Christmas bunny has been exploring kink since she was legal to do so.  Her serious writing started in college, where she accidently got some of her papers published in educational journals.  She has recently expanded her writing to include her kink journey.  She began writing in the physical realm, but shed some of her inhibitions and began sharing those entries with others.  She now keeps an active blog of her personal growth and her relationship with her Master / Daddy Dominant and writes helpful educational posts on a variety of subjects.

Tagged With: bdsm, christmas bunny, fetish, kink

The Spoon Eater

May 31, 2020 By Christmas Bunny 2 Comments

It doesn’t take much, just a moment really.

The wrong interaction at the wrong time can be enough.

You see, I’m a little odd.  I thought when I was younger that I was an extrovert.  I wanted to be out among people, the energy of a crowd uplifting me.

Maybe it was one of the many things to get emotionally beaten out of me during my first marriage, or maybe it’s a function of aging and just feeling like I don’t need those things anymore.  I don’t claim the title of extrovert anymore.

But am I an introvert?  Well, I don’t know.  It is certainly an easier title to claim, especially when I’m feeling like peopling is too much.

The thing is, I extrovert for a living.  I go to work and I people.  Some days I’m still good for more peopling by the end.  Others, I may have encountered a difficult situation or one which simply requires a lot of my focus and energy, and I’ll be out of peopling spoons in three hours.

For those who aren’t familiar with talk of spoons – I think of it sometimes as mana.  It is a ball of energy and every action requires a mana cast.  Some cost one point, others may cost as many as five or ten.  When my mana is drained, I can’t easily accomplish additional actions.  I need to recharge.  That may be kneeling for my Dominant, or it could require a full night’s sleep, or a hot bath or any number of things that can help me refresh and restart.

Some of the things that drain my mana, or use my spoons, I can predict, because they made appointments and I know by now how it will go.  Others are a surprise, like my car battery dying suddenly a few months back, which threw my day into chaos, ending with me crying in a Sam’s parking lot because the person who had committed to giving me a jump took so long I missed the time the automotive department closed, resulting in me being told they basically gave zero fucks that my car was stranded in their parking lot.  Turns out other people didn’t care either, and they all looked the other way as they hustled to their cars, pretending they didn’t see me.

Needless to say, I had no spoons left for a trip out to drop off new prototypes with people I’d promised them to, despite my sadistically gleeful desire to get them in the hands of my testers.

Good news is that my spoons (or mana) recharge fairly quickly.  A little down time with Daddy and some hugs and I’m usually at least able perform basic normal functions, if not be able to put on my extrovert hat and play hostess or go to a scheduled event.

But sometimes shit’ll happen that drains my spoons for their use in a specific situation or event.  I call those things spoon eaters.  It might be Daddy getting upset about the kitchen being messy, then I feel reluctantly adverse to going grocery shopping.  It might be us having a misunderstanding about a specific event or what his intentions may be for it, and then me not wanting to attend because the thought of doing so makes my stomach feel as though it has been tied in knots.  It’s like conflict completely drains any excitement and energy I had focused on that activity and I would rather do just about anything else as an alternative.

He used to mistake it for passive aggression – like I didn’t get my way, so I just didn’t want to do something.  But it isn’t that.  It is a sick feeling in my stomach over the thought of doing that thing.  I still can, sure, but the liklihood of me enjoying it or participating in anything more than a quietly timid manner is somewhere around 5%. Not good odds, is what I’m saying.  The Spoon Eater had a meal, and if I get my way, I will stay home quietly on the couch, self-soothing with leatherwork, beating myself up for any point of interaction leading to the Spoon Eater’s arrival when I felt I’d committed a misstep.

I suppose I can be grateful that at least it isn’t staying home having shower arguments.  Real life never ends up going the way those do.

I have found that the current situation we all find ourselves in has a huge effect on the way I handle conflict or stress.  I see similar struggles in the people around me.  Relationships that had some communication issues which seemed as if they could be overcome back in February suddenly became hostile, issues insurmountable.  I see people snapping at others for things they would have let pass three months ago, taking their aggressions out wherever they can.

All of these things can make motivation feel like a struggle.  It may mean I am less functional for a day and need to concentrate on self care.  I see a hundred “todays” stretching out before me, all thoughts of future events burned to the ground.  When today is too much, it may mean I need time to think of other things, read a book, or do what I can to unwind.

Anyone can feel as though they are running low on spoons or mana.  It is important that we all do our bests to treat others with compassion.  We need to learn to walk away from arguments or situations we know will drain us for the things we want to do.  And above all, we need to be kind to ourselves when we struggle, not having unreasonable expectations in a trying time.

About the Author

Christmas bunny has been exploring kink since she was legal to do so.  Her serious writing started in college, where she accidently got some of her papers published in educational journals.  She has recently expanded her writing to include her kink journey.  She began writing in the physical realm, but shed some of her inhibitions and began sharing those entries with others.  She now keeps an active blog of her personal growth and her relationship with her Master / Daddy Dominant and writes helpful educational posts on a variety of subjects.

 

Tagged With: bdsm, christmas bunny, fetish, kink

What’s In A Name?

May 24, 2020 By Christmas Bunny 2 Comments

You know what they say about saying never. Well, I swore I would never call a man Daddy. For the majority of my relationships that felt right to me.

“Who’s your Daddy?”

Was met with my standard response which never failed to amuse me:

“bunny’s father.”

When Santa and I opened up our relationship to kinky play and it subsequently evolved into a (then) bedroom only D/s relationship, I queried him as to his preferred title. He didn’t have one in particular he demanded, so he gave me a few choices. Daddy was on the list, and I passed that by without a second thought. I’m not one of those littles I read about. That’s not for me. Master was right out, at least then. I had some seriously negative associations there. The only logical choice was Sir, as far as I was concerned, so that’s where it landed.

I didn’t count on the way our relationship stripped me bare of pretense, forced me to be honest with myself above all else, and passed that straight on to him. Journaling. Seriously the best tool, which I have definitely said many a time before.

We had been playing with some bondage and impact. His teeth marked me as he nipped at shoulders, arms, breasts and I felt the delicious wash of sensation of his variance of pressure that never fails to excite me.

“Do you like that?” He growled at me in that sex voice he has.

“Harder, please,” mine got all breathy, as it does.

“Harder, what?” He said with an eyebrow up.

“Harder, please, Sir,” I responded properly.

But it didn’t fit. It didn’t fit how I thought of him, how we were together. He nurtures me, protects me, cares for me, defends me. He values my emotional and physical well being. While those things can definitely be characteristics of regular D types, Sir just wasn’t feeling right. He felt it, too.

“Try Daddy,” He encouraged.

I looked at him shyly. I did a lot of things shyly then. “Harder please, Daddy,” my voice dropped to almost a whisper by the end, but it came out.

Have you ever been working on a 5000 piece puzzle and gotten stuck on a certain piece? It might be a little oddly shaped and might have colors that don’t seem to match any one section. You try it everywhere there is an obvious hole, and it doesn’t fit. Over and over, across that puzzle it doesn’t fit anywhere. Then you see a hole that it clearly doesn’t fit into but you’re running out of places to put it and the damn thing has to go somewhere. So you try it anyhow, and somehow, like puzzle magic, it fits, connecting those huge chunks that were floating about needing anchoring. Once it’s in, if looks like it has always belonged there, and the strange wash of colors suddenly make sense in a way they hadn’t before.

That was how this moment felt for me. For us, really. It is one of those defining moments that will stay with me.

He looked at me intensely, eyes almost glowing with love and desire, and He kissed me the same way. He kissed me passionately, with a single-minded focus, pinning me beneath him to join our bodies.

It took a little time to realize that was how our relationship had truly evolved, and that I needed to accept and embrace some things about myself which had always been present.  This is who we are.

I call him Daddy.

But the thing is, that isn’t his only name.

When we are alone, or at a kink friendly event, he can be Daddy without reservation for me.  When he gives me a command I need to acknowlege, I have enough Southern in me for him to be Sir.  When it is an order I definitely am not excited about, I remind myself that this is the path I chose, and the good outweighs the bad.  Those moments, I address him as Master, as I need the reminder.  And when I call out to him in public or refer to him in conversation, he is Santa, as it has become a term of respect, and his title, as odd as that may seem to others.

Yet I am not the only one who calls him an honorific.  Others have called him Sir, and Daddy, and definitely Santa, though none have called him Master, that I know of.  Another partner addressing him by his title, even when used as a form of affection, gives me zero pause.  I actually find it cute when other women address him that way.  I know many submissives who have difficulties with their D-types being called Sir or Daddy by others, and I can understand the concern.  For some, it is akin to having a pet name, a deeply intimate connection with a partner be used by an outsider.  I just can’t view it that way.  His name is his name is his name.  How someone else addresses him has no effect on the relationship I have with him.

Much like any form of address, we’re all looking to make those verbal connections, and I cannot fault his other partners for seeking those things.  What I call him is a term of respect and affection.  I’ve learned instead that the real sticking point for me is what he calls them in return.

About the Author
Christmas bunny has been exploring kink since she was legal to do so.  Her serious writing started in college, where she accidently got some of her papers published in educational journals.  She has recently expanded her writing to include her kink journey.  She began writing in the physical realm, but shed some of her inhibitions and began sharing those entries with others.  She now keeps an active blog of her personal growth and her relationship with her Master / Daddy Dominant and writes helpful educational posts on a variety of subjects.

Tagged With: bdsm, christmas bunny, fetish, kink

But Submissives Aren’t The Dangerous Ones, Right?

May 16, 2020 By Christmas Bunny 2 Comments

Consent violations.

We dread hearing about the next one to happen in our community.  Those poor submissives and bottoms have really got to look out for predators in the community, stick together.

But what happens when the violator isn’t the top?

What if a bottom withholds pertinent information from a top because they want to punish or out of a selfish desire to get what they want?  We don’t even have to make the violation sexual for it to be a serious enough breech of trust to state that the submissive is unsafe.

I’d go so far as to say dangerous.

I know of one, in fact.  Honestly, it chills me hearing about the next person they are going to scene with through the grapevine, knowing what I know about how much they hurt an amazing, well-respected top.

It’s funny how often bottoms will do intensive work to vet a top for scening, yet not once have I ever been approached by a top to vet a fellow submissive or bottom, or been asked about their character or experience.  Vetting shouldn’t be a one-way street, with only the tied or impacted checking for danger.  Tops are risking things, too, though risk to a top is more often psychological.  What we do is in direct opposition to the societal standards most of us had instilled from young ages, and hiding information from a top to hurt them isn’t teaching them a “lesson,” but rather impacting them with harm more lasting than any bruise I’ve ever received from impact.

If you’re going to tie someone, suspend someone, or give them impact, don’t you want to know they haven’t lied to or violated the trust or consent of others they’ve interacted with?

That seems the very least you can do to protect yourself as a top.

About the Author

Christmas bunny has been exploring kink since she was legal to do so.  Her serious writing started in college, where she accidently got some of her papers published in educational journals.  She has recently expanded her writing to include her kink journey.  She began writing in the physical realm, but shed some of her inhibitions and began sharing those entries with others.  She now keeps an active blog of her personal growth and her relationship with her Master / Daddy Dominant and writes helpful educational posts on a variety of subjects.

Tagged With: bdsm, christmas bunny, fetish, kink

Anatomy Of A Blowjob

May 10, 2020 By Christmas Bunny 2 Comments

It always begins with lips.

Wet lips part and envelop the head, but only the head at first.  I need more moisture to go farther.

My tongue ripples against the underside, and it becomes lubricated enough to slide a little farther across my tongue.  It  presses closer to my throat with every motion.  First in, straining to fully embed, then back out again.

As I get closer and closer to the base, to engulfing the entirety, fingers come down to show me where my lips should strive to reach.

Withdrawing almost entirely, I’ll need more breath for the next press forward, and use the momentum to carry me down the length until lips kiss fingertips, twisting a little at the end to open my throat.

A moan reaches my ears and hands pull me closer.  All breath is stolen, so I relax my open mouth into the rocking hips for as long as possible.

Nature betrays me, though, and shoulders jerk slightly with my instinct for air.  After one last press, one last thrust, and the release of hands, I am sliding off of the slippery shaft until all that remains is the head again.  After a a few pants, sucking in oxygen desperately around the edges, the slide begins again.

The second full immersion is always easier than the first, since the slickness makes it go down easier.  Breathe, relax, and let the mind empty.

Hands in hair, desire burning in the eyes that meet mine on the upstroke, this is Zen.  Everything is still in that press inwards.  Each time the length is embedded more fully.

Thrusts become more regular, and I am a doll, a tool.  I exist only for His pleasure, taking mine in the moment when He is buried at full length in me so far, His body motions become my only clue that He is spilling cum down my throat.

Withdrawing and thrusting a final time to pull every last drop from Him, I raise my head in triumph, saliva glistening from nostrils to chin.

All for those glorious words.

Good girl.

Tagged With: bdsm, christmas bunny, fetish, kink

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