#being controlled
Daily Picture Assignment #123
Happy hour outfit from last night.
Reaction Junkie and I have a little protocol around what I wear. Whenever I’m going out, I ask him what to put on. I’m not asking him to pick out my whole outfit, mind, since that isn’t his strong suit. Instead, I ask him if I should wear a skirt, dress, or shorts. Now that it’s winter, I’ve replaced “shorts” with “pants” and “leggings.” I really like this protocol, since I get to feel that sense of being controlled and Reaction Junkie gets to make pick out some of my clothes, but without any of the pressure of having to pick out a full outfit.
While I don’t ask Reaction Junkie to make all of my clothing choices for me, sometimes I do ask for input when I can’t make up my mind about a particular aspect of my outfit. Last night was such an occasion. I couldn’t decide which boots to wear, these ones, or my big stompy boots. I was leaning towards the stompy ones, but wasn’t sure, so I put these on and asked Reaction Junkie what he thought.
He thought for a second and told me, “Those.” For a moment, I thought about disagreeing and wearing the other boots, but then I remembered my place. It doesn’t matter what I want. What’s important is what Reaction Junkie wants. Even if I think he might be wrong, and that a different course would be better, I need to listen to his decision. If it’s something major, I can, of course, speak up, but even then, if he still wants me to do what he initially said, I must obey. And if I disagree on something minor, I should, no, will obey without question. So I wore the boots that he picked.
The details of Reaction Junkie’s preference or order don’t matter. The important thing I that I remember that I’ve subsumed my preferences and wants into his. If I prefer something that runs contrary to what he wants, I will follow through with his desire. A particular decision may not be or even become what I would like, but by virtue of the fact that it is what Reaction Junkie prefers, I will want to follow through with it. I may not want it specifically, but going along with it will make me happy, because it will best please Reaction Junkie.
PS. Before anyone gets mad, the shirt is from A Softer World, and it’s making fun of people who act like that’s what feminism is about. Reaction Junkie has one, too, which results in some great interactions.
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Note: I know this is a month late. Sorry! I’m working on catching up, but I’ve been so busy at work and socially.
I had plans to grab dinner with MLAM and Reaction Junkie before the Tuesday happy hour. MLAM and I were to meet about an hour before Reaction Junkie would show up, and have a little time to walk around and catch up one on one. As I rode the train to meet MLAM, I started feeling very nervcited. I hadn’t seen him in months, and we hadn’t talked much lately. When the train stopped, I walked slowly over to the escalator and took a deep breath before getting on. I looked around as I rode up, wanting to spot MLAM. I stepped off, turned, and saw him. I gave him a big hug and he picked me up, grinning. I felt my feet brush against someone and I turned around to see Reaction Junkie. I squeaked, happy to see him, and gave him a big hug as well. I was glad he was there because I love spending time with him, but I was also a little disappointed not to have any time one-on-one with MLAM.
I introduced the two men, both of whom have been major parts of my life, and we started walking. They’re both the bizarre kind of human being who is completely devoid of social anxiety, so they immediately began conversing. I joined in, as well, and we walked to the vegan restaurant for dinner. While we were there, the two men were both being dommy and mean, telling me to do things hurting me subtly , teasing me. They were basically co-domming me. It was a heady experience, feeling submissive towards and dominated by two people at once. I’m not sure if I was having a total blast or was completely miserable. (And of course that’s a lie. It’s obviously the former.)
After we finished eating, we headed to happy hour. I have to admit I was still feeling rather nervous. That resulted in me acting out a bit with Reaction Junkie. I tried to play it like it was me being toppy, but it was really something of a performance. As we walked, Reaction Junkie called me out on my nervous behavior and I worked to reign it in. Reaction Junkie had originally been planning to skip happy hour and go to a meeting, but he didn’t feel well, so he stayed. When happy hour began, I talked with people, introducing MLAM to some of my friends and other partners, but I tried not to be all over him because I wanted to let him do his thing or be too clingy. Looking back, that was silly. We hadn’t seen each other in months, so of course it would have been fine for me to glom on the whole night.
I spent some time in a lovely little cuddle pile with Anderson Cooper, Kitten, Reaction Junkie, and someone else I didn’t really know. The whole time, however, I was watching MLAM out of the corner of my eye, wondering when it would be appropriate to grab him and go upstairs for some time with him in a play-friendly setting. Finally, I decided I didn’t want to wait any longer, and I sidled up and asked him if he wanted to go up with me. He did, and we headed up.
As soon as we got upstairs and I put my things down, he grabbed my hair and led me around the space. He told me to put my glasses in my bag and dragged me back towards it. I asked what he wanted me to take off, but he said he’d take off what he wanted off. I like that answer. I certainly don’t mind when people I play with allow me to take off what I want, and when I’m just beginning to play with someone, that’s the proper way to go about it, in my opinion. But having him tell me that he’d do it, and knowing that I’d take off what he told me to. Mmph. It’s the little things, and he’s very good at those small details, creating and solidifying the dynamic.
Next, he started leading me around my my nipple, which hurt like fuck. He pushed me down on one of the ottomans and I sat facing him, waiting expectantly. He began hitting my left leg a bunch, slapping my thigh repeatedly to warm up, and then hitting me harder. At one point, he stuck his hand in my face and instructed me to lick. I obeyed, although I wasn’t sure why he was doing that. Then, as he slapped my leg again with his wet hand, I remembered. It makes it hurt more because less gas is trapped between the hitter’s hand and the hittee’s body. (Or something physics-y like that. I think that’s right?) I’d forgotten that trick. He continued hurting me, and played with my mind, acting like he was going to hit me, then not, then going to hit me again, again not hitting me, finally hitting me, etc. By the end of the first round, I was shaking from the pain and the mental stress he was putting me under.
When we took a breather, I looked over my body and saw the marks already beginning to form. I asked MLAM if he would show Reaction Junkie how he did things, since he’s so good at leaving the kinds of marks I love. I almost didn’t ask because I didn’t want Reaction Junkie to feel like I was saying anything negative about him, but I know he’s not like that, so I did. They both stood over me. MLAM showed him things as they talked, Reaction Junkie tried them out, and they both mostly ignored me. It was objectifying and I thoroughly enjoyed it.
They both began hitting me. My legs were shaking and I was breathing fast as the two men beat my legs. When Reaction Junkie hit my right outer thigh, which he had destroyed the previous weekend, it overwhelmed me. I curled up around myself and had to take a break. Reaction Junkie got me some water and I caught my breath. When we resumed, I had one man on each leg, each hitting me and toying with me. MLAM showed how much he enjoys stressing people out psychologically with mindfuckery and headgames. It makes the pain worse with less effort from him. I lay back on the row of ottomans and closed my eyes. They were both beating me hard and fast, slapping and punching my thighs. I was shaking and groaning, struggling not to be too loud as I reveled in the sensations I was experiencing.
When there was a lull in the impact, MLAM asked me, “How do you feel about your ribcage?” I was confused for a moment, having gone into a headspace, but then agreed to having him hit me there. I lay down on the ottomans. MLAM started hitting my back, smacking down forcefully with open hands. It stung like fuck, and that mingled with the pain and fear and stress from when they were both hitting my legs. I started crying. I decided we should stop. Partially because I was about done, but more than that, because I don’t want to make people uncomfortable. This was a happy hour, not an official play party, and even if “light play” has no real meaning, I feel like someone crying could have been upsetting to someone in this non-play party context.
I cuddled and talked with MLAM for a little while after the scene was over. When I felt recovered, I got some water downstairs. When I went back up, MLAM was standing with a group of people that included Reaction Junkie. I went and stood by MLAM for a while, and I was thinking about joining Reaction Junkie when MLAM told me that if I wanted to go be by him, that was fine. I didn’t want to leave MLAM, but I also did feel the need to be by Reaction Junkie. So I cuddled up to him and spent the rest of the night talking to him and the rest of the group.
I had a great night, but MLAM apparently did not. He told me later that he felt like a third wheel, like he was intruding. That’s not at all how I felt about him being there. I didn’t realize he would feel that way at all. It didn’t even cross my mind. It likely would have been better if MLAM and I had had some time for just us before meeting up with Reaction Junkie. When I talked with Reaction Junkie about things the next day, he admitted that he had felt similarly, and had been trying to stay out of our way. I’d spent more of my concern about hurt feelings than necessary on Reaction Junkie, and not enough on MLAM. I regret not having alone time with MLAM first, and not spending more time with him at happy hour. Next time, I’ll do a better job of actually talking to people about how they want to interact in situations like that. I’m still very glad MLAM came to town, and the other two times we got together went much better. I do miss him, and I hope to get a chance to see him sometime in the near future.
When you’re out with a Dom in public and they grip the back of your neck to remind you who is in control
Change “Dom” to “partner,” and so much yes to this.
Don’t worry about wetting the furniture.
The idea of wearing a diaper doesn’t do anything for me. Being made to wear one, and the way that could be used against me, however? That’s a whole different story.
With a diaper, I could be made to piss myself anywhere at any time. Sitting on the couch, walking around in public, at work, at a party. Anywhere a partner wants me to submit to their control and piss myself. Knowing that they could force me to debase myself at any time with just a word would be a heady experience, even if they never gave the order.
Of course, they could give me that instruction without a diaper, but the part of me that sits outside any subspace I might enter would be pinged by the fact that they wouldn’t want to cause a mess anywhere difficult to clean or that might involve nonconsenting people in our play. The diaper would remove those barriers, making it possible for them to force me to piss myself anytime, any place.
The feeling of being controlled would be intense. I wouldn’t want to do it, but I would have no excuse to refuse. My not wanting to isn’t enough of a reason, of course. I would have to piss myself, then continue whatever I was doing while wearing a wet diaper. I wouldn’t be able to forget for a moment about what I’d done, and that I’d done it because I was told to. I would feel disgusting and degraded, but at the same time, I would be turned on by the level of power that person had over me.
Doing this would be utterly humiliating. I have a hard time feeling humiliated or ashamed these days, at least as relates to piss. Being forced to piss myself while wearing a diaper and wearing that wet diaper, though…That would make me feel ashamed and embarrassed while I was doing it. Then afterwards, it could be used against me to make me feel humiliated and ashamed. Have me masturbate thinking about it. Tell people what I did. Allude to it in everyday conversations. Mention it to me at unexpected moments.
I almost don’t want to post this, to be honest. That’s how humiliating I think I would find this whole thing, especially having my actions mentioned and used against me afterwards.
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On Friday, I went over to Reaction Junkie’s place. We had been intending to top each other into doing writing we each needed to do, but I’d texted him during the day and asked if we could cuddle and watch something first because I was full of feelings. He’d agreed immediately, and when I got over there, I realized that he also was full of feelings. His were more immediate and, to be honest, more important and concerning than mine, which basically kicked me into a caregiving mode. We decided that the writing was not going to happen at this point, so we scrapped that plan and I cooked dinner for him. I made sauteed kale with peppers and tomatoes from my CSA, and refrigerated ravioli. I only gave him half of the pasta, which he later thanked me for, saying that if he’d been doing it, he’d have given himself the whole thing. I said, “I know.” Hee. I enjoy cooking for him and giving him healthy things and helping him make healthy choices.
Once I was done cooking and doing cleanup, Reaction Junkie snapped at me and pointed at the ground next to him, clearly telling me to kneel there. I hesitated for a moment, my right leg still sore from the previous week, but complied when he gave me a look. I cowered a little, expecting some sort of reprimand, and he asked if I’d considered the possibility that he wanted to praise me. He told me I was a “good girl,” which made me swoon a little, and thanked me for cooking for him. I really liked the snapping and making me kneel. It made me feel ordered around and controlled, which is one of my favorite things. Plus, the rudeness and somewhat degrading nature of snapping at someone to get them to come. And of course, I liked being praised. It’s always good to hear that I’m pleasing my owner and being useful in as many ways as I can be.
Besides making me eager to cook for him, being in caregiving mode made want to cheer him up. He was having some major sad feels (understatement), and I wanted to do what I could to make him feel better. I knew I couldn’t cure depression or anything, but I could at least get him smiling and feeling some more positive things to help chase away the bad things. I determined that, with my skill set, my best route to achieve this goal would be to turn my adorableness up to eleven. I’ve been doing this horse-like thing where I lip at his clothes, and it almost always elicits a smile, and usually a bit of a giggle from him. I started to do that in the dining room, and added a few more crittery things like licking him. Then, when we went to his room to get our cuddle on, I started being more and more animal-like. I was bouncing around and making cute noises, nuzzling him, pushing at his hand with my nose to try to get him to pet me and just generally being super extra adorbs.
He pointed out to me that animals don’t usually have nearly so many clothes as I was wearing, which was entirely accurate. I stripped down to my panties and hopped back into bed to continue playing. He was laying in the bed and I started pushing my head through a space between his arm and the bed to get up to his face. Instead, he squeezed me and held me in place, my head on one side of his arm, my body on another. He started talking, starting to tell me a story about me as an animal in the woods who sticks her head in a log and gets stuck. He continued, talking about me worrying about predators, wondering if every sound would be my demise. I actually started to get turned on. It was weirdly hot. My favorite kind of hot. Then it began to rain in the woods. I was getting into the story at this point, into a critterspace, and as he told me about the rain filling the log, I started to struggle against his arm. He held me in place, and continued the story. Finally, the critter me in the story escaped the log, but fell into a hole. As I struggled to climb out, RAWR a bear jumped on me, and, back in the bedroom, Reaction Junkie did the same. We rolled around laughing and happy and cuddled more.
He seemed much cheered up from the fun we were having. Something did happen later with his roommate that brought him back down, which sucked, but I was happy I got to make him feel happy for at least a while.
Daily Picture Assignment #36
I’m going out on a date with Not A Tumblr Dom today, and I’m really looking forward to it. I find him easy to talk to and interesting to listen to.
Before I left the apartment, Reaction Junkie told me that I’m to drink a bunch of water while I’m out tonight. He added that I should ask Not A Tumblr Dom for permission to pee.
I looked up at Reaction Junkie, a little disappointed. I thought he wanted to have complete and sole control over my bladder. Before I could say anything, he interrupted himself and said, “No. Don’t do that. I don’t want you to do that.” It made me really happy to know that he values being the only one who gets to say when I can and can’t pee.
Reaction Junkie owns my bladder as part of owning me, of course. But more than that, he has total control over my pissing privileges. He may very occasionally give temporary control to someone else, but at the end of the day, it’s Reaction Junkie who gets to decide when and where I get to piss.
I’m going to drink a bunch of water tonight, as Reaction Junkie ordered. But I’m so pleased that he enjoys having sole control over my bladder as much as I enjoy him having it, so I’m going to go above and beyond.
I’m not going to piss while I’m out tonight. Barring some kind of big disruption, I’m not even going to text Reaction Junkie to ask for it. I will hold it all night, no matter how desperate I get. Only when I return home will I ask for permission to piss.
In addition, I’m going to change my workplace pissing habits. Right now, I don’t have to text Reaction Junkie for permission while I’m at work. Starting tomorrow, I’m going to change that. I want to have an ongoing reminder that no matter where I am or what I’m doing, Reaction Junkie owns me and has control over me, even over my basic bodily functions.
PS. It’s really hard to take a picture of your bladder.
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Daily Picture Assignment #41
While I haven’t been keeping up with these pictures as well as I should be, I have been very good about something else. In another DPA I decided to change my workplace pissing habits. Previously I didn’t have to ask Reaction Junkie for permission to pee while at work. Now I do. Each time I need to piss, I have to text him to ask, “May I please pee?”
For practicality’s sake, if he doesn’t respond to my text within half an hour, I’m allowed to go, but there’s still a challenge there. I don’t want to ask permission before I actually really do need to pee. That defeats the purpose. But I also need to ask early enough that if he doesn’t respond, I can wait the half hour. It’s a delightful balancing act that leaves me desperate, wiggling, shifting uncomfortably, and trying to distract myself so I can hold it for the next five, ten, or twenty minutes.
Sometimes he responds unexpectedly fast. In those cases, I try to finish however much water I have left in my huge one litre Camelbak and wait until the need to pee is more urgent before I get up and head to the bathroom, to sort of make up for the fact that I got permission earlier than absolutely necessary. When I told Reaction Junkie about that, he said, “Good girl,” and it made my pussy twitch. I’m not sure I’ve been doing it every single time he’s responded more quickly than I thought he would, but I’m certainly going to do so now.
Of course, he doesn’t always just say “Yes” when I ask if I may pee. As Reaction Junkie said to me, if he said yes every time, “it would become perfunctory." Sometimes he tells me "No,” but more often he tells me at what time I’m allowed to piss. Late last week, for example, I texted him at 12:11 asking for permission. A minute later he texted back, “1230, slut.” I gasped and moaned a little at my desk, even more turned on than usual by the addition of degradation and name calling to the bladder control and desperation.
Sometimes when he gives me a time at which I’m allowed to go, he also offers me an alternative, some task to perform or action to take. If I choose to do it (If he’s given me a choice. Once in a while it’s a condition of being allowed to pee, no other option.), I’m may piss as soon as I’ve done so. Occasionally it’s something terribly embarrassing, like asking my boss for permission to go to the bathroom. Once I had to do 25 squats while pressing on my bladder. More recently, he’s started using his control over my bladder to get me to do things he wants me to do or that I need to do, such as text a friend to set up a time to hang out, or send an email I’ve been putting off.
When he denies my request, makes me wait until later, calls me names, or makes me beg, my cunt clenches and my head buzzes a little with subspacey delight. Using his control over me to make me do things I’ve been procrastinating on or I’m hesitant to do in order to earn the right to piss is a perfect way for him to reinforce his orders. It helps me learn my place and teaches me to do as he says, even at other times, as I become conditioned to obey him.
I love that we’re doing this additional bladder control and desperation. As I go about my day, I’m mindful of the fact that I have to ask him if I may piss. Because of this, I have to actively think about my place in our relationship whenever I need to use the bathroom, whenever I drink my water, whenever I refill the bottle, whenever I go into a meeting. It’s a constant reminder that he has such ownership and control over me that even my most basic bodily functions are subject to his will. It’s impossible to forget that, even for a moment.
Reaction Junkie owns me, I have submitted to him, and I have given up power over myself to him. He has complete control over me everywhere, even at work. This was all true before, but now I am consciously aware of it throughout the entire workday.
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