Secondary

Sec·ond·ar·y

/ˈsekənˌderē/

 1. coming after, resulting from someone or something else that is primary.

 
            When I miss you, my soul becomes impatient with itself; its restlessness keeps growing and is forever the same. Everything interests me, but nothing holds me. In my sleeplessness I am drunk on silence, the usefulness of my thoughts left long ago, leaving these fatigued neurons to fire almost randomly – flailing without direction. I want so much to not think at all; I want to be absorbed into the darkness the night promised me hours ago. As I dig my nails into the sheets beneath my pillow, my impatience demands that you touch me. Most people cannot do the things that only you can ask of me. Daddy, you should know that I am not afraid. Most people would break under this sort of stress, and if I break – which I won’t, I know – you will be there to help pick up the pieces. But I am so much stronger. That’s why I appeal to you. I look to you with all of my beautiful defiance, daring you to be who you truly are.

I love more than one person. I repeat – I love more than one. To love, you must trust. Being in a relationship that is unscripted can seem to be the scariest of notions, but true relationships are based on the ultimate foundation of trust and surrender. Having the privilege to be loved by many can be the ultimate reward. However, having multiple partners requires boundaries to be put in place to protect the core balance. You become part of a hierarchy where rules must be followed in order for everyone to know their place. Allowing the people you love to make their own choices without controlling them. The kind of courage I’m talking about involves being willing to let go of guarantees.

When you are not first, the notion of time becomes a pile of sand that dissolves between your fingers at the slightest touch. You find yourself stealing precious moments that feel rushed, hurried moments that come to a sudden end and leave you feeling unsatiated. Bodies that ravage each other multiple times a day, attempting to quench a thirst that can never be filled.The moments where the sudden urge to have his tongue part your lips, claiming you, constantly battling the urge to slide over his lap with your only thought being that his hungry cock will soon mirror  the actions of his mouth. There is a dangerous energy that passes between you in those moments where you aren’t alone, when you see his eyes on you, his pupils begin to dilate as arousal takes over and the last vestiges of control feel like a snake trying to coil itself around your throat, stealing the very air that you breath. 

Distance creates hunger. A craving for the other. A craving that can trump all logic. When the body craves passion, it neglects reason. Not being the first in a hierarchy of many requires a higher degree of self-control, a beautiful war within your mind where your body is a battlefield. You can be anything you want to be and yet, you choose to be the woman who kneels at your Master’s side, patiently waiting for your turn. So, I sit quietly in this corner, waiting for that turn that will never really come.

They say jealousy is a darkness that “presses you in.” It doesn’t. The darkness comes in close and kisses your skin more tenderly than your mother and whispers excitement in your ear. The darkness will be your favorite thing, wrapping itself around you like a warm blanket right up until it senses that your exits are blocked, then it no longer has a reason to hide. Sometimes I feel as though I am the darkness. I see the way a man looks at me. I bring out a deep-seeded lust that lies dormant within him, awakening his deepest carnal desires in a way only I can.

I stood at your bathroom mirror, freshly showered, my skin plump and moist. My high-waisted shorts do little to keep me warm from the evening breeze dancing through the tiny window. My makeup litters the sink and I stare at myself in the mirror. For those who truly know me, my emotions are heavily guarded, but as I stare at myself the turmoil is evident in the crease of my brow and the down-curve of my full lips. My eyes, a deep pool of restless gold, an ocean of unfulfilled desires. With a blending brush lodged firmly between my fingers, I apply my mask, hoping to create a wall between myself and the callous reality that is my mind. Disrupting my thoughts, you walk into the bathroom.  Insolently, I do little to acknowledge your presence. You wrap your fingers around the nape of my neck and stare at me a moment, drinking me in as I continue blending my eye shadow. Taking a step behind me you take a seat on the ledge of the bathtub. I take a breath, recalling an earlier conversation. A simple instruction, “You can go play, but there can be no marks, is that clear? – Yes, Daddy, very clear.” Your fingers grasp the waist of my shorts and I gasp as you ever so slowly pull them down over the swell of my ass. Time stops for a moment before I feel your fingers caressing the side of my thigh as you analyse the clean canvas that is my ass. Forcibly you separate my legs, and push me down so that my elbows are leaning against the sink. I feel your fingertips separate my ass cheeks and then your tongue pushes in. I bite my lower lip in pleasure, exhaling as quietly as I can, for I know the next room is occupied by your primary. I reach my hand behind pulling your head deeper into my ass as I enjoy the delicious heat I feel rising within. Each stroke of your tongue and sweet caress of your thumb against my clit brings me higher until my I am fisting my mouth in an effort not to scream as I come all over your face. As I recover, I feel you stand and bring your fingers to the forefront of my neck, pulling me upwards. “Good girls get rewarded.” You whisper. As you look at me through the mirror, “this is our secret.” I nod obediently and continue applying my makeup as you quietly slip through the door. 

Who you are truly, is the deepest foundation of your own acceptance. People will perceive you in ways that will make you want to climb back into that hole you worked so hard to climb out of. You will say goodbye many times, your personal path will be a lonely one.

The ‘Fatal Female Flaw’ is when ordinarily sensible women fall madly in love with an unattainable man who can’t or won’t love them back. As midnight approached one sleepless night, I came to terms with the hard truth that I am one of these women. I patiently wait for the darkness to drag me to the day I had been dreading. The day where I left one Dominant behind in exchange for another.

“No marks.” I warned, standing before him as I set my limits for what would be our last time. Things were no longer as they once were. Too much time had passed and we were different; the fantasy that had surrounded him once upon a time had been shattered. His brilliant blue eyes unable to focus, I could see then that he was broken; devastation and heartbreak set upon him by his primary hung heavy. “I said, no marks.” I repeated myself as he looked at me in disbelief, trying to register my words. This simple limit broke the last fragile tendril in a tenuous relationship. The craft of a Master is not to impose dominance, but to extract submission. I watched comprehension dawn on his face as he realized my submission would no longer be taken for granted.

He moved abruptly then, setting several things in motion while ordering me to strip. “Hands on your head,” he commanded through gritted teeth as he forced my legs wider, pushing me down to my knees. In a second, he was in my mouth, forcing my tongue to move over his broad head. Next, his hands were on my waist, flipping me onto my front. He nudged my legs further apart with his knees, spreading me as he gripped my hips, tugging them up, up, before he buried himself deep with a single unlubricated stroke. I moaned into the pillow at every glorious inch of him, rising onto my forearms as my fingers grasped into the sheets. “Come, and I will spank you,” he said through clenched teeth. I could feel his rage. He wanted to reclaim control, to possess me, to devour my newfound nerve, but he was at a loss as to how. Aggressively, he turned me around to face him. His hands clamped on my waist, then moved — one going to cup my ass, the other sliding between us. Lowering his lips to mine his tongue scraped the roof of my mouth as he dragged a finger down the center of me, and I gasped, my back arching. His tongue swept my mouth again, in time to the finger that he slipped inside of me. My hips undulated, demanding more, craving the fullness of him and his growl reverberated in my chest as he added another finger. I moved on him. Lightning flashed in my veins, and my focus narrowed to his fingers, his mouth, his contact points on my body. His palm pushed against the bundle of nerves at the apex of my thighs, and I groaned his name for the last time as I shattered.

 There can only be one Dominant to a submissive. For those of you who believe otherwise, I admire your determination. There can be no regret. To flourish we must first feel pain, we must endure the lessons life offers to discover our purest form. If you do not love something, then it does not belong to you. For it won’t be long before you destroy that something, precisely because you do not love it. The best advice that can be given to any submissive, is to choose a Dominant who won’t just give you his best, but his everything. A little insecurity in a submissive is never a bad thing, but your doubts should never be whether or not your Dominant cares, he should be someone who understands how to prioritize you, even when you are not his primary.

 “Does Daddy’s Little Monster want to play?” I bit my lower lip, trying to hide my smirk and nodded innocently. “Yes, Daddy. I want to play.” I knew the rules and walked to the bedroom, dropping my pants to the ground along the way. The rules demand that I strip naked and assume the required position on the bed, however I kept my underwear and bra on and sat casually cross legged on the bed, waiting for him like the impertinent little brat that I am. “Is this how good girls please their Daddy’s? They break the rules?” “Oh!” I said, startled by him suddenly blocking the door despite my plan. I swallowed hard as my eyes darted downward, trying desperately to avoid his searing, deep emerald gaze. It was damning, yet my toes curled with need, seeing him in such a raw state. When I stole another peek into his face, I immediately regretted my defiant behavior; he did not look happy. In fact, he was seething.

Walking over and towering all of his magnificence over me he took a fistful of my hair, yanking it back with enough strength to bloom instant pain, nearly toppling me over the edge of the precipice. “What do you think your punishment should be? Say a number, and just a number.” I hesitated as his grip became tighter. “Fifteen” I murmured. “Turn around.” Only two words, but they delivered such a sensual threat. I did as I was asked without question. He was right behind me, breathing hard into the small of my neck as I removed my clothes and bent over. “Arch your back, show me that gorgeous ass. Show me what belongs to me.” His voice was enthralling, intoxicating nuances of pleasure and authority. I obeyed willingly, closing my eyes in submission. I wanted him to use me. I desperately needed him to take what belongs to him. Digging my face deeper into the sheets I lifted my ass higher, pushing my glistening pussy towards him.

His fingers took a moment to caress my ass before delivering the opening strike then continuing ruthlessly. The strikes were delivered without mercy and I braced for each blow, trying not to lurch forward. Numbering each as the heat subsided for a mere moment while he enjoyed a tender exploration of my swollen lips, in between slaps. The rhythm he developed pulled me through the assault and seemingly all too soon, I acknowledged the fifteenth strike. With that final blow delivered he pulled me up toward him. First by my hips, and then by my hair. Groping my breasts and kissing me, his words were full of congratulations. “Well done, you took your punishment well. But I don’t think you quite learned your lesson.” His voice goaded me and I began to register the perfect rhythm he had subtly created within my tightly wound body. One, two, and then three fingers fill me, his palm rocking with flawless pressure against my quivering clit, fucking me. Slowly and then increasing the tempo as he built up the pace. Before I knew it, I was panting with the consuming sensations about to explode, when everything stopped abruptly. Pushing me onto my back, Daddy picked up the Hitachi that was on the floor. He eyed me, repeatedly turning it on to the highest setting and then off again. The scene made me flinch then my eyes widened as he reached for the bondage tape from the bedside table. “You have a choice to make. You can either walk across the courtyard to retrieve dinner from the delivery man, naked. Or, we can play with the Hitachi.”

 The idea of a nude stroll with my hot red ass bare for all to see was an immediate No, so I opened my knees in deference. Quickly and expertly, the Hitachi was taped to the inside of my right thigh before my legs were bound tightly together so that the vibrator was firmly pressed to my clitoris. I could feel the circulation in my legs slow as the tape bit into my skin. With eyes shut tight, I took a deep breath and patiently waited for the vibrator to begin its assault. Once it did, he looked down on me with a wicked smile “Let’s see how long you last.” Turning with a wink he closed the door, leaving my body to convulse alone in waves.

 You have to submit silently. Open up, let go. Allow anything to penetrate you, disregard the pain. Sometimes to rise above we have to go through ourselves. The darkness isn’t hiding under the bed but rather living within us. We wage wars against conformity – to be accepted, to blend in. Listen to the constant tremors, within. They are ripping at the walls inside our soul but the intention is not to hurt, but to liberate.

After an indeterminable amount of time Daddy returned to the bedroom and silently cut away at the tape, liberating me from bondage. My clitoris was pulsating in violent spasms. I arched greedily to meet his fingers tapping lightly along my tender lips. “You are so wet,” he enthused. “See how much you love to be punished?” “Yes, Daddy,” I whimpered, physically fighting the urge to push myself back onto his finger. I wanted him inside me so much. I would have begged if I thought he would take pity on me, but I know too well that my impatience would only lead him to inflict further punishment.

 “Your ass looks so pretty with my name written on it in those beautiful little welts” In that moment, something strange began raging inside me. Suddenly, all physical pain from my prior punishment melted away and all I wanted was Daddy’s words etched deeper into my skin.

Snaking an arm around my waist he pulled me into him with an unyielding strength, “What can I do to motivate you to be a good little brat?” He eyed me salaciously and I dropped my gaze, unable to return the intensity. Gently, he used one finger to lift my chin and make my eyes meet his own. The air around us was charged and the tension was palpable. My soaking pussy was a testament to how much I wanted him “Fuck me, Daddy. Please! I promise; I’ll be a good girl.”

 One day, you will fall for a man. And he will touch you with his fingers. And he will burn holes in your skin with his mouth. It will hurt when you look at him. It will hurt when you are away from him. It will feel like someone has cut you open with a jagged piece of glass.

You will be his submissive. You will be his secondary. You will be anything he requests. You will be loyal and subservient because that is what is expected of you. But you will not be First.

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