I Can’t Choose Just One I

In part because, hello, rules? Pffft!

But in part because THIS IS SO MUCH FUN!

“I” reminds me of one of our earliest play times. It was summer or late spring, when  we’d meet pretty regularly, every 6 weeks or so. He was spending “non-play” times telling me of all the things he was going to torture me with. One of the better things was ice.

Now, I’ve always run to hot. I get hot easily ~in ALL senses of the word! He was just starting to teach me his torturous ways, and he thought he wag going to show me a very different type of putting a hurt on me…He put an Ice cube in my pussy!  I melted it in about 5 seconds. Literally, no sooner had he pushed it into me than water was dripping out of me. Aghast, he did it again, then a third time.

“I’m murdering ice here,” he’d said, “and now I guess I just have to beat you. You fucking slut! Your pussy is a fucking oven!”

It’s a good memory, that. We both laugh over it now and again.

I is also for Incredible.

It’s Incredible to me that I’ve now been blogging for 7 years, 8 months. And while I haven’t written every day, there is at least one contribution per month, every month since August 2009!

It’s also Incredible the amount of feedback that I’ve gotten over those many, many months, and the friendships, both online and IRL as a result of the blog. I’ve “met” and met some Incredible people.

It’s Incredible that M and I have lasted so long. There have been rocky periods, but I think every relationship has those resettling periods. Learning to speak clearly, and listen, and knowing when I have to be upfront with him and say “hey, this is serious to me” has been a life lesson that I’ve carried onward into ALL facets of my day-to-day. And some days I’m just too emo, and my vanilla life gets to me and he bears the brunt of it.

I is also for Isolated. For we are, we perverts. We can’t really be open about our proclivities, now can we? Would you tell your dentist that you like to be beaten while you’re being fucked roughly? Would you tell the florist that you have bruises that perfectly match that lovely rose? No. I really don’t think many of us would. Nor on the Dom side. In this world of uber-political correctness, I can’t imagine anyone saying “I like to beat a submissive, then make them have 25 orgasms as further torture. Pleasure and pain, it’s a heady mix.”

WE know it. We love it. But the rest of the world is just not ready for that brutal honesty. (Though I do suspect that more than one vanilla would be turned on by at least some light D/s play on either side of the slash.)

Internal springs to mind. The feelings inside of us that are released when we have this …kink…of ours sated. The letting go of frustrations, the freedom of NOT having to choose, the endorphin rush that being in this position brings to us…so much of it is internal. Doesn’t your mind spin like mine in 50 different directions at the start of play time? Still stuck  in the “I’ve got to” mode, making  mental lists, and wondering, too,  about what’s going to happen, what He’s going to do to you next, and thinking how fun it is and simultaneously thinking how much time will it take and will you get home in time to put in a load of wash before bed and…

In the blink of an I…he takes over. Institutes a physical hold, which becomes a mental one too. Slick words whispered in your ear. Of pain, of pleasure. Oh the names. Slut. Whore. Naughty. Good girl. Take it. Shut the fuck up. Swallow. Open. On your knees. That annoying internal list evaporates. There is only the now. There is only your dominant and you. Your body for his pleasure, and yours. Your mind to fuck. Your body to torture. It’s all there is in the small bubble surrounding you both.

And in that bubble, the most, bestest, coolest I…Intimacy.  When it’s you and him (or her). When the rest of the world is pushed away, and there is only skin upon skin. Whether it is beating time, fucking time, or that soft time after, when you both lay sweaty and sated, catching your breath and gathering your energies…that’s when I fall into that deeply connected, intimate time with Him. There is nothing to compare it to, and it doesn’t last exactly the same at any other time except in those quiet aftercare moments. It is the most intensely connected time we have.

About vanillamom

For 8 years--(EIGHT?!) nilla and M have been a D/s couple. I'm the "small s" side of that designation, as he often reminds me. I'm silly and prone to giggling at inopportune times. He's a wicked Sadist, who feeds me my drug of choice--pain. My brain is always spinning dirty and dark little fantasies, which I sometimes share with the world. Welcome to the nilla-verse. It's wet and slippery here...with a dragon or two lurking.
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3 Responses to I Can’t Choose Just One I

  1. abby says:

    Ii love all your I words……so true, to go from thinking about schedules and must get to do things…and end up like jello, and knowing that for a short time your universe has been reduced to just you and Him…blissl
    hugs abby

    • vanillamom says:

      Hi Abby! It’s taken me some time to get back to everyone who responded to my posts during April! Thank you for your always-awesome comments! I love when you stop by and leave me a few of your thoughts. This is why I couldn’t stop blogging, despite the pressure of my schedule–it keeps me connected to people who understand where I am in my head, where I am in my relationship, where I am with WHO I am. You get this. No one else in my day to day life would, only my blog-mates! So thank you for your words, your understanding, and for taking the time to write to me!

      nilla

  2. I just love reading whatever the hell you’re thinking. Tip

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