Fuck.
God.
Damn.
There is NOTHING.
And I mean fucking NOTHING.
Like starting off the day with my Daddy.
In His arms.
With His dick so hot and deep in my mouth.
As He beats my ass until I'm on fucking fire.
Yet I still beg for another strike.
And another.
As I choke, slurp, and suck like a good girl on Daddy's dick.
And then coming.
Again and again on His command.
Like a good dog.
In a gushing warm fucking mess.
Legs spread wide as He fills His hole.
And watches His cherished pet suffer and loose myself.
In Him.
Always.
In Him.
My beginning and end.
My center.
My everything.
~DominaKat
Tuesday, December 31, 2013
Friday, December 20, 2013
Clarity
He did it last night and again today. There are these time-stopping moments. When M stops me in my tracks and brands my heart all over again. I never expect them. I never see them coming. Some He delivers calm and as collected as always. Some He delivers with an intensity that leaves me quivering at His feet. It's those moments, He shows me His heart, His Dominance, His sheer love for me in such stark clarity that I am so completely undone and overwhelmed I can forget to fucking breath.
Each and every one of these moments cements and strengthens our bond, builds trust, and somehow I fall deeper in love with my Man. I don't even know how that is possible, but it happens nonetheless. Those moments and everything in between forever inspire me to give Him my everything. M...He is the love of my life, the center of my world, my Alpha and Omega.
~sigh~ Damn, but that Man never ceases to surprise me. :-)
~DominaKat
Each and every one of these moments cements and strengthens our bond, builds trust, and somehow I fall deeper in love with my Man. I don't even know how that is possible, but it happens nonetheless. Those moments and everything in between forever inspire me to give Him my everything. M...He is the love of my life, the center of my world, my Alpha and Omega.
~sigh~ Damn, but that Man never ceases to surprise me. :-)
~DominaKat
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
Why I Suffer for Him
A fellow blogger over at A Kind Dom recently posted a few discussions about masochism and its relationship to submission. Intrigued with the thoughtful discussion, I dove in. But of course that didn't sate my need for words...
Why do I submit to M's sweet suffering?
I obey.
I am driven to sate His dark hunger deeply and richly.
I have an inherent need to serve and please, M.
I want to demonstrate actively how willing I am to submit to Him.
I love to suffer for Him, so He may drink my pain, fear, and tears.
I love Him.
I enjoy the challenge He rains down on me.
His darkness makes me so wet I leave puddles and so hungry I tremble.
He pushes and tests my limits with His darkness. Every time it's a little bit more, a little harder, a little darker.
That fucking incredible endorphin rush.
So that I can hear the dark rumble of His growl.
The delightful suffering of it all rips me open mentally and emotionally to my Owner.
It tears down the day-in-day-out me and brings me to that primal fundamental animal that is raw and vulnerable and vibrantly exposed to Him so that He can engage with the essence of me.
His pain strips me down bit by bit to free my wild beast to run on His tight leash.
It brings us closer together than I've ever felt to any person in my life.
It allows us both to feel the full weight of our power exchange and bask in its glory.
It reinforces our trust, faith, and our bond.
There are hundreds of reasons. Some blatant. Some subtle. Some unselfish. Some extremely selfish. And everything in between. But in the end, there is really only one answer that truly articulates it all.
I am His.
Pure and simple. If that were not fact, truth, reality, I could not share myself in such intimate acts. For me, masochism isn't simply physical. It is an emotional, mental, and physical state of total vulnerability. I am not a pain slut just in need of the stimulus. It's the D/s and S&m connection that thrives between us that sparks my need for His Dominance and Pain. I am His pet who suffers willingly and gratefully for Him and for Him alone.
~DominaKat
Why do I submit to M's sweet suffering?
I obey.
I am driven to sate His dark hunger deeply and richly.
I have an inherent need to serve and please, M.
I want to demonstrate actively how willing I am to submit to Him.
I love to suffer for Him, so He may drink my pain, fear, and tears.
I love Him.
I enjoy the challenge He rains down on me.
His darkness makes me so wet I leave puddles and so hungry I tremble.
He pushes and tests my limits with His darkness. Every time it's a little bit more, a little harder, a little darker.
That fucking incredible endorphin rush.
So that I can hear the dark rumble of His growl.
The delightful suffering of it all rips me open mentally and emotionally to my Owner.
It tears down the day-in-day-out me and brings me to that primal fundamental animal that is raw and vulnerable and vibrantly exposed to Him so that He can engage with the essence of me.
His pain strips me down bit by bit to free my wild beast to run on His tight leash.
It brings us closer together than I've ever felt to any person in my life.
It allows us both to feel the full weight of our power exchange and bask in its glory.
It reinforces our trust, faith, and our bond.
There are hundreds of reasons. Some blatant. Some subtle. Some unselfish. Some extremely selfish. And everything in between. But in the end, there is really only one answer that truly articulates it all.
I am His.
Pure and simple. If that were not fact, truth, reality, I could not share myself in such intimate acts. For me, masochism isn't simply physical. It is an emotional, mental, and physical state of total vulnerability. I am not a pain slut just in need of the stimulus. It's the D/s and S&m connection that thrives between us that sparks my need for His Dominance and Pain. I am His pet who suffers willingly and gratefully for Him and for Him alone.
~DominaKat
Friday, December 13, 2013
The Importance of Our Interracial Love
I am in love with a Black Man.
At restaurants, there is no doubt we are a couple. In the homes of our families and friends we are respected and embraced partners. We hold hands. We touch. Our love is apparent. Arm and arm we walk blatantly down the broad streets of NYC and the tiny streets that criss-cross Ohio, kissing, laughing, smiling.
I am not naive. There are some that do not approve of our choice in each other, but we do not hide our relationship or temper our affection to make others more comfortable. Nor do we have anything to prove.
He is not a trendy fad for me. He is not a rebellion. He is not a conquest. He is my choice. He is my Man.
I am not a trophy. I am not a step up. I am not a denial of His heritage. I am simply His choice. His soft spot. His woman.
Are there looks from strangers as we openly demonstrate our love? Sometimes. Sure. Of course. From white men, white women, black men and black women, old crusty jewish women, and young matching silent couples that don't touch or smile. However, no stereotypical haters have ever made an issue of us. No bitter Black Woman has accosted us to rant. No hostile white man has ever condemned us. No offended Black Man has railed our choice in each other. No snotty white woman has spit out vitriol. No one has ever said a damn thing. Except once...
Last summer on a very crowded train, humming through the underground tunnels of busy Manhattan, M and I sat side by side. No one speaks on the subway. Every New Yorker's eyes automatically glaze over once they find their spot, conserving strength for the next part of their day's journey and simply falling into a dull lull. That is except for me. When I'm alone I people watch. When I'm with M I am focused on Him. That ride, He was in pain, and my hands were slowly working the knots in His shoulder, bicep, neck, and back. I soothed. I rubbed. I loved on my Man in patient silence, determine to ease Him in any way I could.
After a number of stops the crowd finally shifted, and a good portion of of the riders readied themselves to exit. The train slowed, and the middle aged white woman standing above me, whose hip would have been directly in my line of sight had I been facing forward, spoke to us. "Thank you. That was beautiful. To watch you love on him this whole time...it made my day." And with swish of the doors, she was gone. Her words almost surreal amid the hustle, bustle, and typical remote detachment of NYC's masses.
Maybe I should have been embarrassed, but I wasn't. I love my Man well, always doing what I can. M was a bit surprised as nothing like that had ever happened to him before. But looking back, I'm beginning to understand the importance of that moment and of what we do for each other and the world when M and I hold hands or kiss or laugh a quiet laugh between lovers.
There is no shame in love. No matter who you love. Claim your love with pride and respect and all the honor it deserves. Love is a beacon of light that most wish they could find and hold on to. Love is a strong, fragile, flame you should nurture and hold high to the world, so that you warm the hearts, minds, and souls of others as well.
Anyone that finds fault with love is a fool. And I pity them.
I am a white woman, and I proudly love a strong, intelligent, beautiful Black Man.
~DominaKat
At restaurants, there is no doubt we are a couple. In the homes of our families and friends we are respected and embraced partners. We hold hands. We touch. Our love is apparent. Arm and arm we walk blatantly down the broad streets of NYC and the tiny streets that criss-cross Ohio, kissing, laughing, smiling.
I am not naive. There are some that do not approve of our choice in each other, but we do not hide our relationship or temper our affection to make others more comfortable. Nor do we have anything to prove.
He is not a trendy fad for me. He is not a rebellion. He is not a conquest. He is my choice. He is my Man.
I am not a trophy. I am not a step up. I am not a denial of His heritage. I am simply His choice. His soft spot. His woman.
Are there looks from strangers as we openly demonstrate our love? Sometimes. Sure. Of course. From white men, white women, black men and black women, old crusty jewish women, and young matching silent couples that don't touch or smile. However, no stereotypical haters have ever made an issue of us. No bitter Black Woman has accosted us to rant. No hostile white man has ever condemned us. No offended Black Man has railed our choice in each other. No snotty white woman has spit out vitriol. No one has ever said a damn thing. Except once...
Last summer on a very crowded train, humming through the underground tunnels of busy Manhattan, M and I sat side by side. No one speaks on the subway. Every New Yorker's eyes automatically glaze over once they find their spot, conserving strength for the next part of their day's journey and simply falling into a dull lull. That is except for me. When I'm alone I people watch. When I'm with M I am focused on Him. That ride, He was in pain, and my hands were slowly working the knots in His shoulder, bicep, neck, and back. I soothed. I rubbed. I loved on my Man in patient silence, determine to ease Him in any way I could.
After a number of stops the crowd finally shifted, and a good portion of of the riders readied themselves to exit. The train slowed, and the middle aged white woman standing above me, whose hip would have been directly in my line of sight had I been facing forward, spoke to us. "Thank you. That was beautiful. To watch you love on him this whole time...it made my day." And with swish of the doors, she was gone. Her words almost surreal amid the hustle, bustle, and typical remote detachment of NYC's masses.
Maybe I should have been embarrassed, but I wasn't. I love my Man well, always doing what I can. M was a bit surprised as nothing like that had ever happened to him before. But looking back, I'm beginning to understand the importance of that moment and of what we do for each other and the world when M and I hold hands or kiss or laugh a quiet laugh between lovers.
There is no shame in love. No matter who you love. Claim your love with pride and respect and all the honor it deserves. Love is a beacon of light that most wish they could find and hold on to. Love is a strong, fragile, flame you should nurture and hold high to the world, so that you warm the hearts, minds, and souls of others as well.
Anyone that finds fault with love is a fool. And I pity them.
I am a white woman, and I proudly love a strong, intelligent, beautiful Black Man.
~DominaKat
Sunday, December 8, 2013
To Feed from My Owner's Hand
I followed His lead. With no questions, I simply obeyed. On my knees, face pressed to the sheets still warm from our lazy morning in each other's arms, I waited. I would accept and give whatever He chose to deliver and take.
In silence He whipped His pet under the last of the morning's quiet rays. His crop's stinging licks fell like rain over my ass cheeks. Hot splashes of pain made me whimper and lurch away. Yet, every time - every fucking time - I rose my ass high in the air again to Him, a physical plea for more and an undeniable show of trust and submission. I would not shy away from His gift of Dominance and Darkness. I would take anything He offered. A scrap or a feast, I feed only from my Owner's hand.
I longed to suffer for Him, to fill His Soul with my sacrifice. I knelt at His mercy and took each strike until He pulled that sweet masochistic high from my bones and I flew for Him. In primal lust entwined with delightful pain, M allowed us a moment of freedom to feast on our sweet darkness.
In silence He whipped His pet under the last of the morning's quiet rays. His crop's stinging licks fell like rain over my ass cheeks. Hot splashes of pain made me whimper and lurch away. Yet, every time - every fucking time - I rose my ass high in the air again to Him, a physical plea for more and an undeniable show of trust and submission. I would not shy away from His gift of Dominance and Darkness. I would take anything He offered. A scrap or a feast, I feed only from my Owner's hand.
I longed to suffer for Him, to fill His Soul with my sacrifice. I knelt at His mercy and took each strike until He pulled that sweet masochistic high from my bones and I flew for Him. In primal lust entwined with delightful pain, M allowed us a moment of freedom to feast on our sweet darkness.
I don't know that I ever find the right words to express the sheer power M has over me or the depth at which He touches me. I handle it much better than I use to, but still...in moments like this I am still stunned at how completely I am at His mercy emotionally, mentally, and physically. Time stops when I am with Him. I know and see nothing but Him.
In truth, I am my Own force to be reckoned with. I sit at corporate tables and hold my own with ease. I drive decisions. I provide insights. I make shit happen. I am Lioness who stalks professional goals like prey with delight and precision. Yet, I am soft and helpless for M in a way no one has seen nor would believe. I tremble for His slightest touch. I ferociously protect and guard. I play with unabashed joy and silliness.
Quite simply, I find my Home and Harmony in that Man's strong, steady arms.
I wasn't ready to leave when we said goodbye a dozen hours later. I still had not come down from my submissive high, and the separation wore at me like gravel against my soul. Yet, even if we'd had time for us both to come completely back down, I wouldn't have wanted to leave. I never want to leave His side.
Soon. I need Home.
~DominaKat
Thursday, December 5, 2013
His Promise
He held my naked body in His arms.
I draped Him in my softness and devotion.
Unhurried, we drank our fill of one another.
And drank some more.
His long strokes down my frame and across my pliant limbs.
I whimpered at His heated touch.
Soaked in every bit of our friction like a thirsty pup.
Every moment.
Every breath.
A sip from the seductive cup of submission.
I was drunk off His slow deliberate affection.
My womb wept tears across my thighs.
Silently waiting.
Needing.
I kissed.
Licked.
Traced.
Held.
Him.
His deep hums were my symphony.
I paid homage to His beautiful Black skin.
His warm chest the soft blanket I nuzzled.
That soft thick fur my oasis.
The only reality that mattered.
His hand crept up to grip the back of my neck.
Somehow He pulled me closer into Him.
My cells rubbed into His to tangle and blend.
The scent of Him sank into my spirit to capture me fully.
His hand gripped my neck with all the strength He had.
In a quiet rumble, tucked away from the world for a moment.
M gave me His promise with the strongest of words.
And He brought me as always to my knees.
You're Mine.
You Belong to Me.
And I Am Never.
Letting.
You.
Go.
Do you understand?
His grip shook me slightly as He waited.
Tears flooded and bled into those dark curly strands that caressed my cheek.
My submission plunged to new depths and I trembled.
Surrounded by Him I fell further in love.
With this Man that I adore beyond words.
On a broken gasp, I answered My Owner the only way I could.
Yes, Sir.
Yes, I understand.
Sealing my fate even further.
My soul more exposed than ever.
Here.
This.
Now.
Curled into His chest.
Utterly vulnerable.
Cherished and protected.
My place.
Within His arms.
My destiny.
I am and forevermore M's.
His love.
His pet.
His.
~DominaKat
Monday, December 2, 2013
His pet
Harmony. Sweet, sexy, fun, tender, dark, deep, glorious harmony. That's what we have. The last two days have been heaven. Thank you M. You and my Sun and my Moon, Daddy. I'm Yours. 
Sunday, December 1, 2013
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