the life and musings of a kinky slut

Letting The Lady Walk About For A Bit

Rope Camp Memories continued…

After Tai Chi with Gray, I headed back to my cabin to get ready for my first Rope Camp class. I quickly showered and slipped on a pair of tight black boxer shorts, a black tank top, some socks, and my black Vans sneakers. I packed my rope bag, full of my poly nylon, and also checked my Hello Kitty bag, ensuring everything I could possibly need was there. I pulled my hair back.

Stepping out from my cabin, the first thing I noticed was the weight of my load. My rope bag was heavy, laden with about three hundred feet of poly nylon, as well as my carabeners and brand new Shibari ring. My Hello Kitty bag was not light either; I carried my large notebook, a few smaller notebooks, my large flashlight, my water bottle, and random things that might possibly be needed (pens, condoms, etc.).

Next, I noticed my posture. My back was straight. My shoulders were square. I held my head up, instead of my usual bob here and there or a slight tilt towards the ground. My chest was high, my carriage authoritative. My eyes always looked ahead. If I caught someone’s gaze as I passed, I did not break it. Otherwise, I kept my sight set on the path ahead, walking past the Dining Hall, over the field to my class.

Taking notice of all this, it dawned on me that I was sinking into my Domme head space.

I’ve struggled with being a switch from the moment I realized I had a demanding bitch in me. Most times she comes out as mean but whimsical, playing with people like they are her little toys. Occasionally, she’ll just be plain pissed, wanting to hurt someone for her pleasure. But letting her come out has been a constant struggle.

Though I know she’s there, I still can’t quite name her. Is she a Mistress? A Madame? A Lady? Does she even want a title?

Does she wish to wear a tight corset or a tailored business jacket? Tall boots or barefooted with painted toe nails? Naked or wrapped up tight in clothes? Sinister or silent?

Calling myself a switch is easy; I’m merely acknowledging there is more than one side to my kink. But inhabiting that space where I don’t give a shit and you will cry for me…that is harder than I can convey.

As the good girl, the Cabin Bitch, the Teacher’s Pet, I often let her languish, relegated to the back of my mind, except for the occasional piqued interest or passing thought.

She is best nourished when I inhabit my voyuer plane, stalking the Dungeon, curled up on the floor, observing my friends, or a person I admire, as they play. She relishes watching, imagining herself causing the pain. (And while she’s enjoying the show, subby is just as content to watch, placing herself in the path of the mean mean woman or man.)

But I don’t know how to get there, to sink in all the way, to feel and be her without reservation, without hesistation, without doubt or hyper awareness. Like a new King just given his crown, I don’t know how to rule over this body in front of me, this person who gave up their self to be mine for a short period of time. Of the few times it’s occurred, I mostly just winged it and hoped for the best. I haven’t had any complaints, but…

Though I am a switch, which I feel through and through, I don’t know shit about how to be a Domme.

Categorised as: BDSM | D/s | RCM

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