Making The Switch

A greyscale picture of an old-looking light switch

Sometimes all it really takes is the right person.

If you asked me twelve years ago if I thought I’d ever Dominate anyone again, I’d probably have laughed in your face. Fresh out of a rather unhealthy F/m D/s arrangement, my world fell apart the day he told me he wanted to take a break. After that, I vowed I’d never Dominate another again.

I felt like I’d failed him.

In truth, I was somewhat involved with two submissive men back then, and they both mattered to me greatly. Andy was sort of my main sub, but Rich was a friend that I had an unintentional (for the most part 😉 ) effect on. Things with Rich grew sour when he realised that I wanted to pursue a romantic relationship with Matt, but Andy stayed close and became a mutual friend. We enjoyed one another’s company often. At least by text, anyway.

Andy struggled with depression and anger episodes a lot and so I suppose, in a way, his decision to take a gap year should not have come as a surprise to me. Maybe it didn’t, but what surprised me was his message’s wording:

I want to go away for a bit to forget about everything, including us.

It was the ‘including us’ part that hurt the most. I thought – and hoped – that Andy and I were on good terms. I was protective over Andy, and even if he wasn’t officially mine by definition, he was at least sort of mine in spirit.

But after that, my Dominant side lay crushed, utterly defeated and absent for several years.

Weird thought for the night, but it’s crazy that such a deep conversation started because of a fish! 

Will, or Misty, messaged me initially about the tropical fish that I keep in my two tanks. By now, we’ve discussed anything and everything from childhood games and tank set-ups to the best sources for bondage candles, online roleplay and (some of, I keep other cards close to my chest 😉 ) the different forms of humiliation play we enjoy, and why. Our messages are probably about a book’s worth in length, but that’s okay, it’s nice to have someone to put the world to rights with. Someone to bond with. Someone new to, potentially, play with.

I suppose, back then, “Mistress Elena” was strict and harsh, sort of because she believed that she had to be. She had to be cold and calloused because that’s what Dommes were, she thought, she didn’t really understand. She wasn’t sure of who she was, she just knew what she thought men wanted her to be.

But that’s changed now, she’s a lot more confident and assured in who she is. She’s more sensual, more in control, more fun, but with a sadistic edge that enjoys overwhelming the senses sometimes. Humiliation still appeals, but only to push a play partner to that point where it catches them off-guard and exposes them, rather than to degrade them completely. I don’t want a submissive from the outset nor a partner to serve my every need. No, the sadist in me likes someone I can have fun with and torture a little bit while I do. I don’t want a slave, I want a toy that I can break, get familiar with, and reassemble even better than before.

And yet, it’s the questions that Will throws at me occasionally – combined with the fact that he reads my blog – that keep me from ever becoming cocksure.

Would you ever like to include such play within interrogation scenes or re-create that childhood scenario?

The ‘childhood scenario’ in question was one that saw me playing soldiers and spies with my brother, Malcolm, and our neighbour’s oldest son, Dave, who was around my brother’s age. Dave and Malcolm were soldiers, and after falling in love with True Lies, I decided that I wanted to be a spy. I liked the look of the Hollywood spy life – the glamorous dresses, the glitzy balls, the ‘dancing sexy’ (you cannot forget that iconic scene!), the action and drama.

But if I was going to be a spy, then Malcolm and Dave would be sure to give me a little taste of ‘proper’ spy life.

Caught in our neighbour’s back garden, I was captured, interrogated and tortured. I was beaten with sticks and forced to confess, faced with my untimely ‘death’ if I didn’t. I was assured that I couldn’t talk after play, because I’d been ”shot dead”. That afternoon became a favourite memory.

It wasn’t until SAS: Who Dares Wins graced the British screens that I saw that interest rekindled again. Part of it was my love of assault courses – my desire to be put through my paces, to truly get to know myself and what I’m capable of – and the other part was more psychological. In a darkened room and at the hands of one (or more) not-too-friendly men, my ability to talk and charm my way out of most situations would be tested. I supposed that that was the other part of the appeal – to be put in a situation where I have to face my deepest fantasies and my darkest demons head on, the darkest parts of myself that I continually try and hide from. We all have them.

I guess you could say, I have a desire to be truly seen and known by those that I play with and serve.

One of my demons, that I’ve realised lately, is that I put far too much emphasis on other people liking me. I suppose that the realisation stemmed from my recent break-up and the idea that my ex now probably hates me. I’m trying to be okay with that, and yet, some intensive soul-searching later, I concluded that I’d much rather stick to my values than be liked by everyone anyway. I’m okay if some people think I’m a complete dick.

There, that feels better.

I know that one of the questions that I’ve been asked lately is why I feel the need to bring the past to the surface. Why do I feel the need to call out those who have wronged me? The reason for that is surprisingly simple: It’s not about naming and shaming, but it is about accountability. I always hold myself accountable, and I hold others accountable, too. Growing up, I lived with threats and fear – often from my parents – and it was horrible. I was threatened with a beating if I ever spoke out against my parents, I was regularly threatened with being sent to a children’s home (my Dad worked there and claimed to still have contacts, we never questioned it) if I ever answered back or complained about my home life, Mum threatened to damage my stuff on more than one occasion if I’d said something to a friend that might have exposed what was going on and she threatened to throw me out on the streets if I didn’t tell my doctor that I thought I had Asperger’s Syndrome. In the end, I simply decided to stop living in fear and got out as soon as I could. Why should those who have wronged us live in the comfort of our silence, though? Why should they not be held to account? I don’t want them to be harmed or incarcerated, no, but I do want them to see that what they have done is harmful, and, ideally, I’d like to think they’d realise that they can change. Not being a complete dick to others is relatively easy; you just have to make the right choice or, at least, only be a dick under the right circumstances.

In case you’re wondering, a career in law enforcement is something that I quite desired at one time, not too soon after my international spy phase. Aspiring forensic scientist to a disabilities & kink blogger? Nobody saw that one coming!

But back to Will here.

It is the fact that Will switches that puts me on the backfoot. I don’t dare push him too hard, because if I give him too much and I push him too hard, I could wind up unleashing something that’s out for me. I’ve already had a taste of how that looks after I tormented him and humiliated him a little with my words, only to see him flip it all on its head and remind me that I’d failed to upload a promised photo of my favourite tea light holder, three times in a row.

Ahh yes, these coming weeks and months shall be interesting. 

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