I’m sitting on the lounge in the middle of my parcel of land on SL when suddenly, a rainbow speckled, pink haired, blue alien appears on top of me. She must have logged in from where she logged out, and I get a nice view of a blue peach to bite.
“Umm… hi,” I say to her, as I wait for the world to resolve around her. I know from the time that it’s close to my bedtime, so it’s also after when she normally gets up.
“Hello,” she finally says after an eternity.
“I was having quiet time,” I state, “or was.” I was watching Shogun, and working on a 5D diamond design of a purple cat. I find the asmr effect relaxing and tranquil. I was working on my last two colours for the night, when I found myself in a sudden snuggle.
“I can’t stay long, alas,” I pitch an eyebrow at her words. Who says ‘alas’ anymore? “I have a task to finish for work, and get it done for tonight.”
“What do you need from me, love?” I’m not feeling the desire to submit at this very moment. I want to serve her, in any way she needs me to.
“I just need you in my arms for a while, mine.” She smiles at me, and I continue to work on my project.
After a while, mostly of idle chit chat, I speak, “I’m being blunt, what do you need from me other than a teddy bear? Tell me.”
“I just need to hold you in my arms and let you know that you’re in my thoughts and my heart, even when I’m busy with real life.” I can feel the weight of the assignment from work on her shoulders. I had spent her night, earlier in my day, guiding her through a massage. She was stressed. I could litterally taste it.
“You’re worried about something,” I ask her, “about me?”
“I’m sorry if I disturbed you, mine, from your quiet time.”
I exhale, and dish out the last colour I was going to work on tonight, trying to get my brain to work. “You’re the only one, other than my husband and children, who can.” Anyone else, I don’t state, would get short, but polite replies at best. They wouldn’t get my almost undivided attention. The first episode of Shogun ends. The rest can wait.
“I worry about you, and myself.”
“Speak to me?”
So she does. The words given to me are private and intimate. She worried about burdening me with her problems. Isn’t that was a friend is for? Isn’t that what I’m for? I have my own financial issues at the moment too, but those should be sorted, shortly.
“I guessed some of what you said already,” I begin, and parrot back her fears in my own words, about her work portfolio, about how I distract her too much, and more. “You’re worried that you’re not in the right headspace to work when I won’t stay shushed.”
Shushed – my word for shutting up on all social media, at least anything directed at her.
“But you need me,” I continue, “so badly.”
“What do you need from me right now?” I have a quick daydream of being forcibly taken, made to shush by my mistress’ favorite tool, until I can’t do anything but drool and submit to her whims and desires. I shove that out of my mind when she replies.
“Am I doing a decent job of being a dominant?”
I hang my head in shame. Yes, we had an incident this week. Once again, about my reckless linden spending. I clue in quick. She’s having second thoughts about being a dom, because, once again, I reacted badly. Not as badly as another time, but she felt my rage aimed and her and didn’t like it.
With that in mind, I put away my project. My eyes are too tired for it anyway.
“That’s a hard question to answer in one word,” I start. I have to convince her not to run for breakfast, but to hear me out instead.
“I know I’m still learning as I go.”
“I’m learning how to be your girl too,” I reply. “Yes, I have experience as a dominant, and a sub, and as a top…” I list off a long list of lengthy BDSM experiences. Then, I type these words at her: “What I don’t have experience in is being a dollie, or a drone, and more importantly…”
I know I have her attention. This is the big one. This is where I admit all my failings in one sentence. Ready for it?
“I have no experience in being yours.”
There’s a pause. I know she’s chewing on this cud for a few minutes, but her reply allows me to breathe and I exhale when I see it.
“So, it’s an ADVENTURE!” She emotes taking my hand, before continuing, “We’ll find our way together.”
“I have years of trancing experience of different sorts. Biofeedback for pain control. Yes, I am very experienced at that,” I keep on talking to her. I want her to know where I stand (ON MY FEET! sorry… RHPS reference). “I am receptive to your written word. I slip and fall into your arms when you trance me here or in discord, even though I still fight your audible voice. When you ask ‘are you a good dom?’ I want to know whose definition of ‘good dom’ are you using?”
“Am I keeping your cup from running dry?”
Ahhh… my cup. The place in my mind that my dominant fills with their love, their structure, their guidance, their patience, their dominance, and more. I sidestep that question.
“Spitfire, If you are measuring yourself to anyone else, you’re wrong to do it.”
“I don’t share your fetishes, and I feel shame about that,” latex and rubber allergies suck, but I keep on talking to her, “but you accept my limitations about them. I’m going to use a metaphor here. Just because I don’t share yours, doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the art behind them.”
“I’m learning to love your bondage fetish, of being restrained,” she replies to me. I smile, wondering if she caught that I gouged her back in the last session we had together? Or that’s the reason why I like being held down – so I don’t hurt my lover?
“Your latex and rubber fetish are similar enough for me to enjoy. It’s a type of bondage too. The feel of tight latex, or rubber, on your skin, the confinement.”
She pauses. I know she’s enjoying my words.
“When we both agreed to take each other’s hands,” I start, trying to explain in words what I feel in my heart, “think of the two of us on a ballroom dancefloor. I place my left hand on your right shoulder, a place where you haven’t had a hand there in a long while. My right hand is in your left, and your right hand is at the small of my back. You’ve been guiding me since then.”
In reality, she’s been guiding me for about two years. Maybe not directly, but offering a shoulder to cry on, and an ear when I needed it.
“You’ve watched my eyes dart around, and made decisions on where to go with them,” I continue, “and when I’ve locked eyes with yours, or stared into your chest, you knew you were doing right.”
I keep on speaking to her, “I’ve tripped a few times, and you’ve caught me. I’ve also stepped on your toes and made you hop, but we’ve kept on dancing. I still come back to you. You spin me. You guide me. You make me float across the dancefloor.”
My description done, I ask her the question she asked me earlier, “now, are you a good dom? Answer the question yourself.”
“I’m good enough,” she states, and I sigh. “I’m becoming more confident at it.”
“The answer is ‘yes.'” Once again, my fingers fly across my keyboard, working to get the words out. “You’re also strict, loving, and ruthless when it comes to protecting me and those who call me ‘Mistress.’ You are calming, soothing, infuriating occasionally, and you gave me a bounce in my step. If you weren’t a good dom, Spa wouldn’t have been able to calm me down last night. She pushed my love for you to get me to go back down to sleep.”
Last night, we had a four legged, orange, tabby, female, feline guest in our house. My husband woke me up, setting off a panic attack about it, and the sweet sleep trance Spitfire had done to me was in danger of being broken. I reached out to her, but she didn’t reply, so I tried another, and they did. I was out cold before their last message came to me on discord. I saw Spitfire’s reply to my reach when I woke up the third time. Oh yes, that four legged trouble maker had all three of the kids giddy, just when I needed sleep most of all.
Is Spitfire a good dominant? She’s way above the dominant I came from. I get a reply from her within twelve hours of a question being asked. Usually within the hour, unless she’s sleeping.
The other question she asked was if she kept the spot in my mind where my dominant’s influence stays full of her.
I asked her to fill a cup. I did not expect to get soaked. After all, don’t felines hate water?