a mother-child Christmas musing

I trust others had a good Christmas with family and friends. Amanda and I had a quiet day with Mother; Lucille stopped by later for a second round of gifting, and we all had tea and scones. It was laid back and quite lovely.

This house is filled with childhood memories. My earliest years were in a different house — we moved here in my pre-teen years — but our move was just across town and the Christmases from both houses blend together in memory. They offer opportunities to prompt Mom: “Do you recall when…?” She does pretty well retrieving older times; remembering yesterday is the bigger challenge.

I’ve written before about how my relationship with my mother has flipped “roles” in this current season of our lives. These days, I am no longer her child, but am parent to her child. But if there were ever a time when I might slip back into my childhood for a spell, it would be Christmas morning.

Aspects of D/s might naturally incline one to slip into a child persona: dominants are often older than submissives; a dom assumes a kind of parental authority over his sub; slave training can be about conditioning certain behaviors, like rearing a child; discipline can be in the form of physical punishment, even spanking. One can easily imagine the words being issued: “We’ll have no more of that, young lady.”

But in my D/s experiences, this hasn’t happened. It is true that my dominants have been a half-generation older than me and that their authority over me has been full and extensive, if not absolute. Yet they have not “parented” me. And I do not slip into my inner child as a response to those who rule me. (Now, in D/s I sometimes feel things that recall my girlhood experiences, and I might write such things to express my fullest and deepest experience, but I generally don’t respond to my dominants in a childlike demeanor.)

That I am in my thirties is perhaps part of it. If I had started in D/s earlier in my twenties, perhaps I would be seen and experienced differently. I can imagine myself at the age of eighteen with a dominant who is fifty or so, who might naturally drift into more of the parent-child dynamic. It’s been said I have a “girlish face,” perhaps the result of my freckles, and accentuated when I pull my red hair into a ponytail — and sometimes my owners like that “Irish lass look.” But as Amanda has said, “Shae, you don’t have the body of a teenager, and you’re certainly not a virgin.” (Thank you, Mistress, for making such a point of that last part.) Her point being that I have a developed figure, as they used to say, and it would be hard for me to assume the teen-girl persona convincingly even if someone wanted me to.

Master McKenna once said to me that he prefers “adult women who know what the cost [of submission] is.” And I think that’s the common understanding behind true lifestyle D/s. It can be playful at times, but it’s not about a parent playing with his child. Rather, the pleasure comes from a dom owning a woman and the submissive desiring to be owned and kept as a adult.

I think another point is that all of my D/s relationships have shunned the idea of role-playing. We don’t play the part of dom and sub — that is what we are, full-time. I don’t play the role of “child” to my dom’s “parent.” It’s just not true or real to who we are. (I realize that “child play” is part of some D/s and BDSM, but that’s just not our thing.)

I have no particular conclusion to this. These are just my musings.

On Christmas morning, I sat on the living room floor opening presents, much as I did when I was a young girl in the same house, daughter to the woman who raised me, the one who sits on a chair across from me.

But I am, by a set of circumstances and aging, now also a mother to my mother.

I’m also aware that, just weeks before, I was with a young man in his twenties named Blake who likely sees me as a particular mother “type” to him — in fact, a MILF, as he might likely identify me.

And on this Christmas morn I sit at the feet of Amanda, who is much like an older sister I never had.

I am at the same time owned by Amanda and another, Master McKenna, who see me as an adult submissive woman who chooses to sacrifice herself — her autonomy and dignity — unto their dominance.

I suppose this is the point — that we are all of the above — girl, lass, daughter, sister, mother — all wrapped into the Women we are.

4 thoughts on “a mother-child Christmas musing

  1. All those things just be very humiliating, Shae. All in all, they lost be more humiliating to you than to other slaves who might theoretically have endured them because, and this is what makes you (well, only the tip of the iceberg, really, of what makes you) such an incredibly amazing slave; you seemingly magically don’t have the ability to stop feeling shame! You are easy to embarrass and easy to control, making you a jewel of a slave, even though you have much more attributes that make you much more than that. And embarrassed you should definitely be, being shared and exposed like that. You definitely should feel humiliated Shae, the slave
    hardly wearing a joke of clothing in the mall, constantly being naked in public places, with weights on her nipples, and being shared sexually with strangers, being made to participate in even finding the strangers to share her with. You’re definitely a slut, not by choice but by coercion, which must make it much more humiliating indeed.

    Liked by 1 person

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