There is a Japanese proverb which states the “Tigers die and leave their skins; people die and leave their names”. For some people names may not be that important, but I value mine. And, will treasure people who use my given name properly. Improper use of my name is one of my hard limits, and something I won’t tolerate.
I have always been keen to push past my soft limits in safe environments. I will also happily test out my hard limits privately. But only if I feel it would be a benefit to me and my journey. What I won’t tolerate is having my hard limits crossed by those I have a play relationship with. I have a very considered list of hard limits, and even though some of them may seem daft or off the wall they are all there for a reason.
As I settled into a pleasant routine with MrN I began to hit snags with H.
H and I would meet every three weeks, and we had a decent friendship developing. He would always insist on bringing food for after a session, sandwiches were my favourite, and though prawns were a hard limit which I had told him about he seemed to always bring at least one prawn sandwich! This may seem silly, but it upset me a little because I had always been open about my dislikes and he didn’t seem to pay attention to that one. I did remind him, but ultimately let it slide, because he never got upset with me for not eating the prawn sandwiches. Though I hate waste, and he would make me take home whatever hadn’t been eaten, and I just had to toss them in the bin.
H identified as a sadist.
He would tell me that I was the one who let his “kinky sadist fly”. It felt odd being told how incredible I was. I was also uncomfortable at the revelation that I was “so much better” than his other submissive. There were a couple of reasons for this:
- life isn’t a competition, we all have different strengths and weaknesses.
- I was not his submissive. I never had been, and I had always been clear with him on that fact.
The way he spoke to me didn’t feel genuine somehow, and it certainly felt like he was trying to control me that way. There were also gifts. Every time he picked me up there was a new bottle of perfume, a new toy, or…. There are worse ways to try to control someone, but this felt forced and fake to me. I’m not sure how to describe how it made me feel. Claustrophobic and ungrateful are the two most memorable sensations.
I also felt a little cheated.
He defined himself as a savage sadist…
...but I would always arrive home feeling a little underwhelmed.
I would communicate to him about my desire for more intensity. He would say that he was taking it slowly to ease me in. Assuring me that next time he would push me harder and further. It never came; I was patient and kept my expectations low. But I was beginning to feel like I was topping from the bottom. Constantly asking for more. I never had bruises after we had met, and anyone that has seen me post-play knows how easily I mark. I love marks! They are such a wonderful reminder of the scene that went before. There was always sadness when my skin went from rosy pink to pale overnight. Perhaps watching the colours develop was an antidote to drop?
The nail in the coffin was when he stepped over a very important hard limit…
Not once, but twice…in one session!!!
The limit he crossed was one that I think people find hard to understand. I will respond to being called most things in the right context- Sir’s slut was always a winner! Being called Bitch, or having my name shortened are both unacceptable for me. Shortening my name, in particular, takes me to an emotional place I don’t want to go. It also makes me physically itch. On this occasion we had arranged to meet with a friend of his.
H introduced me to his friend as N..
I re-introduced myself as N…… and reminded H of my limit. Half way through the scene, when I had a wand pressed on my clit and a cane working over my soles H said it again, “Cum for me N..” I said my safe word, and he didn’t stop. I repeated it, and then said STOP. His friend stopped first, followed shortly after by H. He stopped, tutted, and released me from the restraints. I pointed out what he had called me, and then how he had ignored my safe word.
“Oh, I forgot what your safe word was.”
It is funny how things that seem so small to one person can have such a large impact on others. Perhaps you believe my aversion to an abbreviated name is silly. I respect your point of view. At the same time I don’t feel the need to elaborate on how it makes me feel and why. Once those boundaries are crossed the trust is broken. No matter small and insignificant you think they are. As the proverb goes, Tigers die and leave their skins; people die and leave their names. And mine is important to me!
Also forgetting a safe word is unacceptable!
H wasn’t a bad person, but it wasn’t right for me to continue seeing him. We remain on good terms, but that was the last time I met with him. A sure sign of personal growth, that I would stick to limits.
Setting my own bar as far as what I would allow from those I share my time with.
Have you enjoyed Tigers die and leave their skins? Perhaps you’ll enjoy reading A Bridge to cross or burn. There are breasts, nature, and an important message about picking your own path.