It’s always about the control, apart from the times that it isn’t.  D/s is

It’s always about the control, apart from the times that it isn’t.  D/s is about the beautiful, poetic contradictions, the ones that lie at the heart of everything that we do, and that we deny at their most fundamental, because to ever acknowledge them would be to bring this whole, fantastical house of cards plummeting to the ground. It’s about the control, except when I don't want it to be about control. When control would stifle and smother, and sterilise. When to maintain that stoic, calm veneer would be the death of passion, and the assassin of sex. I want to be able to surrender to the beast inside me, and know that he will do the right thing, take you in the right way, and that we’re both going to levitate off that fucking bed and exist, free of humanity, and thought, and anything but that primal urge to fuck.  It’s about losing control, apart from the parts where it isn’t. I can surrender to that part of myself, but I can only do it so long as I always know that such a surrender is just a rental. That I’m going to be able to recall it at any time, take it back, and reassert myself the instant things need to have reassertion. You surrender to me, but you still have that control. You can still break away. I do the same.  Beautiful contradictions, that colour the sky above our beds. Abstract conflicts that conjure the drama of our relationships. They make it interesting, they create the excitement. Without them we’d be vanilla, banal, dead.  It’s about control.  -- source link

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