Asserting Ownership - The Crop
My Muse has an intense love affair and unending fascination with the crop and jumping bat. Indeed the mere sight of it bring a smile to her face, a flutter to her voice, and a fire to her loins. But it is not so much what it does as what it represents that imparts the greatest effect.
With the emergence of a crop there is an instant shift in the room, something snaps into place and my Muse becomes her most submissive self. I need only hold it loosely in my hand in order to take her to another place altogether. It is symbolic of our power exchange. It is a precursor, a foreshadowing, an apéritif. For while the crop has many, many uses with its variety of textures and shapes with which to stimulate, agitate, and torture in pleasure and pain, it is above all a symbol of all that is to come. It is the red flag before the bull of the Dom, the white flag of surrender of the submissive.
When the crop comes out it is hard to know exactly where we are going next but it is certain that we will be taking a journey. Will the edge of the soft leather keeper trace and caress? Will the flat of its face pat gently or strike with intensity? Will it flick a nipple, pat a clit or smartly spank a breast, ass or pussy? Will the shaft part lips between thighs or other lips when grasped between teeth? Will the handle penetrate here or there? Will it be felt or be tasted? Will the scent of leather be mingled with the scent of her self? Will there be pleasure or pain and in what measure and ratio?
These and many other thoughts race through the mind of my Muse at the appearance of the crop and never fail to transform the relationship from one of equals to equal opposites in a heartbeat. I need not menace, I need not threaten. Some things are simply triggers that snap us into our respective roles of Master and Muse, Dominant and submissive. The crop is one.
With a crop I often spare the rod, but never miss the moment.
Caption © For The Love of a Submissive, 2013
Image Credit Unknown