Pup Maxx

a good boy in Chicago.

  • own (2 of 3), verb
    owned; owning; owns
    transitive verb

    a) to have or hold as property : POSSESS
    b) to have power or mastery over
    to acknowledge to be true, valid, or as claimed : ADMIT

    I think I’ve always been lonely. Or, rather, I can’t think of a memory in which I didn’t feel alone in some way.

    The idea that there will be someone — that there will always be someone — who wants to spend time with me, to hang out with me, to celebrate with me and to just be with me is… incredibly foreign.

    So I’m pretty sure that’s why the concept of ownership appeals to me so much. Here is someone, an Owner, who has consciously and deliberately chosen to own me; to take control, yes, but also to take responsibility, to share in the successes and to ground the failures.

    In a nutshell, by Him being in my life, I am no longer as alone.

    I imagine that I could emphasize with other pups, assuming we could converse. I love that moment when a dog realizes that they’ve been adopted — that they’re joining a loving family which will feed them well, keep them warm, give them pets and hugs, throw a ball for them to fetch and hook on a leash for them to walk.

    I envy that moment. I yearn for that moment.

    A power exchange dynamic like Master/slave, Handler/pet, or Owner/object, might seem incredibly one-sided from an outside perspective — or several perspectives, really. After all, the Dominant has so much power. And a more extreme dynamic might mean that the sub’s entire identity is subsumed into that of the Dominant: there is no independent personhood, just being the Dom’s “thing”Insert appropriate submissive role/position/identity here.

    But the truth is, my Owner would be mine as much as I would be His.

    He’s the one whose orders I obey above all else. He’s the one I know I can trust more than anybody else. He’s the one who feeds me well, keeps me warm, gives me pets and hugs, throws a ball for me to fetch and hooks on a leash for me to walk.

    For he is the Owner. My Owner.

  • I’ve never really understood the connection between pleasure and pain.​

    It’s weird, isn’t it?​ How something that is supposed to be unpleasurable, dislikable — a sensation that is very much our body saying “bad, wrong, don’t do this” — somehow brings an incredible kind of pleasure.

    It hurts, it’s awful, and yet it feels so good.

    Is this why some people like spicy foods? Or other people enjoy throwing themselves off the side of cliffs and airplanes?

    Underneath the kinks, am I just another adrenaline-seeker — just someone who gets their rush from whips and paddles, rather than parachutes and bungee-cords?

    Seven parachuters in the air. Two are connected by their hands; the rest form a somewhat level line just above.
    Do I get the same experiences from kink as these people do from skydiving? (Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com)

    I never thought that I would end up being where I am, and being who I am. But I’ve found out that these are deep truths about myself — that being a pain play sub is as important to my being as being a connoisseur of fried chicken.

    I crave both in much the same way, and I get grumpy after not having some in much the same way.

    And I think I need some of both, right now. This is how I know that I’m in a submissive mindset — that’s something I should explore in another post.

  • I have a disorganized attachment style. It was an incredible feeling when I first learned the term: for the first time in my life, I had a phrase to describe it all: what I had been through, how I approached things, and why I acted in the seemingly contradictory ways that I do.

    I have a pretty good idea of where this comes from: I did not have a great childhood; while it was materially quite comfortable, it was emotionally cold, neglectful; perhaps even abusive.

    On paper, my mother loved me very much. In reality, it was far more nuanced, far more conditional — she was only able and willing to love me on her own terms. Nothing puts that idea in quite so much perspective than this: She told me that she’d murder me if it turned out that I was gay.

    Consider this, from the Attachment Project, on how children form disorganized attachment styles:

    The survival of the infant/child depends on the caregivers. The child knows that subconsciously, so he or she seeks safety in the caregivers. A problem arises when the source of safety becomes a source of fear.

    If the caregivers show highly contrasting behavior, which is inconsistent and unpredictable, the child can start fearing his or her own safety.

    The child does not know what to expect. Nor does the child know when the caregiver will meet their needs, if at all.

    Disorganized Attachment: Causes & Symptoms” — The Attachment Project

    The more that I have thought about it, the more that I feel my current struggles were inevitable. After all, the very person who was supposed to be my ultimate source of safety — the person who was supposed to love me, and care for me, and support me no matter what — was the biggest threat to my continued living.

    How could I have done anything but develop a disorganized attachment style?

    I have essentially zero experience being a Dominant, and even I know that this isn’t something that any Dom — Master, Owner, Alpha, anyone — could easily handle.

    In my day-to-day life, I have adopted enough strategies and coping mechanisms that this innate anxiety does not affect me that much. I think I get along reasonably well in most contexts, and I’m not as closed off as I used to be. I’m now able to get a little invested in relationships with others, even though I’m still hesitant about the possibility that I might get hurt.

    But a Master-slave relationship is one like no other.At least, my understanding of such a relationship, which I’ll expand upon in future posts.

    My concept of slavehood requires the surrender of all control, of all judgment, of all reservations. The slave is to give itself, wholly and fully, to the commands of its Master, and the Master gets to use His slave in much the same way as He might use His hands and feet.I know that’s how I understand this, because writing that made my locked cock twitch like crazy.

    That comes with its own set of obligations and responsibilities for the Master, though — and perhaps none as paramount as the responsibility for Master to protect and maintain His slave’s well-being. This includes the slave’s physical wellness, but also its mental and emotional health — and its Master has to protect the slave not only from any harms from the outside, but the threats to the slave from within the slave’s mind itself.

    When I submit as a slave, I do so with the intention that there will be nothing that would ever be hidden from Master — there would be no secrets, no reservations, no topic or place that’s taboo for Master to discuss or discover. It might not happen from the beginning of submission, but it is where I intend to reach.

    And until I feel that this is possible, I would not submit as a slave. Perhaps as your sub for the time being, or as a playmate, or even as a pup, but not as your slave.

    But the very same limits that I want to surrender are the same guardrails that stop most people from transgressing in a way that can serious damage the relationship. I am not vulnerable to my coworkers in the same way that I am vulnerable to my Master, and the harm from Him can be inflicted in just a single moment in a way that nobody else ever could anymore..

    It only takes one pinprick of a threat for things to go wrong, because my subconscious is always on threat-assessment overdrive. As soon as I sense that a threat is more than theoretical however remote that threat might be, my instinct for self-preservation takes over, my trust is withdrawn, and my obedience becomes impossible.

    This isn’t fair on any Master or Owner who wishes to take control of me.

    But my acting this way has nothing to do with Him as a Master, as an Owner, or as any other kind of Dominant. It’s the reality that He is working against over 20 years of trauma, and those were most formative 20 years of my life.

    It makes me sad, but I’ve realized that my Master, my Owner, my Alpha, whomever — He must recognize that He does not get the benefit of the doubt. I cannot give it to Him. I’m not able to give it to Him.

    He has to approach me, to train me, to take me as His, from a place where He knows that He has already been found guilty of hurting me and He has to prove Himself otherwise to beyond so, so much doubt.

    Are there any of you out there…?