Waffles and FRIES

Consent is sexy. No, we don’t say that anymore – consent is essential. Consent is always a clear yes or a no and that’s simple and obvious – so simple and obvious here’s 14 different acronyms for consent models you can follow, a blog post explaining it, and a lesson plan for schools.

So where do i stand? Consent is the foundation – for sex, for kink, for relationships and really for most human interactions. Simple, obvious? Maybe not always – not once it’s applied to kink, a huge umbrella that covers every possible permutation of perversion and pleasure. When, like me, your kinks often centre around the illusion of violated consent, sometimes actual consent begins to slip into the grey in between places that we aren’t supposed to acknowledge exist. And yet, here they are.

The FRIES model of consent – one i think is actually pretty great and recommend to vanilla folks and kink newbies without reservation – starts to fray at the edges when applied to kink as i like it. Freely given, reversible, informed, enthusiastic, specific – the way i play frequently bends or breaks several of these principles. It feels like a strange dissonance to navigate – that the most FRIES compliant consent i have ever given was my consent to disregard it.

Freely given means without coercion, threat, alcohol or drugs, and that’s absolutely where i start with any new partner and creating the consent foundation for a relationship. But free will is a slippery thing when submission kicks in. Submission catches me like the tide – and my autonomy is washing away even before i drown in it.

“Go upstairs and get naked.”

It’s O/our second hookup this time around, second time at Their home, and i am strictly looking for casual. No feelings. i’ve been single for like five minutes, it’s the day of what was supposed to be my wedding, i am not – should not – be ready.

And i’m half way up the stairs before i’ve processed that They gave a command. i enter the bedroom and shed my clothes. i hesitate, a moment, at my bra. i know They wouldn’t mind me keeping it on. i have before, They know it’s hard. They probably meant naked except that – but They gave an order and i want to follow it more than i want anything else. i want to be good, i want to dissolve into that tiny hint of control They let me taste.

The bra comes off, and i think – secretly, quietly, so quiet i barely let myself hear it – that i could be Theirs if They chose me.

i’m not sure how much free will any of us really have when love and desire are at play – if alcohol and drugs rob me of my ability to consent then what is oxytocin doing? But add submission to the mix and i do not believe i could ever be considered fully sober. my submission is a powerful, mind altering, and involuntary response. It’s why it takes trust – submitting to another person is placing my sanity in Their hands and waiting patiently on my knees to see what They’ll do with it. There’s a little bit of madness inherent in the way i love and i wouldn’t have it any other way.

Reversible consent is why safewords exist. Unless specifically negotiated otherwise it’s also why “no”, “stop” and other straightforward communication should stop play. And it’s something that, in a stable long-term relationship with a Dominant, i prefer to opt out of.

i’m on my knees. my hands are cuffed behind me, and i don’t have a safe word. W/we negotiated that out of the terms of O/our relationship a couple of months ago. They put one firm hand on my shoulder to hold me still, and the cane comes down across my breasts.

i scream. There’s drool and tears streaking my face and i’m shaking with the effort of holding still, but i hold. It used to be a hard limit, a few years ago i couldn’t handle anyone touching my chest at all. Even a hand cupping my breast makes my stomach churn and my vision blur with dysphoria and fear. Then, it became a soft limit, as i learned with enough trust that pushing those psychological barriers does something to me that i chase. But it’s hard, it’s awful, and the suffering and struggle and despair are not a game – they’re horribly real.

“you’re doing so well,” They say. “Good boy, i’m so proud of you, good boy…”

And They continue, soft voice, firm grip, vicious blows as i smile through tears and burrow my face into They shoulder as They work to raise the first bruises i have ever earned on my chest.

When i had a safeword, my mind would have been screaming at me to say it. i might not have – but that war between a mind blaring “red, red, red” in relentless alarm and my teeth biting my tongue to hold it in would have stolen me from this moment. “Good boy.” “i’m Yours,” the slurred response. “i’m Yours,” murmured over and over like a prayer as i sink into the waves of pain and fear and let them carry me deeper and deeper.

When i consent – freely, enthusiastically and all the rest – to my partner being allowed to ignore any protest and resistance to push me past my perceived limit of what i can handle, i find something beautiful on the other side. When i can fight and cry and plead for the pain to end and it does not, all that is left is acceptance and submission. That’s the place i want to be taken to, and that can’t be done when i’m arguing with myself about whether or not to stop.

Now, this shit takes work. This is not for everyone, it is not an overnight thing or a newbie thing. And it absolutely doesn’t erase the need for ongoing two way communication. i am free to tell my partner “i really hate that, i feel like it’s further than i want to go, W/we’re risking my psychological safety if W/we do that…” and the responsibility is Theirs to take that into consideration and make decisions to push me when i need it and protect me when i need that instead. They navigate this beautifully, and if anything have been more cautious since W/we removed my ability to revoke consent. They are learning that balance, and with my feedback and encouragement They are growing in confidence in Their ability to manage those decisions for me as They do so many others. That, to me, is great consent in action – two people actively collaborating to build intimacy and trust. But in a black and white view – my partner can do something to me that i genuinely hate and want to stop and i can’t stop them. That’s a big step, giving up control to that level. To many people it crosses a line outside of what can or should be consented to.

Informed consent isn’t one i have any issue with – and, in fact, it’s the only one on the list i struggle to think of a good reason not to stick to. If anyone is modifying this in their relationship and finding it works for everyone involved i would – genuinely – be fascinated to learn more. But having all the information i need to make decisions is something i need, honestly is one of things i value most highly in relationships and i have been burned before by people overstating their experience level or faking their emotional availability. my version of FRIES, maybe, is just the I. That works for me.

But enthusiastic – oof, there’s the big one. Enthusiastic “oh yes please fuck me” type consent is the kind i actively dislike giving. Receiving – yes please, a partner who is visibly drooling over me and can’t wait to get Their hands on me is hot as hell. But i am more fulfilled when my desires, needs, and discomforts are treated as irrelevant.

i’m on the last hour or so of a brutal two day migraine, it’s fading fast and it’s a relief to feel better but i’m exhausted from the long miserable slog through it, and besides, it’s past my bedtime. i’m half asleep on the couch when They gently nudge me up and tell me to get ready for bed.

i brush my teeth, go to the toilet, and stumble yawning through to the bedroom ready to collapse into bed and pass out immediately. And i stop.

They’re standing at the foot of the bed, naked, hard. i don’t need to be told where i’m required – i kneel, serve as instructed, then when They tell me to i bend over in front of the mirror. That’s Their one consideration to my pleasure tonight – They’ll let me watch.

“Not my ass,” i think. “Not tonight, i’m so tired, everything hurts, i don’t want…”

And it’s like They somehow know. By the time They’re done with me i’m sobbing, torn, fingers curled to claws in the carpet but watching Them, my love, my God, sweat-damp and glowing in the low light, growling with Their fingers digging cruelly into my skin. i hated every second, my head is pounding again and yet i’m so turned on i know i won’t sleep unless They touch me. i’m wide awake and so full of need i might just hump Their leg and cry. i love Them, i’m Theirs, and i want to tell Them a hundred sub-drunk thoughts of lust and joy. Instead i whisper, “thank You Mx.”

Here’s the thing – if i only had sex when i was enthusiastically consenting and actively participating in it i would not have very much sex. Sometimes with my partner it is like that – because W/we have created the conditions in O/our life when sex can just happen whether i’m in the mood or not, where the constant threat of casual violence is something i have asked for and receive, that gives me the level of intimacy and desire that allows me to enjoy enthusiastically consensual sex. Sometimes, as a treat. But my preference is to be an object of convenience, to be used, broken, and disrespected and – as a reward for my service, when it pleases my partner, sometimes allowed to have an orgasm too. It creates the heightened state of arousal and fear that makes sex enjoyable for me. Without the unenthusiastic consent, i would not have the enthusiasm.

Finally, specific. Sometimes, this is great – sitting down and planning a scene together is fun, and exciting, and builds anticipation. But sometimes not knowing is half the fun.

“I’ve got something planned for you tonight,” They say over morning cigarettes.

“What sort of something Mx?”

“You’ll find out later.”

They smile in that way that usually means “you are absolutely fucked.” The “I am well aware you haven’t cum in a week, that’s not stopping any time soon and I’ll probably make you cry and throw up to add insult to injury too” Sadist smile. So, naturally, i’m immediately dripping wet and terrified.

My work day passes slowly and after work i realise i’m physically shaking. Not sure if it’s fear or arousal or both that’s got my hands trembling and knees weak – my guess is both.

“Not asking for information,” i say, “but can i at least know if Your plans are for before or after W/we go out for waffles so i know if i should start getting ready?”

“Before,” They say. “Go upstairs, get naked.”

They have me lie down on the bed, legs spread. There’s enough weaponry lining the bedroom walls to break me ten times over, there’s a box with medical staples and a branding tool within reach, there’s hoods and gags and failing that They’ve got a kitchen full of utensils They’ve been known to ruin me with. They’ve got options and the not knowing has built up in my head to near hysteria. And then…

They kneel between my legs. They’re gentle. Mostly anyway, a few sharp bites to my thighs remind me of Their power and my place, a roughness to the thrusts of Their fingers reminds me They could hurt me if They wanted to, a pause and a chuckle reminds me They could stop if They chose – or worse, could drag this out all night until i’m sobbing and pleading and in agony without Them hitting me once.

But They don’t. i cum so hard i think i might black out, and They come up grinning and hold me as i gasp and shake.

“Not disappointed in the surprise?” They ask. “You were obviously expecting something extreme.”

“You scared the shit out of me,” i confess. “But uh – no, good surprise. Really good surprise.”

We go for waffles once i can stand up again, and i look at them and think – in this life where i have given up as many choices as i can, where my autonomy erodes and my will becomes more Theirs with every passing day, the only choice that matters is the one i would and could make again and again every moment. The choice to be Theirs.