#positivefeedback

A hugely popular poem. It absolutely speaks for my preferred way of expressing my sadistic nature, while enjoying long-term relationships with my submissives.

https://tinyurl.com/y7zo5dl9

One

The Old Man and the Woods.

Black, thick, grey clouds blanketed the sky, heralding the severity of the coming storm. The light rain from earlier in the day is being replaced by heavier drops. A gravel road curving through oak, ash, and pecan trees running with rivulets of water. Leading onward through the towering sentinels to a clearing which holds a house that is straight from a doll makers’ dream. This dollhouse with the siding color of a perfect blue of a summer day. Shutters a unique seafoam green, with white gingerbread tops peek form eaves and porches. Well-kempt grounds from a vegetable garden to a small orchard in which, even the forest is welcome. The rain beat down hard on the steepled roof of the blue Victorian home. The woods surrounding the house were thick and lush and held so much life, from the smallest wood mouse to even an occasional bobcat. The woods were in perfect balance with the house that stood in its’ center. Deer and fox, hawk and owl, streams that meander and run are full of fish, frogs, and turtles. Peace resides here. Man and beast coexist peacefully, encountering each other in their daily lives, but having no fear of the other. Just neighbors, sharing a space. Man, living alongside nature, not bothering each other. Deer welcome in the orchard, and in times of great need the animals will approach the great house and know that the man would help them and that no harm will come. This is the way it has been for over a century, making even the darkest parts of the woods almost tame.

The Man, Charles Marquis, had a portly figure that once had been fit and lean. He wore his hair in a loose long braid with a well-kempt beard of white streaked with blonde. His eyes were somewhere between blue and green and twinkled when he smiled in earnest.  As he heard the rain beating and the distant rumble of thunder, he stretched and sighed before going to the kitchen to clean his plate. He stood from his dining room table and sighed. His eyes fell on a knickknack hanging from the top of the window in front of the kitchen sink. It was a small, handmade windchime, with a clumsily made dragonfly constructed out of painted popsicle sticks and small amber colored glass stones for eyes, suspended from a fishing wire, and hanging below the dragonfly were small silvered bells. The wire that held the little bells was decorated with small beads left from a broken bracelet.  Charles frowned, thinking of the little child who made it just for him brought a feeling of great sadness. He walked to the kitchen sink as he sat his plate down. He never forgot how his little great-niece, Vivienne, always begged to stay and learn about the forest, and how much it broke him when she was taken away at the end of every summer. He was the only caretaker of little Vivienne for a long time. Even then, it always felt like it wouldn’t be enough. Her Father, Paul, was only concerned with her well-being when he needed to keep up appearances. Paul started dropping off Vivienne by the time she could walk, talk, and get into mischief. Calling one summer day to ask his uncle-in-law to watch his daughter for a few days and hung up as soon as he received an answer. Showing up not an hour later in a ridiculously expensive car with no safe place for a car seat. Paul didn’t even bother to get out, instead, he rolled down the window, and spoke from the safety of his car.

“I’ll be back in five days. Big business deal going on.” Paul said hurriedly while placing a very small suitcase in his daughters’ lap. Before Charles could ask anything about specific details like allergies, Paul opened the passenger door and quickly pushed the child out onto the gravel driveway. She fell with only a small whimper escaping her throat. Charles quickly helped her to her feet and when he stood to turn to Paul, he was already halfway down the gravel road. He never uttered a goodbye to his only child.

Charles wiped his eyes, he missed his niece terribly. It had been ten long years since she had visited. After cleaning his plate and setting it aside he walked to the living room. There is a small television and a wine red three seat couch. On the wall, many pictures hung. The pictures ranged from old black and white photos of Charles’ family to drawings made by Vivienne that were carefully framed. Bookshelves lined the opposite wall one was filled with books on types of plants and their care, another for creatures of all size, origin, and their care, and the last was full of photo albums. Charles reached for a photo album. This specific album was pale pink and dotted with little bears wearing ribbons. Handling the book carefully he sat on his couch and sighed. The album contained baby pictures of Vivienne and her mother, Charlotte. As he thumbed through there was a clatter. It sounded like dishes being taken out of their respective cupboard and placed on the counter. Out of the corner of his eye, Charles saw a white mist dart into the living room.

What motivates a submissive? What makes them step up & live their submission with such fanatical determination? What causes them to go at their tasks & duties & protocols with such kamikaze intensity?