Control doesn’t have a range. It dwells so very much in the cerebral that to insist on the

Control doesn’t have a range. It dwells so very much in the cerebral that to insist on the physical element would be to entirely miss the point. The ties that bind you have infinite reserves of slack to call upon if you start to struggle and resist, if you try to pull away. I can reach across continents and stay your hand, calm your heart.  But I’m not going to start throwing out platitudes about how distance makes the heart grow fonder, about how we don't need the physical at all, how it’s just electrons brushing up against one another anyway, and that we never actually touch, just bump against physics. The rope may be long, and you may well be able to feel it around your neck, but it’s a poor substitute for my hand, my lips.  I’ve tried long distance. I’ve made it work, once or twice, but as I find myself becoming more and more embroiled in the powerplay, the exchange of control between the dominant and the submissive, that distance has become more and more of a frustration, and almost a deterrent. I know how much effort it’s going to be, and how much work I’m going to have to put into it, and I have to seriously consider its worth. My dilemma is such: D/s is a small proportion of the world’s population, a pinprick in a desert, twisting and turning with the dunes. On that pinprick is another, smaller pin, made up of the submissive women of the world, and upon that yet another, of those that I can actually be interested in. And that pinprick on a pinprick on a pinprick is scattered in a million different pieces, across the globe. And now I need to find one of those pieces.  The internet is the best magnifying glass out there, a bloodhound with a killer nose, sniffing each one of you wonderful, exciting, interesting women and showing them to me. But it’s the grand tease, because you’re a world away, an ocean in between.  So I’ve tried it. I’ve made it work. But it’s difficult, and while that leash can easily slip around your neck, fixed from a thousand miles away, keeping it tight, and enjoying the feel of the rope in my hand, is the tricky part.  And that rope is not my hand. And it probably never will be. That’s the hardest part. -- source link

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