Ever try to sit down and write something while you are still in that slavespace? Nothing coherent comes to mind. All i have been thinking for the past several hours now is how totally taken i feel. How Owned.

I was with Master this morning. Then we had lunch. Then he sent me home with a couple of tasks to do; rather important things i have been trying to wriggle around. Well, one of them at least i’ve been wriggling around; the other one i have not figured out a successful method of achieving. But i have been trying various things. Apart from all that, i just feel………i don’t know; it’s like broken, but it’s not that either. I feel scaled down to the very barest of bits. Master has peeled away my layers today and left me feeling quite exposed. He had me that way literally of course at first, but the residual effect is a lingering zone of that barest exposure as well.

Not being able to string a sentence together is one clue that i am still in that spaced out slave zone. Beyond that, well, let me give you a for instance:

Master had me deliciously tied up this morning in some sort of rope-and-pulley system with rope, the rings of my cuffs, and the posters of this bed i was on. I would yank up my arm, and my knee would bend up correspondingly. Or i would try to straighten one leg, and the other leg would bend. It was fabulous; Then Master whipped my breasts relentlessly with that awful nylon rod thing from the blinds. Maybe not that relentlessly. He did give me breathers. It was almost ………..

I almost rather wished he had just kept on whacking away at them without the breathers because ……… i don’t know. I was in some frame, some mood since returning from the trip that i really wanted to take whatever he wanted to give me. I bore a lot more than i usually seem to be able to handle. I actually was wishing to dissolve into tears but they never came. Master probably didn’t want them just then. He knows how to get the tears easily enough when he wants them. I’m not exactly sure. There was the breast whipping, and this wonderful clit stimulation. I was having multiple orgasms and Master kept right on going until, well, until he was through.

There comes a point when it stops feeling good though, you know? That was when i believe i blurted out “it’s all Yours, Master” and the rubbing kept right on going until i was nearly in tears, but not quite!

He began pinching and twisting and pulling, and generally abusing my tits. He was biting them at one point, and i remember yelling and we think i may have pulled the bed frame from the wall. (you know how they bolt those things to the wall at hotels) But the thing is, as much as Master was taking from me, still, there were no tears. It was like i was fighting for control. I wanted desperately to remain in control of myself. And as soon as i realized what i was doing, immediately i wanted just the opposite! I wanted to lose control. I wanted the tears. For Master. Because, well, they are due Him. I have not got the right to hold anything of myself back from Master. Not a whimper or a scream. But sometimes i try to. I want to be a big girl and try and take it like a big girl. Yet when i feel successful at that, inside, something is not right. Something is missing.

I’m probably not making any sense. I often say i don’t think i am a masochist because i hate pain. Yet, i want to take the pain Master gives me, and take it well. I want to allow him as much fun as he wants to have with me. And yet that doesn’t make any sense either, because being the Owner, well, He can very well do exactly as he wishes with my [His] body no matter if i am taking it well or not. I’m not even exactly sure which Master prefers…… the slut to yowl and beg for mercy, writhe and squirm and be generally pathetic, (i’ve certainly been there and done that before,) or accept the assault on her [His] body as submissively as possible with the least amount of interference. I just don’t know what Master prefers.

In the end it makes no difference because Master does just as He wishes. Today he tied me. Today He was not wishing to wrestle me in order to get his whacks on target. Well, not wrestle as much. I still got squirmy, even bound by ropes and pulleys. Whether i squirm and struggle to dodge a blow, or cooperate like the most ultra-elite masochist matters little. Master takes exactly what he wants. And He smiles while he is doing it. I catch a glimpse of him every now and then, watching me, sometimes smiling. I of course am gone someplace that beaten slaves float off to for a time. Or more accurately, float in and out of. Because i never stay away. From time to time i float back to cognizance, give Master a Mona Lisa smile and float back out again.

This time was certainly different. I must have really needed exactly what Master needed to give me. Or, take from me. Once i was released, and all nestled in close beside Master’s warm body, and once i had serviced His luscious cock, and once His cum was dripping down my face; after His hand was stroking and squeezing the back of my bare neck, and our fingers were intertwined; and once He set his dark eyes to gaze deeply at me, into me, and right through me for such a long time, and once i had buried my face into the pillow because i was ashamed for some dumb reason,

Then, then i cried.

And once i started crying i could not stop. And i didn’t know why. Master queried me. You want more? No. I wanted control. I wanted to remain in control. Of what? Of myself. Of me. But i can’t. I do not have it in me. What did Master say? You’re caught? You’re captive.

Well, something like that.

Captive. On a very long leash last week. Master just reeled me back in tightly yesterday and especially this morning. I had told Master yesterday that after devotion i was feeling ultra-submissive. In super-slave mode all day. He could have told me to do anything… “Yes Master.” And again today, “Yes my Master.” You want to whip my tits with that (evil) rod some more?? “Yes Master.”

I made a big stride on one of my given tasks…… while still driving home. “Yes Master.” I made a pertinent phone call to get the big ball rolling.

And then i cried. The rest of the way home.