Remember that song?

“Red and yellow and pink and green… purple and orange and blue…”

“I can sing a rainbow, sing a rainbow, sing a rainbow too”

Or I can just look down at my tits and see one too.

Master and I had a delightful morning of bonding and bondage and beating. The three B’s, I’m gonna call it.

We talked a bit more about us and our own, unique dynamic. One thing I am finding out as I go along on this journey is that truly, no two D/s or M/s couples are alike. In fact, it’s rather difficult to even come close to another couple. Because there are soooo many items that one can pick and choose from the menu of bdsm, it seems to create a lovely variety of both couples and individuals. Too bad we can’t all play nice together, lol.

But that’s just the thing. We are all so very different, yet collectively to outsiders, we are a united front. The kinksters. Or whatever you would call non-vanilla. Within this group, however, each individual and each couple is trying to define exactly who it is they are, and what they are really all about.

I am Master’s slave. His second slave, actually. His first slave was with him about a year, but was not well-suited to him. I apparently am much better suited. We are cohesive. Which basically means that I listen to what he says and obey him. I am not a submissive. I am a slave. I decided that my personality is about eighty percent submissive, while Master’s is about equally as sadistic. We decided that I am a masochist, and that I am a manipulative, conniving narcissist. No, really, I am! Lolol.

Well, I do have a relatively high opinion of myself, lol. And that does not seem to equate with the stereotypical slave or sub you hear about in the media, online, or wherever. The manipulative and conniving, well, at times… guilty! Or, at least, I would if I could. I won’t deny this! Bottom line, there is something in this lifestyle that meets some very basic, very foundational needs in me. Look at me! (As if you could. If you could see my tits right about now! “…I can sing a rainbow…” A rainbow of bruises) my tits are absolutely stunning. I would never have the guts to ask for this, but through the magic of collarme.com, I met the sadist of my dreams. Lol. (I sound like some weird ass-backwards commercial for meharmony.com or something)

So what am I trying to say here? I guess that the masochist in me loves the sadist in Master. I can’t seem to manipulate or connive Master into too, too much, unless it is something he also would enjoy. I don’t always like being under his hand, but being there makes me sopping wet. I ask for control, in fact, I get that whether I like it or not, and yet sometimes I want to fight for some of the control back. I do. How submissive is that? lol. What wins me totally over is when I get nothing back; except more control. That leaves me with a surprisingly comforting feeling. I fight to lose. But by losing, I win. Go figure.

It’s weird, because sometimes I don’t want to go see Master. I don’t want what I know is coming. Yes, I want to see him. But no, I don’t necessarily feel like being bound in humiliating, painful poses. I don’t necessarily want my hair stuck to my sweaty face, hanging down around his cock, and in my mouth as his cock slides into my mouth and I’m eating my hair as I’m sucking his cock. I don’t like that feeling. It bugs the crap outta me because I can’t get my hair outta my mouth. Nevermind that I can’t breathe, or that I know He will soon flip me over and beat me until I’m black and blue and sobbing- no, *screaming* in pain. I don’t want this. But …. I must want it.

I want it because the after effects are spectacular. The whole after-care thing is a wondrous place to be. I bet if Master used me hard, then just up and left, I would not be so eager to be his slave. Master takes great care of me, before, during, and after using me. That’s why I love being his property. I get the best care. And, I get great scenes to fantasize and masturbate over later on. Lol.

I also like the way Master has about him that compels me to listen to him; to agree with him; to obey him. He has changed my way of thinking about myself. He can align my thinking to match his own. And that is a wondrous gift of his, one of his many gifts. He makes it “okay” to just be myself. He loves the conniving, narcissistic masochist that I am. Lol.

Aww heck. I’m not really conniving, or manipulative, or a narcissist. (A masochist, yeah, well, the jury’s still out on that one, we’ll have to let you know;) But, I could be. lol. Master just doesn’t allow it. And like he says, I’m obedient. Because, as he also says, obedience is compulsory. “And if not, it will be compulsed out of you.” Lol. Which too, is comforting. I know that my disobedience not only won’t be tolerated, but also, and most importantly, won’t earn me a boot out the door. I will be made to comply. Simple as that. The same way I am made to submit, those times when submission seems elusive and distant. (Like when I’m hog-tied and that damn cane-like mini-blind wand thing is aiming ((Master is aiming)) right for my freaking nipples) See? The slave can be forced to submit, by tying and chaining, and cuffing, and muffling, (okay, well, he doesn’t muffle me … yet. I think he likes hearing me scream) and whipping and gripping, and… (This is just too much damn fun!)

I wondered today if I would run out of things to write in this blog. I wouldn’t want it to get boring. And if that were ever the case, I hope someone would tell me. Today is just a babble session. I don’t really even have a topic. Just so many things are floating around in my head and I’m much too tired to organize them, lol. I just know this much:

I’m a slave. (Say it again)

I’m a slave. (Say it louder)

I’m a slave. (Whose slave?)

I’m your slave. (That’s right. Whose slave are you?)

I’m Your slave, Master. (Again?)

I’m Your slave Master. (One last time)

I’m Your slave Master. (Good girl.)

I’m a masochist. (Even though you’ll never hear me admit it)

I’m submissive. (though I use it to get what I want a lot of times)

I’m obedient. (because I don’t want it compulsed out of me)

I’m enslaved. (because I keep showing up)

I’m happy.

I’m loved.

I’m grateful.

I’m silly. (Lol)

Truly, I am all of those things. Today was a good day. Master iced my sore titties for me after he was done abusing them. That was sweet. Well, because I guess one of them started to get a little swollen or something. I don’t know. I didn’t want to look at it right away. Lol, I think by that point, He could have switched over to the crop or something and I wouldn’t have cared. I was already well on my way to a big endorphin rush. It was only a little sore and stingy afterwards. I take that as my red badge of courage, LOL. For this is one chicken-shit slave. Just ask Master.

I think that is his new nickname for me, lol.

“And this has been a rambling slave’s thoughts for a rainy Tuesday afternoon. This is your host, Don Pardo. Thanks for tuning in.”