What’s new, let’s see…

Got my hair cut tonight, which was good because I was starting to get rather shaggy.  Bought a couple new things to wear also, a sweater, and some of those boy shorts and tank tops for bed.  Cute!

Been following this thread on Fet where this girl is blaming her fucked-upedness on her Mormon upbringing, sayin’ she was brainwashed into being this little Stepford baby-making machine.  I say anyone who blames anyone or anything for their crazies is never going to get better.  All the prozac in the world ain’t gonna help.  You have to take personal responsibility for where you are at this very moment.  You choose how to behave and yes, how to feel.  It is an active choice, not something put upon you over which you have no control.  Gimme a break!

Spent a couple days with Master and that always reminds me of who I am.  I don’t know why I think somehow it will all change.  I think I worry about that sometimes, that I will wake up one day and cease to be his slave, even though I would never voice such thoughts to him.  Instead, I ask if we can just drop the whole slave thing, after which he either just smiles and ignores me, or simply says no.

The thing is, most times my slavery is subtle.  You would probably never know I was a slave if you saw us together.  I don’t have to kneel in his presence or walk a pace behind him or things like that.  And I don’t wear an obtrusive collar, just a simple silver neck chain.  I probably dress more conservatively than anything, a simple skirt and blouse for him mostly.  When we walk down a street together, he either holds my hand, or wraps an arm possessively around my lower back.  Sometimes he grabs my hair at a bar when he kisses me, or sometimes he just grabs my hair to embarrass me and to assert his ownership.  But mostly, we just seem normal.

We had dinner last night at this local family restaurant in this small town way south of us and then went back to our hotel where Master began working on his laptop.  We’d had a very early start that morning, I was up at 4:30, so after doing the Sunday crossword, I stripped down into my little black boy shorts and lacy stretchy black tank top, slipped into the lush bed and promptly began dozing off.

When Master finished working, he too stripped down to his underwear and climbed into bed with me.  I was startled from near sleep by his hand clenching my hair and his mouth attacking me with fierce, possessive kisses.  I swear, he was actually growling.  I felt drugged as his kissing turned to biting and he began pinching and pulling my nipples.  Soon he was on top of me and I could hardly breathe as he continued his onslaught to my boobs, nipples and mouth.  He began slapping my tits and in a moment he flipped off of me and tugged my head over to his crotch, forcing his cock down my throat.  I slobbered and gagged as he growled some more and tugged my head and me up and mounted me onto his cock.  I rode him hard until he came, all sweaty and spent.

It was almost like a drugged rape scene, and though I was not struggling, it felt like an attack.  Had I been half awake I am sure I would’ve fought him because that is my natural response to an attack.  Anyway, it affirmed the simple fact that I am his property, and if he wants to interrupt my near-slumber to have his way with me, there’s no stopping him.  And that’s hot.

In the car earlier that day I told Master that sometimes I don’t feel owned, because everything seems so comfortable and, well, normal.  He said that all the changes in me since he came into my life would not have happened without his ownership.  He is right.  (He is right 99.9% of the time too).  I cannot do anything I please.  I am accountable to him for everything.  He owns my ass, and that’s what I see in his big black eyes every time he looks at me for more than a moment.  I have to look away, I can’t help it.  He’s too intense.  I am his, and he is sometimes a very intense Owner.

He keeps a pretty tight leash on me.  I’ve been told what I can eat for Thanksgiving.  I get a little dispensation on the diet that day: one plate of anything I want, and a modest helping of one dessert.  *bounces!*  That’s something I look forward to!

So, it’s a wrap.  We’re normal.  Just like you. 

(Well, kinda-sorta.)

Technorati Tags: time with Master, ownership, slavery, discipline, sex