Something happened today, something too good not to post about.  But it was so rich, so full of food for thought, that I am not sure which bit to focus on; there was that much stuff going on in the exchange.  So I guess I’ll just ramble on about it and see what comes out.

So, warning, rambling thoughts a-comin’.

It started, as it often does, in my head during my devotion; a time spent focusing on the value of my Master’s ownership.  Now, this time can bring me to many different places in my head.  Sometimes I am reminded of many things for which I am grateful. Other times I find my thinking is realigned, bringing me to a better, more grounded place as his slave.  But once in awhile, the tears come as I think about the hard stuff of being his slave.  And believe me, there is some very hard stuff I deal with on a day to day basis here.

I don’t intend to feel sorry for myself, but sometimes I ache for my Master, and wonder how good this all really is for me.  Master often speaks of me ‘thriving’ in this relationship, and has said that the only condition whereby he could ever envision releasing me would be my not thriving.  During today’s devotion, I seemed to focus on that.  And it bothered me.

Here is why.

I got to thinking (which seems to almost always be a dangerous thing) that that clause, or condition for my release is something within my control.  If all it takes is for Master to deem that I’m no longer thriving, how easy would it be for me to convince him that I’m not thriving?

I texted Master.

“You know how you said that the only way you’d ever release me is if I were no longer thriving?”

“Yes?”

“Well, would you consider removing that condition?”

“No.”

“But I want you to.  I need you to.”

“No.”

Master came online.

“What are you talking about?”

I told him, “That clause is like putting me in control; and I don’t want to be.”

“Ahh”

“How easy would it be for me to convince you that I was not thriving?”

“You think that you can just will yourself into a non-thriving state, and thereby engineer your release?”

“Absolutely.  I believe I could.”

“Any luck with that so far?”

“Well, no… not so far.  But I haven’t tried.”

“Any hint in two years that your manipulative skills exceed my ownership skills? … any at all?

“Well, … no.”

“So… any reason at all to believe that I would not see an intentional failure for what it is?”

“Being the ever-confident, ever not-so-humble-dareIsay-arrogant cunt that I know myself to be, perhaps… perhaps I could pull a fast one on you if I had to.”

With a laugh Master says, “Well… here’s the thing…”

“I’m just sayin’… that feels like an ‘Out’ clause… and I don’t want an out.”

“… that window closes by the day.  The more time goes by, the more I know that you will always thrive under my ownership.  Ergo… the more spectacularly cunning and devious your ploy would have to be. ~~~ Besides all that… that sliver of release potential has always been the teeniest of things, and as I say, grows teensier all the time.”

“It still seems like something I could control.”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t be here now.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Remember how stubborn I am?

Well, I persisted along this vein just a wee bit longer until…

Master changed the subject.  He began asking if I had any errands to do today.  I mentioned a couple of things I could possibly go out and get; you know, if I had to.

I really had no intention of going out at all today, being as it’s stupidly freezing cold and windy outside and I really hate winter.  Why subject myself to it?  This, I wisely kept from speaking aloud to Master.

He nodded at the few errands I mentioned… “Anything else?”

“lol, you want me gone all day.”

“No.  I want my slave to answer the question posed to her.”

“I can’t think of anything else.”

“Okay… I am going to send you on those two errands… wearing a short skirt…  your thigh-highs… heels… t-shirt… no bra or panties… and your coat, but not closed up.”

Me, always the quipster, “T-shirt? I’ll freeze.”

“I swear on my mother’s grave that freezing will not be at the top of your list of feelings.”

Right.  So, I peer over the list of clothing, absorbing this all, pondering my fate…

“And one more thing… take your phone… and ask a stranger to take a picture of you in a parking lot or in a store and send that to me.”

Sheer panic sets in.

“Oh god Master, why?  Like that?  Why?”

“Because it is what I want.”

Effectively silenced for a full minute, I try to think of an ‘Out’ clause…

“What if I can’t?”

“You can.   You will.”

“I don’t see what this has to do with thriving, lol”

“It doesn’t.  It is something I want done.”

And as a last ditch effort…

“T-shirt don’t go with heels.”

“Oh… and no arguing.”

~~~~~~~~~~

So, with sweaty palms and Master joking that I looked like an eggplant (huge, unsupported boobs in a purple t-shirt), off I went.

I wore a cute, but short blue-jean skirt, black hose and black shoes with heels; not spiky heels, but nonetheless, heels, NO bra and NO panties, and eggplantish-looking top, complete with two large eggplants beneath.  Mind you, I am a middle-aged woman.  Now how is that for a visual?

My winter coat is long, but Master said to keep it open.  I always wear a scarf, and considered my good fortune at having neglected to mention that as being part of the outfit.  Easy enough to cover up those huge eggplants.  But, being the good slave that I am, I figured that would be unpleasing to Master.

Not that I was especially eager to please at this point.  Frankly, I was mad.  In fact, I told him before leaving,

“My palms are sweaty you…”

Only that bit that I cut off but was thinking in my head was “Bastard!”  It doesn’t matter.  Master knew.  He knew I was mad at him.

So I drove… thinking, “I’m a seasoned slave.. this is no biggie.  I’ve done humiliation before.  I can act.  I just have to psych myself into this.  It won’t be so bad.”

And that’s what I did.  I made the best of it.  I knew what I had to do.  Now, mind you, I am NOT very good at putting my Master’s wants/needs ahead of my own;  I’m just NOT.  I know how to please him, so I knew that by obeying I was pleasing him, but I was having a hard time getting into it.

I got to the store, leaving my coat open with the wind whipping mercilessly, no doubt hardening my nipples, and entered the store, pushing my scarf away exposing myself in all my droopy, eggplant glory.

I tried to walk tall, keep my head up, and whenever I caught someone’s attention, look them straight in the eye and smile.  I caught a lot of men smiling back at me.

The first guy I asked to take my picture was in the meat department.  He said, “May I help you?”  I asked if he would take my picture.  I told him I was an owned slave (thus completing rule #7, since today begins the new week)  and this was an assignment that I had.  He said sorry, but no.  He was afraid he might get in trouble.  I was only slightly mortified.   Damn!  I had to find someone ELSE to ask now.  Shit.

My heels seemed unusually loud as I went a-clacking down each aisle.  Or maybe it was all in my head?  The store had just opened though, so it wasn’t too crowded.  I made my way to the other side of the store and another kind employee asked if I needed help finding something.  So I asked where to find Turbo-Tax and if he would mind taking my picture for a friend of mine.  This one easily agreed and with a *snap*, the hardest part of my task was completed.  I quickly emailed that to Master, feeling rather proud of myself.

I swept up the tax software and headed straight for the check-outs.

Once home, Master chatted online with me for a few moments.

“My stockings are falling down.”

“You seem to be home in near-record time.”

“You know what?”

“What?”

“It’s cooollldddd out there!”

“I bet that’s right.”

“I got so flustered, I forgot the spaghetti… You know what else?”

“What else?”

“I was mad at you for making me do that.”  (gotta love transparency)

“I know.”

“I stayed mad at you until I was driving home.”

“And then?”

“And then… I remembered what you said about wanting to find more ways for me to serve you when I’m not with you… and so I thought… this was a good one.  And I hope you got something out of it.  Something that you wanted.”

“And you know what else what else?”

“What else else?”

“You forgot the spaghetti.”

“Lol.  I couldn’t remember anything.”

“No… I am saying:  you forgot the spaghetti.”

Horrified realization dawns on slave…

“Oh Master,”

“*kiss*  See you in a few minutes.”

“Yes Sir.”

~~~~~~~~~~

I wondered how many times I would be going to the store today as I grabbed my purse and coat.

This trip was going to be quick:  spaghetti and, oh, I need garbage bags.

I skipped taking a cart this time, found the items and headed for check-outs.  The express lanes were full, so I wandered down, looking for an empty lane.  Finding none, I wandered back to the least busy lane and waited my turn.

The guy in front of me was doing some fairly big shopping and he was alone.  I caught his eyes and smiled.  He smiled back at me.  Then I paid for my items and headed for the exit.

Another man with a small boy engaged me in a conversation from the doors all the way to my car.

(“He probably could smell you”, Master said.)

“Aren’t your legs cold?”

“Yes, they are.”

“Why don’t you wear pants now, and save the skirt for spring when it’s warmer?  It looks nice though!”

“Because I have someone who likes me in a skirt.”

“Come to work with me, you can wear pants!  Do you wear a skirt to work?”

“No, actually.  I’m a nurse and I wear pants to work.”

“Tell your husband it’s too cold for a skirt.  Come with me, I’ll treat you right.  You can wear whatever you like.”

(“Telling you, ‘You can wear whatever you want’ is probably the worst way to get a girl like you to come to him.”)

“It’s not my husband.”

“Why don’t you come with me?  I’ll treat you right.”

“I do what I’m told.”

“Well, you look real nice.  Have a great day!”

I went into my car in shock at what had just taken place.  This guy tried to pick me up.  I don’t think he was looking at my eggplants, but rather my legs.  I admit, I have nice legs.  The whole scene was mind-boggling.

I told Master about it when I got home.  He let me masturbate to orgasm, so I could ‘finish what he started.’  That was awesome.  Because I must admit, I was wet; and horny as hell.

As I lay there looking at myself on the web cam masturbating I said, “You do own a nice set of legs Master.”

Sighs…

I started to go off again about the source of my discontent a bit later, but Master was all over me.

“You probably don’t want to wander too far down that mental road… I’m sure there are other errands that could need doing.”

"..in all my eggplant glory..."

Sometimes I think our relationship is in many ways almost vanilla.  We don’t practice high protocols.  We barely practice any sort of protocols. Outside of a few sticky little rules Master has for me regarding my speech.

When we are not specifically engaged in physical acts of S&M, I feel almost, almost on equal footing with Master.  Indeed, he has told me I am equal to him as a person and as a human being.  And of course I am.  And yet…

Maybe it’s that I’ve gotten used to the relationship.  It all feels very comfortable, even if it’s not “normal” in the vanilla sense.  That Master can and does order my life is not something I ever question.  It just is.  That I don’t make any major decisions without his input and approval also is decidedly different from what is considered by society to be the “norm”.

The little things: how I dress, what time I get up and go to bed (never the same really, solely based on Master’s decision for me that day; though I have a regular wake-up time and bedtime, he often changes those at will), how much coffee or alcohol I am allowed, even if I am allowed to call in sick to work are all areas Master has authority over me.  In fact, in all areas he has authority over me.  It just slips past me as feeling, well, almost normal.  Again, that’s just the way it is.  And the longer it goes on, the more “normal” it seems to me.

This isn’t much different from many other D/s or M/s relationships I suppose.  Most subs/slaves have to follow orders about their circumstances in one form or another; for some, many more instances than for others, depending on whether their Dom/Master is fond of micro-management or not.  Mine isn’t too much of a micro-manager, but mine does get involved on a deeper level than any other Master I have had before.

For instance, Master gets involved in my other relationships.  I know others whose Owners do this as well.  I think this sort of control has evolved somewhat over time in our relationship.  Granted, I ask Master for input when unsure how to handle something in one of my vanilla relationships and I am fully expected to do as Master suggests.  That is sometimes the hardest part; interacting with people with a Master-provided agenda.

But Master is really awesome when it comes to giving relationship advice, and in that regard, following his directives for my relational problems is easy.  I fully trust that his way is the very best way for me with the highest liklihood of having a positive outcome. (Or at the very least, minimizing the negative outcome)  I appreciate the time and effort he puts in to helping me in these areas.  And in this way he is caring for his pet.

I guess the final frontier in Master’s control over his slave is that of my mind and emotions.  I’ve already touched on how he slowly is changing how I think about things in past blog entries.  But more recently, I’ve noticed a trend in Master taking control of my emotion-scape as well.

Being a highly sensing, feeling empath has Master constantly on his toes I suspect.  But he handles me and all of my emotions without ever skipping a beat.  The other night we were talking about various things.  I believe exactly three avenues of conversation were closed to me during that chat.  Master vetoed all of them, one by one.

“We are not going to discuss “X” tonight.”

“Y” is too deep a topic for tonight.”

“That is the last we are going to talk about “Z” tonight.”

And with that I was left speechless.  What else was there to talk about?  All of the things pressing most on my mind that needed discussed were out of bounds.  Off limits.  I sat there quite flummoxed for a bit.  Then it dawned on me that it was really late, I had to get up early the next morning for work, and that those topics definitely required much more time to do them justice than we had that night.

I idly gnawed at my finger, lost in my thoughts.

How is it, how could it be that my emotional urgency to discuss these subjects was being vetoed?  How is this possible?  Did I not have any say in what we talked about?

Evidently not, lol.

And I, being a reasonable person with at least a small measure of self-preservation realized the wisdom of listening to my Master in that moment.

First of all, I wasn’t going to win.  Even if I tried to persist in begging the urgency or need of discussion of x, y, or z, it wasn’t going to happen.  I never win with Master.  Never.

Secondly, he had every right to be doing what he was doing.  He is, after all, the boss of me.  Hmmmph.

And thirdly, he was right.  I really hate sometimes that he is right.  And he is right 99.9% of the time too, which is all the more infuriating.  I like to be right.  I gloat when I am right.  I love to flaunt when I am right.  It just so rarely happens with him.

And no matter, he is Master and I am slave.  It really is not an equitable relationship.  He can and does trump me, every time.  He can decide when the proper time is to deal with items x, y, and z.  He makes me wait.  Often. And I am actually, finally getting used to that.

So I wait.  I wait for the appropriate time, for permission to discuss those topics that are so emotionally charged for me.  And during the interim, Master always has been thinking of the appropriate course of action for his slave.  And I loveeeee that.  Waiting is hard, but definitely worthwhile.

Surprisingly, Master can cause my emotions to come to a screeching halt in just a word.  “Stop.”  And I do.  So much control.  So much Ownership.  I tell you plainly, I never thought such was possible with me.  But there it is.

So while sometimes it seems like a “normal” relationship, god, there are so many differences; some subtle, some obviously not so subtle.  And I love every minute of it; even when I pout and inwardly stamp my foot at the unfairness of it all.

Taking control of the intimate stuff like thoughts and emotions requires quite a bit of courage/confidence on the part of the Owner I think.  I am both pleased and most grateful to have exactly this type of Owner; one who is brave enough to impose his will even in those most personal areas without fear of an uprising, lol.

I think, in the beginning I probably did respond with an uprising or two.  Both were swiftly met with most unpleasant consequences and hence, this slave has learned to accept Master’s insistant intrusion into that emotionscape of mine.

I’ve really never been faced with such a predicament either.  I’ve lived the majority of my forty-plus years letting my emotions rule me basically.  Master simply rules me now.  Hmmm.

These are my wandering thoughts on this chilly, damp autumn day.  This topic soon to be revisited, as kaya’s impression of circular blogging surely seems to fit me as well.  lol.)

Repress: To put down by force, usually before total control has been lost; quell. ~~American Heritage Dictionary

Thanks to the Lesbian Sex Mafia, we can all rest assured that we will no longer be in danger of being abused. For they have compiled a very concise list that spells it all out for us, no doubt to keep our little submissive cunts safe from mean ol’ abusive Domly types out there, lying in wait to take advantage of us via our pretty little empty heads.

The Difference Between SM and Abuse

SM:

An SM scene is a controlled situation.

Abuse:

Abuse is an out-of-control situation.

SM:

Negotiation occurs before an SM scene to determine what will and will not happen in that scene.

Abuse:

One person determines what will happen.

SM:

Knowledgeable consent is given to the scene by all parties.

Abuse:

No consent is asked for or given.

SM:

The “bottom” has a safeword that allows them to stop the scene at any time they need to for physical or emotional reasons.

Abuse:

The person being abused cannot stop what is happening.

SM:

Everyone involved in the SM scene is concerned about needs, desires, and limits of others.

Abuse:

No concern is given to the needs, desires, and limits of the abused person.

SM:

The people in the SM scene are careful to be sure that they are not impaired by alcohol or drug use during the scene.

Abuse:

Alcohol or drugs are often used before an episode of abuse.

SM:

After an SM scene, the people involved feel good.

Abuse:

After an episode of abuse, the people involved feel bad.

I’m not sure if Master is aware of this or not, but according to the above statements, outside of maybe the first one, under his hand I am being abused. I’m sure he will chuckle reading this list. I admit to rolling my eyes.

Now granted, this list was not made with slaves in mind, but for those in S&M relationships. Still, a good portion of what we do involves S&M.

So far, in my experience as Master’s property, I have not seen him out of control. In his day-to-day life he does not lose his temper in ways that would be deemed out of control. I’ve never even heard him raise his voice. I rarely see him lose his patience. No, his is a very controlled abuse, lol.

Negotiation is not a part of what we do. Master always chooses, and never consults with me. He alone, always determines what will happen. In fact, if he were to ask me what I wanted, I would likely stare blankly at him, jaw agape in utter shock, feeling slightly uncomfortable. I would almost find that sadistic, lol, because it would be a definite turning of the tables! No, Master always chooses alone. And I prefer it that way!

No consent is asked for, though I suppose consent is usually given. I did that first time consent thing: I agreed to give up all my rights at the start of this relationship. Was it knowledgeable consent? Only in that I know what Master’s limits are, and thankfully they are some pretty good ones, though I can count them on one hand.

If Master chooses to use me hard, he doesn’t have to get my permission. That’s almost laughable. Is there ongoing consent? Well, we were having this little discussion this morning in fact, about the term consensual non-consent. I really dislike that term. For those of you unfamiliar with it, there is a definition here.

But yes, I suppose ongoing consent is usually a given. Otherwise, I simply would not still be with him. (More on this in another post, perhaps. It’s a sticky subject.) I say usually given because there are times when, if I were to be consulted, I would have screamed a loud “No!” and expected to be heeded; hence the non-consensual bit of the puzzle.

Master made it clear in his profile that he did not believe in ‘safe words’. What he does believe in, however, is simple communication: “Master, my foot is numb!” He can then choose to investigate, or let whatever it is go for the time being. His property; his choice. “You break it you bought it”… only, he already ‘bought’ it, so breaking it is his prerogative.

If true harm did come to me by way of Master’s hand, would I see that as abuse? No. I see that as a result of my choice to be his slave. I take personal responsibility for all my choices. If true harm comes to me as a result of that choice, I am not going to run and press charges. I didn’t have to go along with this, but I chose to. (A bit more of the ongoing consent theory here) I am not going to hold someone else accountable for my choices. I am, however, committed to remaining a useful slave to my Master.

“No concern is given to the needs, desires, and limits of the abused person.”

Well now see, I just don’t see it that way. Not at all. Because my needs, desires, and limits are slowly being replaced and will eventually mirror his. And furthermore, this act in and of itself gives me tremendous satisfaction, peace, and feelings of accomplishment.

Does Master use me while impaired from drugs or alcohol? Not yet. But if he did? Well, that would again be up to him; he’s my Owner. However, I chose a Master who can control himself. He isn’t likely to become careless with his property like that. And if harm resulted, I would still be his slave and perhaps the upkeep would be greater and he’d learn, lol.

Still, I do see what they are saying. The use of alcohol to the point that it impairs some people can produce a frenzy of rage that often leaves a path of terrible abuse in its wake.

Those people obviously should abstain from alcohol before laying a hand on their precious property. Again, I chose wisely, and so should you.

As to abuse making people feel bad, I suppose for some that’s true. There are also those for whom it is not true. Plenty, in fact. If the person is truly a masochist, abuse can be what sends them to the stars and back. It can be a very, very positive thing. Some thrive on being abused.

It just doesn’t happen to be problematic for me in my relationship. Suffering through a very difficult, painful and abusive session where I come out of it feeling completely leveled and empty for awhile, well, yeah, it pretty much sucks at first. But afterwards, it makes me feel a real sense of accomplishment and pride. I am so proud of being able to be of use to my Master in this way. Best not to make blanket statements like “after an episode of abuse, people feel bad.”

I realize that abuse does happen in these types of relationships and that the definition of abuse varies from couple to couple. I suppose a list like this is useful for some folks. But personally, I think that the folks who would benefit most from this list don’t belong in the lifestyle in the first place.

If you need a list to tell you that you are in a bad relationship, then S&M is the last place you should be looking for fulfillment. You have got huge personal, emotional issues to work out first. If you don’t realize that you are not thriving, without a list to show you, how can you even be responsible for yourself? How did you make it through your adult life this far?? That boggles my mind. Just sayin’.

The other day, my Owner said,

“I want you to focus on a single thought… that I value your obedience above all; that your obedience is what makes me tick, what drives me. It is what I seek, and what I take. Focus on what your obedience means to me; the key is to me… not to you. I want you to consider why that benefits me… why I value that”.

This was lesson time. I’d asked Master, “Teach me something about my slavery?” This was what I got; something to think about. And think about it I did.

I posted the question as a thread over at FetLife one day. I wanted to see what other people would come up with, because all my thoughts were just too pithy to be worthy of my Master. I wanted help! This was indeed a difficult assignment.

But the replies at FetLife, while some were well thought out, most were not addressing the question, which was, what is the value to your Owner of your obedience? Not just what is the value of obedience. I should have put it in italics or something like I’m doing here, because most subs/slaves answered as to the relative value of obedience, without focusing on the “to your Owner” bit.

A few Owner-types answered the question as well. The answers ranged from, “it makes my cock hard” to, it pleases me, to it is the foundation of the relationship and without it, said relationship would be defunct.

None of these answers really addressed what my Master wanted addressed. Well, that of course being because my Master wanted me to think about what He values about my obedience. So I suppose trying to get input from a group like FetLife is kind of moot and pointless.

I don’t know, for some reason I found this very difficult to puzzle out. And while I did respond in an email detailing what I’d come up with, Master said it was like a high school kid’s dissertation but that it did contain a few nuggets.

So I am left with an unfinished task. And I really hate that, being the perfectionist that I am.

Now, my Master often tells me that he is not complicated and not all that deep, lol. I always think differently. So when I think of what benefits him about my obedience, the one thing that keeps coming to mind is that it changes me. And by changing, I mean it increases my overall value as his slave.

It is all very specific. Whatever is demanded of me is specific to my Owner. The recipe is going to make me more valuable in his eyes; not necessarily someone else’s eyes. That it might make me valuable in someone else’s eyes is not the point. Master has me doing things that will produce the type of slave which is particularly suited, to Him.

Now, that I can see as being extraordinarily valuable to him.

I’m tempted to detail my Master’s various requirements…the things to which I must be obedient. But it really doesn’t matter what they are. All that really matters is that I obey, because in doing so I become the instrument of his hand.

Now, another side of the coin is that my obedience proves the power of his ownership. And that may very well be the nugget my Master was trying to teach me in this lesson.

My obedience is the outward sign that I belong to someone, and that is the One that I follow with every ounce of my being; with every breath that I breathe.

Yes, it proves who owns me; but it also proves wherein my loyalty lies. It shows who is the most important One in my life, and that is the One to whom I yield. It validates the connection. I am with you, Master.

Still, on the whole benefits angle, I think that my obedience is purely Master’s power working itself out in my life. He has the power to make me obey. That I do what he expects evidences this fact. My obedience benefits him by strengthening his hold over me, thus deepening my enslavement.

Obedience is valuable to my Master because it changes me to suit him, and keeps me connected and enslaved to Him. The changes benefit him hundreds of ways. The deepening enslavement promises relational longevity. As I’ve said before, my slavery is like jumping off a cliff; I cannot reverse the trip. I’m in it for the long haul, lol.

Again, I’ve been having a hard time finding my words for here. I guess I censor myself. I edit what I will and will not allow myself to post here. You see, this blog is mine. It is something Master allows me to control for the most part. In fact, I think only once since the blog began has Master totally vetoed a potential entry. I’m not required to get his approval, only sometimes I like to run a post by him to get his opinion. This one occasion, the piece in question would likely have garnered some unwanted attention and finally ended up getting shelved.

I spent yesterday afternoon, evening, and all night with Master. And yet again, I am finding it difficult to ascribe the appropriate words to the experience.

If my slavery is about anything, it is about Him. No matter if I think it’s about my wants and my needs and my abilities; my likes and my dislikes and what turns me on; in the end, that’s not it at all. What occurs between us may sometimes be a turn on for me, but often it’s not something I would have chosen for myself. And yet, having gone through it, turns out it’s exactly what I needed.

The first few hours I spent on the floor beside Master while he sat, then reclined on the couch in this lovely hotel suite we had. Kneeling, then later sitting in order to stretch out my legs, I felt all of the world’s cares melting away as I mentally began the descent into who I am.

Master’s hands never left my body. Gentle fingers softly stroked my face, and then pressed firmly into my neck until I became slightly dizzy. One hand slipped between my legs and straight to my clit making maddening circles, while the other hand continued choking me. My head was pushed back by my throat until I could only see the ceiling and catch quick breaths as my cunt convulsed for Him.

That same soft, caressing hand began slapping my right cheek repeatedly, lightly at first, then gradually more firmly, and finally really slapping until a groan escaped my lips; not so much from pain, but from pure emotion. I was near tears from some unknown place deep within me. Master could see it in my eyes as his bored into mine. I was feeling his control; feeling lost in it, nervous, and a little frightened as well, for his eyes had become their blackest black and I was scared of what was coming, though I’d no idea what it was.

Master pulled me to my feet by my hair and made me strip off all my clothes. He brought my cuffs and collar and I helped put them on. This is when I really become frightened, because I know how vulnerable I will be. I am naked, cuffs mean I will be bound, and I will surely suffer at his hand. Not being a pain slut in particular, I fear I will not be able to endure whatever is coming.

But I don’t show it. I think I dissociate at this point to some degree, and that is what I call going into my slavespace. Master and I talked about this last night; about why I so willingly, so passively allow myself to be naked and bound and used any way he wishes. And I’m still not sure I have the answer. I mentioned it being a challenge; he mentioned it being eager to please, I think, it’s both of those, but it’s more. I mentioned that it’s hot, and I think he mentioned that it fulfills my fantasy, and it does that too. But ultimately, I acquiesce because I have to.

It’s expected, no matter if at that particular moment I want to or not, I submit because if I don’t, well, it would rock the foundation of who We are together. Master can do anything he wishes to me. If I put up a fight or try challenging him, he WILL see to it that it happens anyway, and perhaps is a bit more unpleasant for having been challenged.

A lot of fear comes into play for me. And bottom line, I do want this type of relationship. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t keep coming back. No matter if I can define it, it does something for me; or I wouldn’t stay.

Master sat me on this large, vinyl-covered chair, my feet on the seat with knees bent up, my heels very close to my ass, ankles bound with chain to the base of the arms of the chair, thereby spreading them. He made me reach my arms over the back of the chair and pulled down on them, binding them to the back legs of the chair so my shoulders were sort of lifted. It was uncomfortable. The only thing I could move was my knees. I could press them together if I wanted, and I could lift my ass up from the seat. That was it pretty much. He finished me off by applying our new ball gag (like the pic, only ours is black). And I was really scared.

Master left me for a moment, and rummaged around in the suitcase to return with the other new toy I got for him thanks to Kaya’s blog, the misery stick. He began flicking that stick on my breasts, still bearing faint marks from the whipping on June 2^nd. That stick is deceptively evil. It looks like nothing; it has no weight to it, not much size, but it packs a horrid sting that is miserable when you cannot escape it.

Master bent over me, flicking away on my tits here and there, occasionally nailing a nipple causing me to painfully try to get the hell up and away only that chair was so solid and the chains held fast. I managed to loose my shoulders once from the back of the chair though. Master simply made me put them back in place, went behind the chair and chained my arms closer to each other; after that I was not able to get out of position again.

He looked like some sort of mad scientist conducting a weird experiment; research even, on the various applications of that frikkin’ stick. He bent it all the way back with his finger, allowing its flexibility to cause it to spring down painfully on my breasts. The ball gag did nothing to shut me up, because it was like a wiffle ball. It was however, uncomfortable to wear and just added to my misery.

Satisfied with his experimentation, the stick was laid to rest on a nearby table, and Master went off to the other part of our suite. I could not see him. I could see the sunshine coming from the window in the other room because the adjoining door was open, but Master was nowhere in sight.

He didn’t come right back. I waited. I wondered what he was doing, but it was very quiet in there and his laptop was in the room I was in so I knew he wasn’t on the computer. I didn’t hear him on the phone either. Neither was the television on.

It didn’t take me long to realize that he was ignoring me on purpose. He’d left me uncomfortably bound and helpless. It wasn’t punishment; I had no concern about that. I just knew this was something he wanted to do to me. Perhaps another experiment, and so I waited. And waited.

I tried to relax. I scooted my bottom back in the chair as far as it would go so I could straighten my back to try and alleviate some of the strain on my shoulders. This helped some. And my arms were not going numb, oddly enough. My hands were fine. It was just uncomfortable; and boring.

I wondered why I wasn’t drooling. I’d heard that ball gags make one drool. This one was fenestrated; full of holes; like a wiffle ball. Occasionally I tilted my head back and was able to sort of swallow. No drool, but it felt like saliva was beginning to pool in my mouth, perhaps filling the ball. I pondered about that for awhile. I wondered if it was indeed pooling inside that ball, and the ball was full of holes, why then didn’t it start to drip out. I dislike drooling, but Master likes it so that’s that.

Master returned and took up that horrid stick again. He flicked it on my tits and then turned to my cunt. I was afraid of how much pain he might inflict and was yelling through my gag, both from the pain as well as fear of more pain than I could take. But soon, he put down the stick again and left me alone.

I saw a pattern starting and wondered how long he would play this game. The minutes ticked by, though I had no idea how many for there was no visible clock near me. Master was so quiet. I wondered if he’d fallen asleep.

My shoulders were beginning to scream out to me by this time. I tried to see if I could somehow wiggle them free from the back of the chair, but to no avail. I was rattling the chains a bit, but Master didn’t come. My fingers found the clasp holding the chains together, but I could not undo it. I really tried, too. I was bored and I was uncomfortable.

I thought about the fact that I could not speak with that gag in place. I figured if I got into real trouble I would try yelling. If that didn’t work I would sing, lol. I figured Master wouldn’t expect that and he would come. But I never needed to even yell.

At this point, I was beyond feeling bored, I was, in fact, starting to feel angry. After all, this was the last time we were going to be together for a couple of weeks. I didn’t want to spend it being ignored! I thought it was a very poor use of our time together; with me in one room and him in another totally ignoring me. I was truly unhappy about that and wished he’d chosen a different way to make me feel my slavery than this.

I knew Master had his reasons. I knew he was gaining something from using me in this way; perhaps this really turned him on. It wasn’t turning me on. I was growing increasingly more uncomfortable by the minute. Time was dragging. Indeed, I wondered how long I’d been there.

My thoughts were interrupted when Master returned with a large silicone dildo which he shoved all the way inside my cunt. He kissed me and left.

I was weakening by the minute. I didn’t know how long I could maintain this position, and the ball gag was beginning to cause a good deal of ache in my jaw. The dildo was at least a bit comforting, as well as objectifying. It was weird. I was in a weird headspace. I knew I would endure as long as I possibly could; for Master. I would be his obedient, long-suffering cunt if that’s what he wanted. He was fully within his rights to be doing this to me. It didn’t matter if it was difficult for me or if he seemed mean. None of that mattered. This is what being a slave looks like. For me.

I knew I wouldn’t call out. I knew what I would do when I could take no more; what I always do: cry.

After another small eternity Master returned. He took up the misery stick and flicked my tits mercilessly; as well as my cunt. The tears were instantaneous this time and the dildo popped out. I was a blubbering, sobbing mess. The drool came, in buckets, along with the snot. I was racked with tears, hiccoughing and choking.

Then he left me again.

I continued to sob, in earnest. Soon, Master returned and freed my arms from the chains. Again, he left the room.

I quieted down some. The minutes slowly ticked by. Thankfully, my shoulders had relief, but my knees were still painfully jack-knifed and my jaw was screaming in pain. My steady sobbing resumed.

Master returned and removed the gag and the rest of my chains. He took me from the chair, went to the couch and pulled me tightly into him, stroking me tenderly. He whispered in my ear about loving to see me broken for him, and I was. Truly. We stayed like that for a long time.

I was on the chair for roughly forty-five minutes, Master said. It seemed a lot longer. I called Master an evil rotten bastard later that evening, to which he smiled. I think that’s my new nickname for him.

For forty-five minutes he toyed with me, alternatively playing with and ignoring me. The rest of our entire time together, outside of sleep time, he was very loving and attentive. What had the most impact? Those forty-five minutes surely did. Is he an evil rotten bastard? No. He is in charge. He is the Owner. And sometimes, he wants me to know it in no uncertain terms. That I love this is what keeps me coming back.

Our relationship is weird. It’s like none I’ve ever experienced before, and not just for the obvious reasons; I’m talking more about the hidden exchanges between us. The relationship dynamics make it unlike anything I’ve known, and always leaving me feeling just one step off; like I can never quite keep my balance around him.

I’m smiling quietly to myself thinking about this, because in my exchanges with men, in anyone’s really, there is always an underlying play for power. I’m talking any man/woman relationship here; it’s there. And it colors all of our exchanges with that person as we try and define the ground rules, gain and try and maintain a certain level of respect, and offer ourselves as people; as lovers even.

But in our exchanges, Master truly holds all the power. And I don’t quite know how this happened.

There is the obvious: I accepted the DEAL. The DEAL was that I gave myself totally over to him as his slave, to do with as he wished; to run my life as he wished; run it into the ground even; for we didn’t discuss the what-if’s in the scope of things.

Or one might say well, you’re willing. You are giving in to him. And that’s true, I am; and I do; even when my head screams at me telling me to do otherwise. Yes, sometimes my head does do that. Sometimes, I don’t want to be so giving, and willing. Sometimes, I want to scream about the unfairness of the whole set-up. And I do. And Master says I’m right. It is unfair, but that’s the way it was meant to be; for Us.

And I say but Master? Would you ever discard me? What if I stopped obeying? And he says to me, I would not ever let that happen. And I say, but some Masters have entire lists of things for which they would dump their slave. And Master says that if that were the case, then there is something seriously wrong with the Ownership.

Hmm.

I suppose there could be something seriously wrong with the slave as well; but, I’m not a head case and Master knows this, so if anything seriously went awry with my obedience he would know it was time to make some major adjustments in his …. Whatever he calls it; His mad scheme to totally enslave me once and for all? His plot to break me and remake me into a new creation fit for him and him alone? Well…

I am a project, a work, a … something of his and both he and I know it.

It’s like I think about where this is going and I realize, Hey! I am no longer in control here! And it’s my life we’re talking about.

Yeah, I could leave.

But no. No. I couldn’t.

There is nothing that could make me stop being His slave. Not even, and especially not even me. I really do feel lost in the grip of his power. And I’m not a weak woman.

He asked me, “Is there anything I could not take from you?” I went silent. (Not always easy for me; but so easy around him.)

He plays me like a puppet. Why do I let him? I can’t help but let him. It’s like he’s Kryptonite to my Superman or something. I am fiercely weak to his power over me, even when externally I feel I want to take back the control. And believe you me, sometimes, I do! But, (and it’s NOT FAIR), I simply cannot do it. I don’t have it in me.

Master’s commands come softly, most of the time.

Stay. Down. Open. Lick.

He doesn’t yell at me. Ever. He speaks softly, sometimes sternly, always clearly. His actions speak volumes. He leads me by my hair. He doesn’t yank me this way and that, but firmly guides me; or sometimes a bit of a tug to put me where he wants.

And I am responsive to him; to his words; his touch; his eyes; I’m breathing quick and light even as I think about this. I am responsive I think, because Master holds the key that unlocks what’s inside of me.

No one, I mean no one else has ever worked their way so deeply inside of me, uncovering hidden bits as he goes ever deeper, layer by layer uncovering the darkest corners of what now belongs to him.

I think that is very telling. I think the fact he can get down in there is why He is my Owner, pure and simple.

Why Him? I don’t know. I am only just beginning to realize what my enslavement truly means. It is intangible, but powerful.

I do not bring anything. But I receive so very much. I know I would not be obedient; COULD not be obedient without the strength Master’s ownership gives to me; yields from me.

I don’t bring anything. I merely dropped my fears at the edge, and stepped off the cliff. He is my guiding force. Master keeps my eyes fixed on him all the time, even when it’s scary, or even when I don’t want to go there. If you jump off a cliff, it is impossible to reverse the trip.

That’s what enslavement is like for me.

Master and I had a talk last night.

M: I have a task for you. Buy me a toy… you have a $50 budget.

dk: What do you want?

M: Something you know I will like.

dk: I have a whole suitcase full of stuff, lol

M: Yes, but this is about you buying it specifically for me.

dk: I don’t know what you would like.

M: Yes you do. You may hate to admit that to yourself though.

dk: What if it’s not what you’d hoped for?

M: There is no specific thing I’m hoping for.

dk: I honestly have no idea what you’d want.

M: What I want from this task is your effort to find something that I will find pleasurable. It could be an an item of clothing… an adult toy, of course, something.

dk: Another slave? But not on a $50 budget…

M: *laughs* I’d hate to see what you’d get for that…

And so, I had my task.

Actually, this came at a very good time. Circumstances beyond his control have taken up much of Master’s time lately and we have hardly been able to talk in two weeks. We’ve had snatches of conversation; a half hour here or there, some days none at all; on a good day, an hour and a bit. Otherwise the chat has been quite short, and I’ve been struggling to remain settled and above all, properly focused on my enslavement.

So, being given a task to do really felt good. In spite of my protestations, I did have some ideas of what Master would like. Trouble was, they were decidedly things that I knew I wasn’t going to like.

Still, I am a slave, and have to remember that it is sooo not about me…

I found three items that I thought Master might enjoy using on me. I had to scour his profile again over at collarme just to refresh my memory, for some of the things listed that he “loves” were not things we had done before, so I wasn’t sure if he still loved them or not. The items I chose were a red, perforated ball gag, the infamous misery stick introduced to me in Kaya’s blog, and a quirt.

The next day, I asked Master what he thought of my choices.

M: I like the ball gag. Go ahead and order that.

dk: Yuck; you would.

M: ?? *eyebrows arched*

dk: Awww, just sayin’.

M: You’ll look perfect with a bright red ball gag,

M: And drool slipping down your chin.

dk: They are ugly and humiliating.

M: Are they?

dk: Hard to look glam wearing one of those things.

M: I reckon that’s right.

M: Then how come it makes your cunt wet, even at the mere thought of it?

dk: Your arched eyebrow did that.

M: Plus the realization of “ugly and humiliating”.

dk: It’s all humiliating.

M: That’s soooooo too bad.

dk: It’s got holes in it, so I can scream right through it.

M: That’s true. You can scream right through it.

At this point, I was becoming restless; and I noticed my palms getting clammy.

dk: *fidgets*

M: Don’t worry. The muzzled you will serve me well.

Master decided yes to the misery stick and no to the quirt, stating that our collection was already long on such things and noticeably absent in the whole “gagging” category, lol. (“That’s obvious why those are missing; NEXT”)

Soon we got on the subject of whips.

dk: How about a mini flogger? You say you like whips. We don’t have a whip.

M: You know, I used to have an awesome single tail whip.

dk: *shudders*

M: My old slave has it. I should have her send it to me.

M: You know, I was a natural with it. Go figure.

dk: God Master, now my cunt’s twitching. And to think I was half asleep.

M: You know, truly, it will light up your flesh.

dk: but,

M: But?

dk: Do you mean a real whip? Like a bull whip?

M: Yes. A real, leather bull whip

dk: But, I was gonna say, you don’t have room to swing one.

dk: JC

M: *smiles*

dk: *goes clammy*

I think at this point, I was becoming a reluctant slave; even more than I am a reluctant masochist. My whole body started to tremble; I was visibly sweating. My cunt twitched madly with a mind of its own; (I am not responsible.) I was getting very scared. Master sensed this in me.

M: The thing you have to remember is, these things are for me.

dk: Yeah, but without me they’re just things.

M: Not just the things…

M: The uses of the things. That is for me.

M: Focus on that.

M: Cling to that.

He then showed me a picture closely resembling the whip he’d been reminiscing about and also imagining using on my [his] flesh.

dk: Did you use it on her?

M: Of course *smiles*

dk: Well JC Master!

dk: Although, I do fantasize about being whipped with one of those things.

dk: But that is strictly for my fantasy land.

M: You think?

dk: If I knew I was going to be whipped by you for real… I’d puke.

M: Better hope I get the whip before I get the ball gag then.

dk: Ewwww

M: “I’m just sayin’” to quote a phrase.

dk: *fidgets and sweats*

And then, Master sent me off to bed. Which left me in a decidedly nervous mood. I told Master, who replied that it was okay to be nervous, but he wanted me to sleep for him.

And I did try to sleep; but kept thinking about that whip.

It’s true, I do have fantasies about being strung up and whipped. To me, that is the ultimate act of S&M. Whipping someone; being whipped. I still shudder thinking about it.

The trouble is what Master said from the very beginning. He wanted me to pick out a thing for him. It is for his pleasure. Focus on him. Cling to that.

Makes me feel like the most selfish slave to have difficulty doing that! But, seriously, I am not that into pain. Those bruised tits I photographed a few weeks back, that cost me something. It gave me something too, but the cost was great.

I was not enjoying myself at all while he was beating my tits. As I’ve mentioned before, I don’t go into subspace, or at least, it is rare. I feel everything and I don’t know about endorphins taking pain away. That just doesn’t happen to me. If anything, I relish when the scene is over because it finally stops hurting as badly, and I am proud of myself for making it through until Master had taken what he wanted from his slave.

And orgasming from pain? Not a chance! I get wet, true; I get soaking-fucking wet, but I have yet to orgasm from the pain inflicted on me during Master’s playtime. My orgasm comes later, when I’m masturbating and thinking about the scene. That all my orgasm fantasies revolve around pain makes me a masochist, I suppose. But I am a scaredy-cat first and foremost, lol.

Or, at least, I want to control the amount of pain and location on my body.

Take away that control, and well, that is also very hot; but sometimes, frankly, it is frightening. And being a slave means I’ve given up controlling anything that happens to my body ever again; unless Master chooses to allow me such control; but I seriously don’t see that ever happening.

I suppose I do sort of go into slavespace during a scene. That is what allows me to flow with what is happening and not resist; that is, until it gets too painful. But I’m talking about things like the ball gag. Things that are humiliating.

When it’s just me and Master, I definitely float away to a place where all I am is his slave and property. He could gag me and I could drool and get all un-glam and it would be just fine with me because at that moment, all I am is property. I am being used and serving my purpose as Master’s slave. It’s all good. That doesn’t frighten me, and it’s not that embarrassing at the time.

If I had to do that in public play, well that would likely be a different story. That too, would cost me something. Being humiliated in front of a group of people is decidedly different than when it’s just me and Master in the privacy of our room.

But it’s for him. How I happen to feel is really not all that important. Whether I’m enjoying it or not, also unimportant; unless Master wishes it. If Master wants me to enjoy myself, then I know he will certainly see to it, because that is HIS wish. But if he is performing acts upon my [his] body that I find humiliating, distasteful, fear, or hate, well, all of that makes no difference because he is going to do what he is going to do and I have no power to influence his choices.

And THAT is what makes my hands go clammy. THAT is what makes my cunt twitch. That is what makes me soak myself just thinking about it. That I am being objectified for Master’s pleasure. It really is very hot. At times scary, but hot.

Master was right. I just need to focus on him.

It’s funny… I got into the “scene” in the first place because my sexual fantasies eventually lured the timid me out of hiding. Soon I found out I wasn’t alone; there were a host of folks out there just like me. And for every kink that I thought extreme, there were always some “lifestylers” out there into even more extreme stuff. Not only that, but as I dabbled with my sexual fantasies, exploring them in practice, I found myself crossing my personal line of “extreme” over and over again, thus moving it farther and farther with each new experience.

There has always been a gap between my fantasies and my reality of course. And my fantasies always seem to place me in a precarious scenario unlikely (in my mind) to ever be lived out in reality. For certain images, such as a man cutting off a woman’s air supply by slowly choking her well that is just too dangerous. Isn’t it? People have died from asphyxiation play. I’m not ever going there.

But my fantasies continually lured me to the edge and beyond. I fantasized about being a slave long before it became my reality. I thought a lot about what it would be like to be completely and utterly subject to Another; having no rights whatsoever; being totally at His mercy for every little thing. Food, water, air, bathroom privileges, comfort, all granted or denied by the Master. How totally hot is that? To be so utterly controlled that my wants, needs, or feelings didn’t even enter in. Well, perhaps my basic needs entered in, but the dynamic is so real that it leaves me wondering if my needs are even being considered. This is the sort of fantasy with which I was obsessed shortly before meeting Master.

I “advertised” myself as a slave. But I had no experience in “being a slave” outside of fantasy role-play online, and very little at that. But the desire was totally there. I wanted it; and wanted it bad. Enter Master.

He enticed me, I must say, whether he realized it or not. He described a lifestyle very much in line with my fantasies. After some discussion, and about a week or so of little exercises to prove my worthiness, or faithfulness to his commands or something, we met over coffee, and the rest is history. I became his slave that day.

I have learned a lot in the year-and-almost-one-half of being Master’s slave. And no, I am not in training. Never have been. Master dislikes the notion of training me for anything. I am merely his property, to use as he chooses, however he chooses, whenever he chooses. It makes little difference to him if I am “used” to certain treatment or activities, if he wants to do them, he does them. Take the above-mentioned example of breath play.

Breath play was introduced to me either the very first or second time we met for play. I was never told, “Okay, we’re going to try a little breath play now. I want you to work on tolerating this because it’s something I enjoy and I’m going to require it from you often.” No. There was no introduction to breathplay 101, no cautions, no warning, none of that. I was merely placed on my back, head hanging nearly off the end of the bed, and Master shoved his cock all the way down my throat and pressed his body into my nose until I couldn’t breathe at all. And when I wriggled myself free to gasp air, I was only allowed that one gasp and then made to resume the “breathplay” act. This was not training. This was Master doing as he wished. I was being made to submit.

Same thing with the so-called “watersports”. I am not allowed any limits, or surely, watersports would have been one of them. Maybe the third or fourth time we met, I was made to kneel and Master put his cock in my mouth and only cautioned me to be still. Soon the urine came pouring in. No warning whatsoever! I was so shocked I instinctively began swallowing, not wanting it to go all over. I don’t even remember Master telling me to swallow, I just did it. That was my introduction to watersports.

I am never asked what I would like to have done to me. Master does not make apologies for neglecting my “needs”, in fact, that is almost laughable to both of us. Which is not to say that he doesn’t take care of me, because he does. He just does not coddle me. And there is a huge difference. He is perfectly fine with letting me feel disappointment in the relationship. He is okay with me struggling to be obedient and pleasing. And he is more than happy to have me working hard at my role as his slave. He is content to be pulling my strings instead of the other way around. That’s what I signed up for; and that’s what my life is like as his slave; because that is what pleases my Master.

It isn’t a matter of being trained at all. It is merely adjusting to staying in my place. I must know my place, and I do. And on those rare occasions when I need reminding, Master is there in short order, requiring me to sleep with ankles suspended from chains linked to the wrought-iron headboard of my bed all night to “re-focus” me, because sleeping any other way is a gift. And I remember.

It’s all about how much control Master takes; and currently, it is quite a bit. It isn’t 100%, and I don’t think I really would wish for that because, frankly, I don’t know if I could be so obedient and so compliant. It doesn’t matter either, because as I have said before, whatever submission Master wants will be “compulsed” from me, one way or another.

Bratting and manipulation evaporate under His hand. I shudder even thinking about what Master might do to a bratty me. Regarding taking a lot of pain, that seems to be a non-issue as well. Master gets what Master wants: marks, screams, tears, fear, earth-shattering orgasms, mortification, pain, riotous fucking, drool, cum-covered face, human toilet; all of it is his for the taking.

And I am not being abused, just for the frikkin’ record. I am thriving under His Ownership. The issues that pull me lowest have not a thing to do with Master. I am coping better than I ever have, in fact, because of his continual support and good care.

An M/s relationship is not cut from a mold, unless you listen to the “experts”. Too many well-intentioned folks out there tout what they deem is proper and best when in reality, that should be entirely defined by the two people in the relationship; or in our case, by Master. My definition is not the working definition around here. What Master says is my law. And that is what feeds me; keeps me; sustains me.

Today, every computer system we use was down at work. We are having some routine maintenance designed to prevent a major computer crash in the future. Our portable phones were down too. They were hand-delivering lab reports to the floors to be filed in the charts, just like the “good ol’ days”. I was fortunate enough (cough, cough) to be in charge and have the doctors bitching about not being able to find test results. Some were grumpy, some were slamming charts around. Some were fine. But overall, there was a general feeling of disorientation and confusion amongst all the staff. Lots of administration types were on hand, not that it helped so much, lol. I was never so glad to see this work day come to an end. Hopefully, by tomorrow the computers will be back up.

I did manage to get out of work on time, fortunately, but drove home in a deluge. The rain was coming down fast and hard causing mini flash-flooding all over the place. When I got home, there was word of tornados in the area. The sky quickly became very very dark, and not long after I hung up my rain-drenched lab coat the warning sirens were going off, indicating we should take cover. My daughter in particular was scared and rushed down into the basement. My older son thought it was ‘cool’ and with his friend rushed to look outside to see if they could see a tornado. The wind was picking up, but not too much and I had a healthy dose of midwestern skepticism about actually seeing one. Being native to the area, I have yet to actually witness a tornado, in spite of being warned to ‘take cover’ countless times during the late spring/early summer months. I felt sort of like my son; I’d like to see a tornado myself.

But I joined my daughter in the basement, mainly to be of comfort to her. To assure her we would be safe and that it was not likely our house would fly away. (She watches too many movies) The sirens stopped after only a couple of minutes and soon the sky grew lighter and the wind died down to virtually nothing. My daughter and I returned upstairs to join my son and his friend, both now quite disappointed to have been’ passed by’ yet again. I was grateful to have been spared a catastrophe, but at the same time, slightly disappointed to have missed seeing it as well. Hmm.

The feeling is similar to those times when I’m traveling to see Master. I always get nervous knots in my tummy on the way, in fear and anticipation of what peril might befall me. I know he will use me in any way he desires, with no regard to mine, or my own enjoyment. He knows that I get my ultimate enjoyment in accepting his control. I am truly happiest when he does exactly what he wants with me and my (his) body. If he asked me what I wanted, I am not sure I would know how to even respond. It has never come up. And I don’t want to ever be asked! The whole idea of asking for what I want is almost loathsome to me. I am more hard-wired to being a slave than I ever realized. So, I do arrive on time, at the pre-determined place with a bit of fear and trepidation.

But at the same time, I want to experience the extreme. Like in the movie Twister, they nicknamed that one guy “the extreme” because he went into very dangerous situations with no fear. He wanted so desperately to see the tornado. To be smack in the middle of it. That’s how I feel sometimes going to see Master. I long for a true tornado. I may hear the sirens going off in my head, and I would love, once, to be caught up in a flurry of wind and rain and let it sweep me up and whirl me around and around and have me land hard on my ass someplace, always looking up at Master. I want the extreme. But I never ask for it. I never voice such things. Maybe one day I’ll get up the courage to do so. It is funny. I think it often. I guess I am afraid of going “there”. Especially with One who I know could make it happen. *deep sigh*.

I am such a chicken shit. I think I’ll just scoot my fearful lil slave ass down to the basement now.

]]> http://doubleknot.wordpress.com/2008/06/07/tornado/feed/ 0 doubleknot http://doubleknot.wordpress.com/2008/04/16/fighting-my-way-into-enslavement/ http://doubleknot.wordpress.com/2008/04/16/fighting-my-way-into-enslavement/#comments Thu, 17 Apr 2008 00:17:57 +0000 doubleknot http://doubleknot.wordpress.com/?p=164 ]]>

Ownership means just that. How many times have you heard small children claim ownership to something? “Hey, that’s mine!” Well, that’s basically what it means to be a slave.

My Owner says, “you’re Mine. You belong not to your husband, your job, your friends, your family, your kids, or yourself; you belong solely to Me. And I get to choose who I share you with. I decide who may benefit from your services or presence. I allow you any perceived freedoms that you enjoy. I make choices for you every single day about things pertaining to you because I Own you. You will have what I want you to have. You will not have what I do not wish for you to have.”

It is endless. It is limiting. And it is ongoing. “You will wear this. You will not wear that. You will eat this. You will not eat that. You will exercise, you will take care of yourself, and you will sleep only during this time. You will go to bed at this time. You will rise at this time. You will behave this way towards this person. You will always do this. You will never do that…”

Imagine such a life.

This is what i mean by calling myself Master’s slave; His Owned property. Property that He cares a great deal for. Property He manages wisely like a very lucrative investment; because that’s what i am. He wants me to increase in value over time. He is not going to squander what He has. He tends to me carefully and well.

One thing i did before accepting the position of Master’s slave was to weigh very carefully the cost. And i think at the time, i was feeling internally ready for a big change in my life. Honestly, i was very frustrated with my life as it was. It was not bad, mind you, but it was not what i’d hoped. (And i suppose that speaks to almost anyone at any given time along the continuum of life) Being in that position greatly helped the transition to becoming an Owned slave.

Not only were big changes expected, i knew i had to assimilate myself quickly to the changes with a minimum of fuss, thus embodying the obedient slave. i’d had failures with Masters before due to my disobedience. Bam! End of Ownership. Some Owners don’t mess around too long with a disobedient slave. Yet, some Owners persist in working with a slave’s resistance. It all depends on the individual Owner. My Owner does not often meet resistance to His demands of me. But sometimes…

He takes what He wants. And He doggedly persists in effecting changes He wants in me as His property. If i am not particularly malleable, He continues to press and knead away until i am. Sometimes painfully.

What i like about Master is that He does not overly concern Himself with how i might react to something He wants from me. That most often doesn’t even enter into the equation. That i have no control is the biggest draw for me. If it weren’t so, i wouldn’t still be with Him. His power is truly absolute. And He knows this. And i can’t escape. What i want, [control] is what keeps me bound without rope or chains. He uses this against me, and to His advantage every single day i think. (Ethics aside. Master is not into law-breaking.)

i suppose i do worry sometimes. i worry that i might not be allowed to express all aspects of my personality to ultimate fullness. Hopefully i will be permitted to express all but the most objectionable parts, and that Master will deem those to be few and far between. i trust Master to decide.

In fact, trust plays such a huge role. Trust is what allows for my ever-deepening enslavement without any fear. Where does the trust come from? Simply from Master proving His fitness for the role of my Owner over time. i don’t see any other way to gain someone’s trust than through that. As trust grows, so does my enslavement, because Master can take a little more, and a little more, and a little more from me each day, week, or month. He chips away at me, taking and keeping what He likes, or discarding bits He doesn’t. i comply because i am enslaved by my need for control. The more i trust in His nonmaleficence where i am concerned, the more control i desire, and the more i contribute to my own enslavement.

i wonder if, without this desire, a slave could be so enslaved? If she did not want so much control, perhaps she would never become as deeply enslaved. i wonder if any Master could reach such such a level of enslavement in the face of great resistance? Perhaps… like in the case of long-term kidnapping victims whose spirit over time is broken by their captor. Another fantasy of many lifestylers. It does make one wonder…

Well, i can’t speak for others. i can only speak for myself. i do ponder from time to time how it is i got this far in my enslavement. i am a strong-willed person, and it seems to me almost antithetical that this has greatly contributed to my own enslavement. i never imagined such a thing could be possible, but there it is. i use my will to align myself to the various aspects of Master’s controls for me. Without such will, there would not be this level of enslavement.

What Master often must do, is refocus me when i get misaligned. This takes place in various ways, anything from a talk to something very painful and tangible. But we do seem to work together almost harmonically as Master and slave. We are both most at rest when each is in their given role. When not thus aligned, a definite, palpable disharmony exists and it is almost intolerable until realignment again takes place. This is mainly Master’s job, but if i notice i am not aligned before He does, usually my devotion is a good time to refocus. My very wise Master realized early on the importance of such a daily discipline for me, His slave, and its benefits have been proven time and again to keep the harmony and proper balance.

i truly love being Master’s property. His slave. His pet. His toy. His slut. His object.

Just His.

i wish i could understand the dynamic better. Over time, i am certain i will understand the relationship as my Master’s slave with greater clarity; perhaps in even greater simplicity. i do wonder about myself sometimes, because i am, as i have said before, not one known to go down easily; gracefully. i am a fighter. Who’d have thought that very fight in me would add to my own enslavement?