Master:  A person with the ability or power to use, control, or dispose of something.  The owner of a slave.

Mastery:  Command of a subject.  Superiority or victory.  The state of having mastered.  Power of command or control.

I learned a lesson in mastery afforded me by my owner the other night.  I playfully plopped myself down onto his bed and he slid in next to me, turned me onto my back, and began tweaking my nipples rather annoyingly.  We’d been cooking together earlier, and I joked with him, “Remember how I said my orgasms were the final frontier?  I was wrong.  The kitchen is the final frontier!”, meaning, I realllly dislike being controlled in the kitchen.  On the contrary, I am usually the controlling one in the kitchen.

It’s very hard for me to give up control of certain areas.  That’s why I keep thinking and saying I’m a bad slave.  On a pure fantasy level, being controlled is hot; but in reality, sometimes it bites!  I would almost rather be bound, gagged, and left in a closet overnight than give up control in my kitchen!  But, it wasn’t my kitchen that day, it was his, and so I tried to do as I was told.  A very tasty meal and happy Master was my reward for being so (choke) compliant.

But while on the bed, I was having none of his nipple torture.  I decided to fend off his attacks.  Soon, he was on top of me trying to pin my wrists with one hand, slap my face with the other, and in between, pull on my nipples.  I fought harder.  He choked me.  I flipped up my legs to try to capture his arm between them and squeeze.  He freed his arm, grabbing my hair to yank my head back and slapped my face again and again.  Howling, I flipped myself onto the floor.

In a flash he had me pinned by the wrists and was sitting on top of me again, staring down at me with this stern face.  I couldn’t look at him but he made me anyway.  And when I looked up at him, he spat in my face.  I turned my head away as he spat again.  Spit was running into my eyes.  He stood over me, and I wiped the spit away, hating him.  I saw him towering over me, and he spit again:  one of those big, slow spits that comes down very slowly and ends with a splash.  I froze as he spit on my left breast, my right breast, my cheek, my face.

He smeared the spit all over my breasts and face, then began slapping my breasts.  I tried to cover but he told me to move my arms.  He dragged me to another spot on the floor and told me not to move.  I didn’t.  I was … I don’t even know how I was feeling.  Terrified, degraded, grossed out, humbled, angry, you name it; I was a little of all of those, but I knew enough not to fight anymore.

He came behind me; I was lying on my back looking up at him.  He whacked my left tit hard with this giant wooden spoon.  Yelling, I grabbed my owie and rolled over.  “Get back on your back.  Put your hands down.”  He took my wrists and pushed them firmly down on the floor where he wanted them to stay.  He whacked my right tit, telling my to keep my hands away.  My feet and knees went up.  “Put your knees down; Put your feet on the floor.”  Slowly they went down.  “Whack!”  I howled in pain, but triiieeeeed not to block.  “Good girl.”  He whacked the other tit hard.  “That really huuuurrrttsss!!”  My knees went up with my hands going to block.  Again, he pushed my arms down hard.  “Knees down.”  “Whack!”….

This went on for awhile, with many more whacks, cautions to remain in position, and a lotta good girls until he was satisfied.  Very close to my ear I heard him whisper, “That’s Mastery.”  He told me to get up and get cleaned up.  I shot up and washed my face.

Soon we were lying together.  He was stroking my face.   He whispered that I was a good slave.  I wanted to cry.  I was feeling such a range of emotions that as usual after something like this, I was completely without speech.  I laid there thinking about being choked, slapped, and spat upon.  I wondered how consensual that was.  I certainly didn’t want what he was dishing out.  I wanted my rights.  I wanted him to stop, but since he doesn’t like the word “No”, I fought.  I tried to fight hard, short of scratching, kicking, or biting him, and at one point his hand did get a slight gnaw from my open mouth…

I am still sore.  The muscles of my chest, shoulders and back ache.  My tits are bruised.  I wonder about consent.  Yeah, I went there.  Yeah, I know he likes it rough.  He likes to hurt me.  Being hurt even turns me on sometimes.  Do I feel it was assault?  Well, no.  But I didn’t like what he was doing.  He just enforces his will; no matter what.  He always sees to it that he wins.  His terms.

He told me the other day, that if the relationship stopped being on his terms, it would cease to exist.  He has to win.  If he doesn’t win, every single time, I will lose him.   He said so.  The relationship will cease to exist.  His way or the highway.

I don’t know how I feel about that.  He insists it makes me feel secure.

I am a controlling woman.  I have been told so by more than a few people.  I like, I want, I need things my way.  What the hell am I doing in a relationship like this?

Yes, I love him.  Yes, he loves me.  Yes, I keep going back, knowing what he is capable of.  Knowing what he likes.  Knowing what he requires.  I go back.  I don’t ever really get angry; only in that moment.  So, is that consent?

Master said, “I think that it is my intent and purpose to eradicate the concept of ‘consent’ from you as time goes by.” I think he is.  I do understand him now when he says that I don’t ‘let’ him do certain things; he takes what he wants from me.  I understand that now more than ever.

He also said, “There is consent, and there is consent.  There is the paramount consent… the foundational choice to be here, with me, to accept a relationship on my terms; and then there is, ’sure, it’s okay to play with my nipples’, and that ain’t ever something you should attempt to say.”

Some have called this dynamic “consensual non-consent”.

Today I am missing him.

There is something oddly addicting about this relationship.  In spite of the harsh treatment, no, maybe because of the harsh treatment I am evermore drawn to him.  Accepting that notion in and of itself gives cause for worry.  “There must be something wrong with me!”

But there isn’t.  And I have no worries.  I am content.  If it takes a battle of wills to get me to consent, so be it.  He is the only one who is worthy of me; of what he takes.  If he were not, I would withold the ultimate consent:  I would be long gone.

There is something that feeds me.  And the worry that I have about doing something so horrible that he would want me gone is not valid.  I have too much respect for him to behave that badly.  He makes me a better person.  And this is completely apart from our ‘play’.  I’m talking about the bulk of the relationship, which is not about play.  He truly brings out the best in me.

So twisted, warped, perhaps pathological???  No matter.  I’m in it for the long haul.  I will just have to take my big box of conflicting emotions and heave it into the sea, because it isn’t going to change a thing.  Not a single thing.

Work was crazy, busy yesterday.  I was floated off my regular unit onto the cardiac floor.  Not exactly  my cup of tea, but I survived.  Today my work boss phoned to ask if I could work pm’s but i told her I was busy with family business; which is true.

Master graciously gave me permission to sleep in today.  It’s funny, because often when I ask to sleep in, I ask if I can sleep until noon.  After Master is done laughing his ass off, he tells me I can sleep in until 8, and that sounds pretty good too, because on work days I am up around 5:30.  So I nuzzle into the covers with my ankles hooked together and drift off, knowing happily I won’t have to be up at 5:30.  Or six.  Or seven, which is my usual time to get up.

Only half the time, I am up by seven anyway.  Or even before; because my damned body clock has no idea it’s my day to sleep in!  So when Master said I could sleep in until noon today, after I made sure he was not just teasing me, I set my clock, determined to take advantage of this rare gift.

Again, I nuzzled deeply into bed, snuggling his shirt and my teddy bear, ankles clipped together.  And I slept.  And slept.  And slept.  I woke up once to pee around 1am, then quickly fell back asleep.  I woke around 9, peed, and got back into bed determined to get three more hours of sack time.

Only my body had other ideas.  I just lay there wide awake for another half an hour, until some serviceman came to my door for an appointment I’d forgotten about.

So I got up to answer the door, and smiled at my Master.  He knows me so well.  He said noon; but he knew I would not be able to sleep that late.  It never happens.  But nine o’clock was pretty good.

I made a cup of coffee and thought about what I needed to get done today, read some email, browsed a few blogs, and once the man left, did devotion.

Devotion is to be spent kneeling blindfolded thinking about the value of Master’s ownership.  I thought about how he was making me do the hard things that needed to get done regarding my child.  Then the tears came, as they tend to do when I think about that topic.

I took off the blindfold to wipe my eyes, and replaced it, trying to get my head into a positive space.  Eventually, it got there.  So when I was finished, I took a shower.  And cried some more.  I never know exactly what it is that makes me cry when I think about all of this, but it’s damned annoying sometimes.

I thought about all the nice comments I’ve gotten on the last two posts about my child, and how some said I was strong.  But I wasn’t feeling strong at all; but rather pretty weak.  I didn’t feel like I was going to be even remotely able to handle this stuff by myself, and I desperately wished Master could come with me to the social security office.  I wished anyone would come.

Hub wouldn’t come; he wouldn’t want to take off work for that.  He has never been to one planning meeting at school, though I’ve given him advance notice every time.  If I’m impotent at getting stuff done, hub is more so...

So I called the social security office and ya know what?  The guy was actually nice to me on the phone.  He answered my questions and set up an appointment for me next month.  So after crying like a pathetic baby this morning, finally, some progress.  I hate dealing with the government.

Maybe Master could come.

I’m trying a new blog writer program.  The last one choked and died, taking one of my unpublished posts with it.  I hope this one is more reliable.

The choked-dead one?  Windows Live Writer.  The new one?  Flock.

The lost post was about, what else?  Enslavement.

I think I write a lot about enslavement because of my daily devotion.  Thinking about the value of his ownership inevitably reminds me of my enslavement.  Like two sides of the same coin, his solid ownership keeps me feeling enslaved.

There’s no turning back now.  I think, you look long and hard for that certain someone, and when you finally find them, you hang onto them tightly.

Master has been of more help to me in the short two years I’ve known him than practically anyone else I’ve ever known.  He truly cares about me and my well-being.  He genuinely loves me, and though he doesn’t pamper me because I’m a slave, he always lets me know my value is high.

And well, hell; sometimes I’m pampered.  Who else would buy me a cheese and artichoke sandwich, oven-toasted even?

Work was challenging for me this week. In part, because I am still feeling quite under the weather, but also in part because of this one patient in particular I was caring for.

She is in her thirties suffering from a very severe fungal type lung infection resulting from steroid treatment of a very mysterious underlying condition, the exact diagnosis of which has eluded our doctors for some six months now.

So sick was this poor woman, that the mere act of trying to eat and drink compromised her breathing so much that I needed to supervise her meals while exchanging her breathing machine for a high flow oxygen mask. She was treading on dangerous ground, just steps away from being intubated and on a ventilator. And she was really scared.

I put a lot of energy into caring for this woman, tending to her body, mind, and spirit. It was both rewarding and draining at the same time. In addition, I was in charge those two days.

To say that work puts me in a sort of dominant mode is an understatement. And the residual effects when I am off work, at home speaking to Master are sometimes… well, to him I guess laughable.

I was bemoaning the fact that somehow, being at my job and away from him for any length of time makes me feel disconnected from my slavery. I’d asked Master if the same thing happened in reverse for him.

Master: You know, now that you mention it, it does. I need to feel my hands on you. I need to hear you, the way you sound in my grasp.

slave: I love your hands on me; now that i’ve gotten over the urge to smack them away when they’re hurting.

Master: After all, when my hands go to you… they go to what is mine; far be it from you to intervene.

slave: That’s just the thing though; when we’re apart, it all feels like it’s mine again.

Master: It might drift a bit in that direction… but you know better… and I know it doesn’t “feel like it’s [yours] again”

slave: I’m basically pretty selfish. I don’t like that feeling.

Master: I thought I grabbed all the selfish chips for myself around here.

slave: I’m more like a Master than you know.

Master: The fuck you are. Would you care to wager some money on that? bet to be resolved tomorrow night.

slave: …um, no.

Master: *nods* Oh, about tomorrow, I want you in that hotel bar… the one where we couldn’t get a seat last time… wearing something slutty… waiting for me. Be there by 8… if I’m going to be earlier, I’ll let you know

slave: Yes Sir.

Master: Quick question… Still feeling more like a Master than I know?

slave: No. No, no…

Master: I didn’t think so. Then again… I didn’t think so when you first said it, either

slave: I think, what I was saying is, that it’s never far from the surface. when we’re apart, I revert back to … whatever I am; the part that isn’t slavish.

Master: You revert back to a measure of self-sufficiency.

slave: Yes. You tamp it down well. And fast, I might add.

Master: *nods* I know. that is okay… my enslavement of you is bigger than that. It can handle the parts of you that need to be self-sufficient.

slave: Honestly, I hate those parts. They trouble me; as much as I need them… Blah. *thinks* You know why?

Master: Why?

slave: because I feel like a yo-yo. up and down, up and down

Master: Well, you’re wrong in that. It isn’t a yo-yo thing. Episodes of self-sufficiency are not exceptions to your enslavement to me, although… I know it feels bad to you. There is never a moment when you aren’t mine. Never a moment that you will not do what I expect of you.

Master: If I told you to go to the garage in your PJs right now… and drive straight here to [where he was, several hundred miles away that night], you would. I guess I’m saying…don’t over-think or over-stress that you have those feelings; they don’t change the fundamentals.

“““““““““““““““““`

Red lips, hair coiffed and sprayed just so, face painted like a whore, black stockings, black pumps, black skirt and top, showing plenty of tits and leg, the owned slave strides to brightly-lit hotel bar. Finding it closed, she crosses the crowded hotel lobby to the other bar; the darker, more sensuous bar.

The barstools are littered exclusively with men. Finding a seat for herself on the end, two chairs away from a well-dressed Pakistani, she eases herself into the soft leather. Nervous fingers fondle more leather, a padded railing, matching the color of her skirt. Idly she fantasizes her owner pushing her up onto the bar, bending her slutty frame over this cushioned leather rail. She gives it a slight squeeze…

Feeling hot breath on the back of her neck she looks up and into the darkest eyes of the man who owns her; exclusively. His hands go straight for her hair tugging down hard, forcing her gaze to meet his. His mouth takes hers in a possessive kiss, tongue plunging, teeth biting, taking what belongs only to him. He slaps her face hard once, twice. She gasps for air and even as he pulls away a slender tear traces a path cutting through her well-rouged cheeks.

He pays the check, wraps his arm around her waist and pulls her powerfully along the path up to their room, moving slightly faster than her high heels will allow her form to gracefully manage.

Reaching the room he leads her inside, locking and bolting the door behind them. She is quickly shoved to her knees as cock meets slave throat and her head buzzes from the alcohol. Pumping in and out, his hands trash both hair and just-so made-up-face as he tugs and pulls, violently fucking her pretty, painted mouth; His mouth.

Feeling a sharp pain in her head she feels her hair yanked by the roots as she rises and just as quickly is turned around and pushed face-down onto the bed. Black silk panties are roughly tugged down and off, skirt shoved up over her back as her hips are tugged back and all at once his hard cock is forced all the way in her puckered ass.

It is a rape. Pure and simple. There is moaning and groaning and growling and screaming, but she has little fight in her. The growling is coming from her as her head is again yanked back by the hair, face slapped hard twice, then teeth go to biting her mouth and chest. Screaming and submitting to her slavery, this slave knows who her Master is.

Self-sufficiency is no match for my Owner’s enslavement.

Today was a really good day. I spent the morning with Master. I told him today felt like a turning point for me.

What I mean by that is, today just flowed very naturally with him. And I love it when that happens. Today, I was completely attuned to both Master as well as myself. I was not fighting anything at all.

It seems like too many times, a part of me wants to protest what is happening. I don’t mean protest what is physically happening, although that surely happens from time to time. But internally, the voices I often hear that scream about too much pain and that frustrating sense of the loss of control, well today, they were silent.

Today I let go of myself.

Today, there was no fight in me

Today I was a slut in heat; Raw, powerful, edgy, horny cunt heat.

Today was beautiful.

Today, I was taken and consumed.

And today, I surrendered.

I love it when Master’s ownership takes me to that place reserved just for him. That place that is utterly and totally His. It’s hot! It feels so rejuvenating.

I think I’ve finally reached a place where I am totally surrendered to my slavery. I realize I say this very tongue-in-cheek. I know, know how changeable I can be. But still, in spite of Master’s little eye roll at my announcement, I want to put it out here for myself at least.

I know that there is peace for me in this journey. I know it because I experienced it today. Today, I would have taken anything and everything; gone anywhere and everywhere for Him; and for me.

Today he did not have to break me. For today, I was already broken at the start. That’s how fully surrendered I felt. As I said, there was this flow. It was heaven.

I wish I could bottle that sensation.

I believe it is meaningful. And I believe it was no accident.

My Master’s ownership, eighteen months thus far, has been chewing, clawing, and ripping its way deeply into my core, and in doing so has unveiled me. The changes are so evident when we’re together; that is, when I keep my flimsy walls down.

They were silly, insignificant walls anyway, for what can I really hide from the One who owns me? Very little it seems. He knows me better than I know myself. Or, more accurately, he brings to light what I know about myself but try to hide from myself.

Beyond that, I know who I am to him. And that knowledge alone makes things infinitely easier. I’m the property. He orders and I obey. If he says it is, it is. It doesn’t matter what I think. I won’t disagree. I won’t refuse. I am enslaved.

And my Master is safe.

But he is I tell you! He is safe. He has his head squarely on his shoulders. He can take me places, very dark places even, and I will go, unafraid. I trust him. (And to clarify that, just in case you’ve been reading about trust in M/s relationships, I mean that no matter the outcome, I am not running away; Maimed, broken, badly bruised, but not dead, I will not leave.)

Oh, that all of my todays would be like this one.

I think that is possible. I see them occurring more often as time goes by.

I am learning my role well. Master is a good teacher. Anything useful to be gained from this blog comes directly or indirectly from him. He has made me. Remade me, for himself. He doesn’t share, but he exposes me to the world and then takes all the credit. He can do that. He’s the owner. I love that.

I am happy; happier than I’ve been in decades. Yes I still struggle. Anyone who reads me surely knows that. But each struggle bears the fruit of his ownership and gives me pride in being his. So proud. So happy. So fulfilled.

I wish all of you a wonderful today.

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.

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.

It has been a weird week, with lots of time for thinking. For the most part, I feel very settled in my place as Master’s slave. I have been thinking about him a lot. No time together this week though, perhaps that is why all the pondering.

I think back to the very earliest days when we were just getting acquainted. Those encounters were more formal and somewhat stiff; almost impersonal. More informational I guess when Master was just beginning to sort of indoctrinate me to his way of thinking on all things M/s. If I was to become his slave, I would have to see things his way. And I did. I was very receptive, very responsive and hung on his every word because I wanted to learn, and I wanted to remember.

I certainly had my own ideas on submission, but I was a little fuzzy on slavery. Prior to Master, I had developed a sweet, obedient style of submission. Bratting was not my cup of tea. I desperately wanted to please and be pleasing to have around. I was very pliant and strove to be a quick learner. With such qualities, I quickly learned whatever it was my Master wanted to teach me. I grew by leaps and bounds. But it wasn’t easy.

In those earliest days, I do remember a couple of instances of putting forth my desires. Specifically, I wanted more of his time. I was insecure. When Master was not readily available to me, I lost the budding trust that I had in him. I worried he was busy talking to other slaves or that he was in some way not entirely satisfied with me. I fretted quite a bit and pushed for more of his time. I asked pointed questions and might have even leveled a few suspicious accusations. I would find him logged on to a site, and observe he had not messaged me and this used to make me crazy. I thought I was about to be replaced; so insecure I was back then.

Master is a very busy man. He uses his time carefully and doesn’t have any to waste. It was not long before he had to “reset” me abruptly to get me to stop making demands on his time. He stopped talking to me altogether for a number of days. I learned that I could not “make” him do anything. I could not manipulate my Master. He was not going to allow that. Once I’d grasped the reasoning for the so-called silent treatment, I realized what a strong Master I had. He assured me then that he was committed to owning me, specifically me, and nobody else but me. I was shaken from the experience, but I learned a sobering lesson. I respect Master all the more because of this. I also think this strength he exhibits is what draws me so continually and so fiercely to him.

I talk a lot about the transparency Master requires of me as his slave; nothing is to be kept from him. But since those early days, Master too, has opened himself up to me. He’s shown me glimpses of his innermost being; that which he shares with no one else. Though the revelations have come more slowly perhaps than my ‘heart-on-my-sleeve’ openness with Master, still the honor of being allowed these secret glimpses within him have me feeling that perhaps a new chapter of my life is being revealed for the first time in over forty years. It is both an honor and a privilege to be allowed deep within Master’s being, and brings about a connectedness that almost seals us together; Master and slave. This bond that we share seems unbreakable.

Indeed, Master is never letting me go he says, unless his ownership is “fundamentally damaging” to my well-being. (As detailed in my post, Catch and Release) That is the only condition wherein I would be allowed to beg my release.

But, I don’t find myself going there at all in my thinking anymore. I look at my Owner and I think we are just growing more deeply enmeshed into one another; He as my Owner and me as his slave, his pet, his property.

And while I know I ain’t goin’ anywhere, I know too that Master would not desire this either. I know I fill a need in him. He is able to expose a core of his being never before revealed to anyone. He has a freedom in owning me that is also opening a new chapter in his life; a wonderful time of exploring, creating, and controlling. He consumes me without using me up. He consumes me, and even as he does, I grow and flourish for him; and by his hand.

I do not direct. I don’t even try. I merely respond. I unveil. I open up. And through it all I can truly say that all of what I am and what we share as an M/s couple is His doing, not mine. His leadership has created this beautiful, inequitable, perfect union.

I will always be me; still that sweet submissive who wants so desperately to please. Master is content with me. And I am content as His slavepet.

Thank you Master.

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.

I have been quiet and contemplating this week; filled with less of my usual vigor for life. Perhaps emotionally wrung out. Exhausted, yes, with tears never very far from the surface.

Anger that ordinarily glides o’erhead now lingers, covering me in a thick wrap and impairing my gait as I try to maneuver through each day. Words stick in my throat. I am surely functioning on auto-pilot whilst keeping the looming darkness tightly battened down.

My slavery seems elusive.

I question my judgment in choosing a lifestyle wherein I am relegated to a powerless state. Why did I agree to that? Because it seemed like a good idea at the time? Because I thrive on harsh treatment and powerlessness? I really cannot answer myself. I just do not know.

Well. This is where I am at.

I think… when One enslaves a woman such as me, it is going to take quite some time to come to fulfillment, if indeed it ever does.

With the anger from last weekend smouldering as finally most of the fires seem to be out, my perceptions are, at best, somewhat skewed.

I think… that it is very good indeed, that I am no longer making the decisions concerning my life, for surely I would have balled it up by now; even since just last weekend.

I was with Master today, and while physically I was present, my mind was wandering all damn day. Master was at work and so, there was a lot of time to get lost in my thoughts. Intrusive thoughts at that.

Sometimes I wish I could remove the part of my mind loaded with unwelcome thoughts; put it in a box somewhere in a safe place, well out of sight. I would fetch the box at Master’s will for his perusal and insight. Perhaps he would enlighten me as to their origins and usefulness. Or perhaps, he would find them extraneous or even toxic and then discard them permanently.

I think a lot of my thoughts would go into the rubbish bin.

It is good that I am owned, for there is nothing as unsettling as being driven by one’s emotions. That was me before I became Master’s property. Now, it is neither me nor my emotions running me, it is Master. I can rest knowing that as the whirlwind blows violently without and within, I have a sure foundation and I will be safe.

Thank you Master.

*kiss*

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.”