Under His Hand

The journal of a slave

Lights Out

Sometimes when he comes up behind me and wraps his arm (or his belt or the whip or..) around my throat and squeezes squeezes squeezes

there’s nothing but pain. Crushing pressure in my throat making it hard to breathe, sometimes impossible to breathe actually, and panic sets in pretty quick.

Other times, there’s the sloooooowest build (dim?), fuzzing at the edges, discomfort around my neck, and it just… hangs there (no pun intended).

Then there are the times he wraps around my throat and squeezes and things fade and buzz and I’m just about to protest- somehow? someway?- or at least I think I should protest because my knees are buckling and my vision is going dark and surely THAT warrants a protes– and the next thing I know… I’m waking up.

Or, he holds it right there, and loosens it just the tiniest bit, to say things in my ear, to remind me of things, and then tightens it again and next thing I know… I’m waking up with those words echoing in my head. “I own you. You’re mine.”

And then there are the ones where his arm goes around, and there’s the squeeze and I have time to think “Oh, f-”

What happens then?

I have no idea.

For how long?

I have no idea.

It’s like when you go to sleep and you wake up and you’re not sure if it’s been 2 minutes or 2 hours because there’s nothing.

It’s like when you go to sleep in a different place and you’re slowly waking up and for a moment you’re not really sure where you are or why or how you got there.

There is, first, the sounds coming back. The thump of music, the low buzz of voices in the darkness. There’s confusion, my brain trying to connect the dots as they sputter to light. “Someone left the tv on.”

Then comes an awareness of my body. In the most recent case, hanging by my wrists in suspension cuffs, and having just the vaguest sensation of pain in my arms, of tingling, and thinking I should stand up or something… but not at all able to figure out how one actually does that.

With the body awareness comes the realization that I’m twitching uncontrollably. I should stop doing that, it feels weird. But I can’t figure that out, either.

And then another voice; closer, louder, familiar. Penetrating the confusion and demanding response. I know him! I know that voice. I have to answer that voice, I’m compelled to answer that voice. It feels… dangerous… not to. What is it saying??

I listen.

“Hey. Hey, baby. You here?” A hand on my cheek, tapping.

I am. I’m here. I should tell him so. I open blurry eyes to look at his blurry face.

“Hi. Welcome back.”

I smile loopily at him. I want to pet him.

He strokes my hair off my forehead. I love that. He’s so nice. So gentle.

Then things come back into focus and memory. Oh yes! Dungeon, party, Master, choke hold.

Gentle? Nice? Wait…

He wraps his arms around me and hauls me up, propping me back on shaky legs. I’m still teetering when the whip catches me across the back. I feel the bright flash against my skin but it’s muted, everything hasn’t connected yet and I’m slow to react. The next one hits my ass while I’m still comprehending the first one.

He pops me again. Again, again, and again, whipping me back to the here and now, until the last of the fuzziness has been replaced by the white hot pain of right fucking now.

We’re bantering and laughing, or rather he’s laughing as I cuss him out and give him dirty looks and dance to the ends of the chains, trying to dodge the blows and distract him with my wit and sarcasm (hey, sometimes it works!)

And then he’s behind me again and his arm (or the whip or his belt or…) is snaking back around my neck and I lift my chin in supplication, offering my bare throat, and waiting for, begging for, that fade and buzz and dim

that is him, taking control of my body completely and utterly away from me.

April A to Z — Q is for…

Q is for Quality and Quantity.

Many, many eons ago, Master declared it to be a Law of the Land that our play would henceforth be governed by the Quality over Quantity clause.

We had, at that point in our play, fallen into a trap of thinking we HAD to do *something* all the time, every day, or whenever we could. We’d be cramming these mini play sessions in, sessions that often left one or both of us hanging because there wasn’t time to finish it.

“Finish” can mean a multitude of things. It might mean one or both of us didn’t orgasm because often our play is very sexual. It might mean one or both of us didn’t have time to reach a high or, worse, that one of us reached a high and it was cut off at the knees.

Masochism, at least my particular version of masochism, isn’t about finding pleasure in pain. It’s more the exchange of power and energy, coupled with the endorphin rush that physical pain provides. So, it seemed like all too often, in these rushed mini sessions there would be just all pain and no energy, which fell very flat for both of us.

He likened it to taking 12 mini weekend vacations a year to a local attraction versus saving up all year and taking a 2-week vacation in Paris. Or the Bahamas. (Or Germany)

So the law was declared. If it was determined that we didn’t have the time for a proper scene, or if we both weren’t equally into it, he would say “Quality over quantity!” and instead we’d go watch a movie or just fuck or, you know, whatever.

All’s well that end’s well.


Sometimes I feel like we’ve gone too far the other way.

Like maybe we’re putting too much emphasis on quality. Not every interaction has to be a tour-de-force performance.

Sometimes I feel like we might both really be in the mood for something but we know we have limited time/energy/whatever so we don’t even try.

I think, in general, quality over quantity is a good standard to have, especially if quality had begun to suffer. But I don’t think that should mean we dismiss quantity all together.

There CAN be exceptional quality in large quantities.

I mean, a weekend vacation to the nearest beach once in awhile is pretty fucking sweet, right?


April A to Z — O and P are for…

O is for Oh, shit, April is almost over, there’s no way I’m going to get through the rest of the alphabet.

O is for Oh, well. I’ll get done what I get done. :)

P is for Plot Twist!

So, interesting– I fought to get him back, or at least his attentions and focus…. aaaaaaaaaaaand now I don’t want it.


I don’t want to play. Nope. Not interested. Tra la la.

But not like jaded or cynical or petulant “don’t wanna!”, just genuinely not in the mood.

Does he care? Not in the least. :)

But doesn’t it just figure? He’s up, I’m down; I’m down, he’s up.

Insanity, I tell you.

April A to Z — L is for…

L is for Laughter.

It’s a key component in lasting relationships, I think, don’t you? Master and I both have a kooky sense of humor and we make each other laugh all the time. He is fun. Fun to be around. He is always making me laugh- and I do the same to him.

I know I sometimes give the impression that things here at casa de cunt are rocky or strained, and that’s not the case at all. Just because I come here and angst and navel gaze doesn’t mean our relationship is teetering on the edge. I assure you it’s not. We always figure things out.

In spite of the fact that we DO have some things we need to figure out, we’re still making each other laugh, still having fun, still committed to each other, to this, to M/s.

I’m grateful that Master isn’t one of those high protocol sort. He enjoys my humor and the banter we have, that someone who is high protocol would probably find disrespectful. We are constantly calling each other names, exchanging mock insults, cracking jokes, making horrible puns, and generally being inappropriate for our own amusement.

I like to think that even if, for whatever reason, the M/s took a hiatus, we’d still find pleasure in each other’s company. Because even through this latest bump, we’re still enjoying each other’s company. :)

L is for Let it go.

(Did you just sing that? Cuz I did. I haven’t been nonconsensually forced to watch Frozen in over a year but I still can’t not sing that fucking song.)

I would like to say that I was slavey enough to have come to the conclusion that I needed no changes from him in order to “let it go” but that would be a big bucket of bullshit. :)

I did need some changes from him.

What I got wasn’t any sort of compromise or acquiescence to my demands on his behavior. What he HAS done is acknowledge that he unplugged from me. What he HAS done is be more present.

That game he deleted? It’s been reinstalled. He’s playing it. I’m fine with that.

But what happened over a week or two of not having it there as a distraction was making him see how distracted he really was. In the time it was gone, we’ve played, we’ve had lots of sex, we’ve spent time together just watching movies, talking, laughing, going for walks.

I’m trying to be mindful of the part I played in being an obstacle myself. Enthusiasm and agreeable are my middle names these days.

We are letting go of old hurts, of cynicism and grudges. I’m not allowed to bring up things from the past, neither is he. We can only be present in this moment. If I am falling back into old behaviors, he will tell me what he is seeing NOW. Same for me. I can say what I’m feeling today.

Here’s an example:

When he’s playing his game, he wears headphones and is chatting with other players or listening to music. Or both. So getting his attention isn’t as easy as just saying “Hey Master?” or whatever. I have to either holler or tap on his shoulder. He’d started to respond negatively to me, no matter how I “interrupted” him, because that’s what he felt I was doing- interrupting.

However, my rules are that I have to ask permission for, like, everything so I began to respond just as negatively. I might not ask at all, and risk being called on it. I might stomp away muttering under my breath. I might tell him he’s being a dickhead and to stop fucking ignoring me.

But that’s not communicating.

So, just the other day, after he’d started to get testy about being “interrupted”, he stopped and made me come over to him. He put the headphones on me and then talked to me. I couldn’t hear a word he was saying, of course. While I understand that he legitimately cannot hear me, that doesn’t address the issue.

I said “Perhaps you need to consider relieving me of the burden of having to ask you things if you don’t want me interrupting you. Because it’s hurtful when you snap at me when all I’m doing is following your rules. It makes me reluctant to be obedient.”

We just don’t look at it from the other’s perspective, but now that we have, in order to avoid future unpleasantness over it, there has to be some allowances made. He obviously doesn’t want me to be reluctant to be obedient and hadn’t realized he’d put me in the position of choosing whether being disobedient was the lesser of two evils, but neither is he setting me up to fail by giving me rules and then “punishing” me for following them, which is how it felt to me.

I think that getting to be and do whatever they want is a valid draw to being the Boss, but I don’t know that they always comprehend our responses to it. I’m not sure he’d even considered WHY I was responding so negatively other than “she’s just being a bitch because I’m playing the game so I’m going to be a dick right back”. Which is far too simplistic.

It’s pretty amazing what you discover when you start talking. O.O

L is for Learning Curve.

Because duh, lol.