Break

This blog is on vacation.

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Angst

I’ve been hiding. Thinking. Mostly feeling like I don’t have anything to offer here. More and more often I feel like I’m the “leader” in this relationship, and whether or not I like that thought has no bearing on whether or not I should be writing a slave’s journal.

This isn’t another “master’s gone vanilla” moment. It’s not even pms week. It’s just thinking out loud.

Master wants very much to make me happy. He loves me. Those aren’t bad things at all. I think love and respect and the desire to please your partner can co-exist in a power exchange relationship just fine. Some might say it’s necessary or vital.

I think it can also be very damaging.

I’m not making any sense.

I do these…. experiments. (I don’t like the word experiment because it puts a negative, and manipulative, twist on it but I can’t think of any other word.) Things are supposed to be about what He wants, about catering to His desires, about being pleasing and submissive, so that’s what I do. Follow the rules, I’m compliant, I serve, I smile, I fuck. I let Him call the shots. That’s what it’s supposed to be, right?

And the more I do that, the gentler He gets. More romantic, nicer, more prone to letting me get out of a task or a chore. He’s rewarding me. Because He’s happy, pleased.

And then I get frustrated. Unhappy. The more He’s nicer to me, the less pleasing I want to be. No matter how I try to bite back the attitude, the “no’s”, the deliberate breaking of rules, it’s uncontrollable. As opportunity after opportunity for playing, for being the sadist that He says He is passes, the less inclined I am to follow through on being that well-behaved slave.

And I know that eventually I’ll break enough rules, push Him far enough, that He’ll *have* to step up. Things get so ridiculously out of control that He either has to grab control back or give it up completely.

Any relief that I might feel over being swatted back into my place is highly tempered with knowing that I manipulated Him into doing it.

I’m absolutely as lost and confused and overwhelmingly sad as I have ever been. Everything feels like empty talk, meaningless words. What I claim to be and to want, what He claims to be and to want.

I *say* I want to be treated like an object. Don’t care about how I feel, don’t care about what I want. Hurt me, fuck me, use me, ignore me.. do whatever. That’s what I say.

I say all of that, until He wants to treat me like a loved and precious object. Until He doesn’t care about what I want to the point that I’m chafing at the bit to be hurt, to cry. Then suddenly, I’m pushing and working and manipulating circumstances to get exactly what I want.

That’s not what slavery is. I’m.. what? A kink-seeker at best?

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Master’s bed.

Master’s bed is an old iron bed frame. I love it.

Probably most people would think of it as ugly. But except for an actual bondage bed, there can’t be anything better out there.

Master’s mentioned a few times that He’d like a new bed and I always protest. I don’t want a new bed. I don’t want something that we’d be afraid to wrap chain around, or that will require that one of us stand on our head (me probably) to try and locate a tie point. I like this bed.

He’s said then that we should paint it at least. It’s chipped and scraped, it looks pretty beat up. And I don’t want to do that either. It’s chipped from Him locking me up in chains and me struggling against the pain and the fucking. It shows use and love and wear and tear and painting it would be an absolute waste of time because within a week, it will look exactly as it looks right now.

It’s not very big, just a regular double size. Not a king or a queen. And that’s perfect too. When we sleep together, we sleep *together*. Spooned or wrapped, always touching, legs or arms intertwined. More space would just be wasted on us. It could use a new mattress though. This one has been broken in. Literally. :-)

It’s Master’s bed, and as you can see, it’s perfect for me.

Pictures

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What I know.

When my cunt hurts too much to put a tampon in, I know I’ve been well fucked.

When it hurts my ass to pull my underwear over it, I know I’ve been well spanked.

When I try to avoid putting my seat belt on because it hurts my tits too much, I know they’ve been well used.

When Master is strutting around the house with a shit eating grin on His face, I’m a happy little girl.

Pictures

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From good to bad to great.

There’s really a whole lot to say, things that I want to say and need to say, things to arrange and make sense out of but… I can’t.

My ass hurts.

My boobs hurt.

My cunt hurts.

It’s been an intense day.

It started out great. Master came home late last night (even though He had told me He coudn’t make it home and then called when He was almost home. He was going to surprise me but decided He’d probably scare me more than surprise me.) It was nice, nice fuck and nice to curl up next to Him. Nice to have Him lock me in and then unlock me this morning.

The kids left for school and then we went back to bed..lol. Being lazy together is wonderful. When we woke up again, He immediately put me in the bathroom and gave me a piss-shower. You know that scene in the Austin Powers movie where he pees and pees and pees? That was Master this morning..lol. It went on forever.

More.. with pictures

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A bit of this, a bit of that…

I wasn’t going to do my tasks today. I just wasn’t in the mood, you know? But the closer the time got to the kids coming home and really not being able to do the tasks, the more nervous I got. Because Master comes home tomorrow and we’ve entered into this new, ohmyGod is He being a strict mofo, stage of things lately and tomorrow is not near long enough to buffer the consequences of not doing a task.

And then right in the middle of doing the task, He called and said He might try to get out of work tomorrow and come home tonight so thank fucking God I did the tasks. Whew!

When I mess up Master just adds 5 to the spanking count. (And trust me when I say these are not erotic spankings.) Every week I’ve averaged about 20 to 30, and almost always for not saying Sir or Master(grrr). This time though, I was still at zero up until He told me to post that damn toilet picture. Then I zipped right on up the number line with the arguing. I’m at a firm 30 *again*. Anyway, I’m just really glad I did the tasks…lol

Because Master’s work load/stress level is rather heavy right now, He’s given me a sort of task guideline instead of assigning a task each day. He just didn’t have the time to devote to it. The guideline is working out pretty well, I rather prefer it as it gives me a little more leeway on some things. It’s pretty simple really, there is cunt torture day and breast torture day, orgasm torture day (oh I just hate that one.. *grin*), you get the idea. So unless He does give me something specific, like with the toilet the other day, I’ve got a pretty good window of options there.

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I’m just trying out some file hosting places.

My new favorite song.

Angel

Let me know if it works, please?

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A Letter

Because I need to clear my mind a bit. A complete change of pace.

A letter

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Kiss anyone?

A quote from the Boss.
“Welcome to your new world…..I say..you do. Period.”

I didn’t want to do this yet. I’m sorry. I temporarily forgot that it no longer matters what *I* want. I have since been corrected. I haven’t worked it all out yet, you know?

I haven’t quite figured out the purpose of this. I’m a reason girl. What. Why. I always ask why.

Why do I have to do that?

Because I want you to.

What did I do?

Nothing.

I attack it from all angles. I have to. I have to feel the wall for cracks. If there is a way out, I will find it. And I will take it.

There is nothing. No cracks. No soft spots.

Do it. And take pictures. And a video.

Immediately sensing this moment right here, right now, I balk.

Why pictures and a video?? What for? Not to post. I can’t post that. I can’t!

Did I say post it or did I say take it? Now do it. Click. And the phone buzzes static in my ear.

I can’t stop my mind from searching for the moment that I messed up. When had I earned this punishment. In spite of Him denying it to be a punishment, it has to be. This cannot be a… just because. Not this! There are “just because” spankings and “just because” times to contemplate life in the corner and “just because” nipple pinches, but “just because” disgusting toilet cleaning with my tongue??

I can’t come up with anything. I’ve been good. Really. So it must be. Just because.

Just because He said to. Just because I’m the cunt. Just because He *can* order me to lick a dirty toilet clean…. and He knows I will.

I walked into the bathroom probably 20 or 30 times. Walked in, pretended that I had something to do in there. Need a Q-tip. Need to brush my hair. Surreptitiously looking at the toilet. Judging, without touching, the germ level. Eyeing the visible filth. Trying to remember when I last cleaned in there, and oh my God, has it been *that* long??

But hey.. I just needed a Q-tip.

The phone rang. I dived for it. Surely He was calling to laugh, to joke. “I sure fucked with your head this time, didn’t I baby?” I was smiling as I answered, ready to sheepishly admit, yep, yep you got me this time. Silly Master.

“Hello.”

“Do not wash it first. Bye.” Click.

And some few moments later, an email. One line.

“Where are My pictures.”

He’d cut me off. I’d been given my instructions and He’d had enough questions, enough stalling. Even as I knelt down beside the toilet, I gripped the phone tightly in my hand, still hoping and willing it to ring. Still not believing that He was going to make me do this…. and I hadn’t done anything!

Not believing it, until I took the first lick.

And that’s about where my head has stayed all day. Along with the taste.. the taste that will not be brushed out. Listerine isn’t touching it. I can still feel it, on my tongue. I can feel the taste. Or.. perhaps.. I’m tasting my own humiliation.

It was a long wait. Waiting for Him to view the pictures. To approve or disapprove. My skin crawled with the need to hear His feedback. Good or bad didn’t matter…. what mattered was, am I still worthy of feedback?

There would be a large, but brief, flash of humiliation as He browsed through the pictures. I knew that. I was prepared for it. Bite my lip, answer the degrading questions…

“Did it taste good, cunt?”

“Did you puke?”

… and then it would be over.

It’s not as humiliating when no one sees it. Didn’t you know that? It’s not going to cut right down to the bone, I’m not going to get the full flavor, I’ll be cheated of the whole experience if no one else sees it.

And He’d be denied the opportunity to gut me. And that, ladies and gentlemen, does not happen.

It’s not enough that I wrote about it. It’s not enough that everyone already knew and could simply imagine it. Oh that was enough for me! That was more than enough… because, just maybe, one or two or three of you would read that and think “oh that girl is not going to go lick a toilet clean just because some man told her to! That’s crazy! She’s lying!”

Somebody might think that and I could save face. A little. Isn’t it better to be thought of as a lying crazy bitch than a cunt who’d drop to her knees and suck pubic hair and days old urine droplets off of the rim of a dirty toilet at the one line command of a man who isn’t even here!

We can’t have that. Master said so.

Picture

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Pet my pets. :)

I’m not ready to talk about today. I don’t know if I will be any time soon. And I want that post off of the front page… sooo..

Here’s animal love. Animal love always makes me feel better.

When little tubbo started climbing out of her penned off corner, I was scared to death that the dog was going to gobble her up. Lil tubbo is just a juicy snack to our giant dog, albiet a fuzzy one. But instead, the dog hardly lets the kitty out of his sight. Kitty climbs all over him and the dog seems content with an occasional kitty-butt sniff…lol

Here, I’m admonishing the dog to be nice and he’s yelling at me for it. (and if anyone knows why these videos are loading so dark, please share. They aren’t dark when I take them. Thanks.)

Sutter and lil tubbo

More pics of the dog and kitty

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