From kaya’s Master AGAIN

Greetings to everyone,

I read someone online, someone indirectly bashing OUR lifestyle…mainly meaning My and kaya’s. They stated..they don’t understand how we can live the way we do and do the things that we do. From all Pyscho books that I have read, being on debate teams and studying theology, seems to me….that, least not judge, unless ye be judged as well. (rumor has it there are a LOT of skeletons in the closets out there….)

So Let’s ponder the statements….*paraphrasing of course*. They can’t understand how………. My question is…have you asked..have you attempted to understand or is the perspective just single and narrow minded/skewed vision of what the world should be like…I believe this is why we are fighting over in Iraq….WE feel the world should be one way….and the people we are fighting feel it should be another way…who is right..who is wrong…..

Subject change:::::
To understand how we got to the point where kaya and I are…we sat down for hours, days and months..and discussed what we would like to explore….what we didn’t want to explore…what are hard limits…what are soft limits…it took SEVERAL MONTHS and we are currently still learning and exploring.

There are many many many facets to the D/s lifestyle. Gold diggers, painsluts, kink seekers and hardcore people. Some may think we are hardcore, but I know people that are way more hardcore than us. DO I judge them…….NO, but I look to see if they are happy…..if they are happy..it’s all good…..if it’s consensual and nobody is getting hurt, unless it’s the way they want to be hurt…it’s all good….

(my apologies for jumping around)

So, with the above paragraph stated….HOW can someone judge another person? What’s right/normal/sane for one person is totally unacceptable to another. I am glad my cunt showed me the comments….I enjoy reading them..both the negative and positive comments…..criticism…to me..both negative and positive is constructive. NOT destructive..if used properly.

But, one thing that doesn’t change in the lifestyle, whomever the lifestyle it belongs to (straight, vanilla, gay, lesbian, D/s, etc)..is respect. I respect other people’s RIGHTS, and THEIR lifestyles. I don’t judge other people’s desire to pursue happiness (within the legal bounds of the law)….THIS lifestyle that kaya and I follow is what makes us happy. If you would like to discuss it further….leave a comment with your email and I will respond to you as promptly as I can.

A parting thought…to nitpick something negatively..is to obsess about it…see again..taking the negative and turning into a positive…so again..I thank you for the comments *GRINS*

M

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“A little water is a sea to an ant”

On our last night home alone we’d headed to bed fairly early. I was sitting on the bed waiting for Him to finish His bathroom/toothbrushing stuffs and to come lock me in. He’d been chattering to me about something or other through the open door, when He came into the bedroom and stopped mid-sentence.

“I’ll give you to the count of three.” He said quietly.

My eyes went wide, my heart skipped a beat and my breath caught in my throat. I looked at Him, He looked at me. He crossed His arms and gave me “The Look”. I gulped.

“One.”

Frantically, I cast my mind out, searching for what He was talking about. It was something that I was obviously supposed to know or He’d simply tell me what it was. I reached up and felt my neck even though I already knew my collar was on. It hadn’t been off for days. All four cuffs were also on. Mentally I fast forwarded through His bedtime routine. Blow job was done. Foot massage done.

“Two.”

Panic squirted, hot and bitter, into my mouth. I held the key to the chain in my hand, ready to present to Him to be locked in so that wasn’t it. I’d done everything else! I looked quickly around the room, searching for something out of place, something amiss. My bladder cramped and then I saw it. His empty nightstand, devoid of one perspiring, ice cold glass of water.

“Thr-”

“I’m going!” I squealed, interrupting Him, and sprang off the bed.

His eyes bored into me as I got closer to Him. Instinctively, I crossed my arms over my chest and planted my bare butt against the wall as I tried to sidle by Him through the doorway that He filled. But halfway through He leaned against me, trapping me between Himself and the wall.

“You’re going to start getting into trouble for this, if you aren’t already.” He said sternly. “I’ve had to remind you of this every night I’ve been home.”

I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t deny it. I hadn’t remembered the water one time. I just kept my eyes down and waited to be released. He did, straightening up and letting me by. And isn’t that the hardest thing ever, to have to walk by, leaving your ass as an open target when They’ve been irked? *sigh*

But as I was in the kitchen getting the water, I became rather indignant. It’s not my fault He’s away more nights than He’s home. By the time I got back to the bedroom, I was heading toward sulking “it’s not fair!” thinking.

I’m not allowed to pass Him the glass from the foot of the bed, nor can I get in on my side and hand it to Him. I have to walk around to His side and place it on His nightstand. I sneaked a peek at His face to see if He was over it yet.

He wasn’t.

He watched my every movement, lips thin and straight, brow furrowed. That unnerves me. It’s hard enough being observed when I’m naked and He’s in a good mood, but it strips me inside to be scrutinized so closely when He’s irritated and clearly plotting my demise.

By the time I’d made it back to the foot of the bed, my skin crawling with the weight of His gaze, I had to start talking. Nervous babble. It was either that or sink out of sight behind the foot board so I could catch my breath. Unfortunately, my babble always consists of whatever is on my mind -minus the ‘censor’ function.

“It’s not MY fault Master! You aren’t here enough for me to make it a habit. I can’t help it! I just forget.”

He just looked at me. I stood on my side of the bed, fiddling with the bed sheet, not quite brave enough to get within arms reach of Him. I went on.

“I mean really! If anyone is to blame here, this is entirely YOUR…” my little fairy finally woke up and smacked me upside the head. “…fault.” I finished lamely.

He just closed His eyes and shook His head. “Bed. Now.”

So I dropped it. Grateful that He’d not busted me then for my mouth and not willing to push my luck. Who says I’m a slow learner, eh? ;)

But I brought it up again the next day in the car.

I’m not sure what I’m looking for from Him. I feel guilty, such a failure for consistently missing this rule. And it’s not just been recently, I’ve struggled with remembering that stupid glass of water since day one. I want to be absolved from the responsibility I guess. I don’t know.

Maybe I just want validation, that it is indeed very difficult to remember things that I am only supposed to remember once in awhile. I want Him to pat me on the head and say “it’s ok baby. I understand.”

But He didn’t.

As soon as I brought it up, He sighed. “No kaya. You know what your rules are. I’m not accepting any lame-ass excuses and I haven’t decided on an appropriate punishment yet.”

“I don’t forget on purpose You know.” I said defensively. “I don’t see how this is a punishable offense. It’s an honest mistake.” I held my hands up and shrugged. “How can I make this part of a routine if You aren’t home?”

(Yes I was trying to hit below the belt. Trying to take the focus off of my failure and put it on to Him. And yes, I am thoroughly ashamed.)

“Fine. Then you do it every night whether I’m there or not. Get the glass of water, put it on my nightstand, every. single. night. Now you’ll have no excuse for it ‘not being routine’.”

“Oh great. Now I have to serve You when You aren’t even there??”

“Yep.”

“Fine!”

“Pardon?”

“Yes Sir.” and I stared glumly out the window.

And I’ve been obsessing over it ever since. Why? Why this rule? I have a lot of rules, I think, and it’s just this one that kicks my ass. I want it taken away. Just… damn. You know?

Okay. So I know there seems to be no point to all of that, and certainly no dramatic or humorous outcome. It’s simply something I’m struggling with and of all the many many hard aspects of power exchange that there are to struggle with, I’m tripped up over a god damn glass of water. Maybe that’s just it. All the paces He puts me through, most especially this last week, and I came through them beautifully (if I do say so myself). I made the adjustment without a hitch, I took what He gave and it would have been a perfect, perfect time together if not for the water glass.

Anyway, there. It was on my mind and now it’s not. :D

I know I have so very much more exciting and kinky things to share and show and say. It’s just been very hard for me to get it all… um… in coherent words I guess. All in good time I suppose.

Master’s still here so He’s keeping me busy. We picked the kids up yesterday and my daughter LOVED her room. We got new furniture so I’ve been in rearrange heaven, too. The dog was sick and left me so very many nasty messes to clean up. The kids start school tomorrow and I’ve been getting a fashion show for “ohmyGod MOM! What do I wear????!!” It’s been hectic, which leaves me no time to process and make those pictures into stories.

So… Saturday is Ren Faire for anyone wanting to go. Penguinskitty, magdala? That work for y’all? We’ll have kidlets with us so don’t expect me to be in collar and cuffs. ;) I’d love to see you there though, if you can make it.

That’s all for now. Master keeps coming in here and touching me or talking to me which means ‘wrap it up, girlie girl’. :D

bluebelle… check your email sugarplum. :)

~cunt

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The Importance of Asking Permission.

The Importance of Asking Permission.

First and foremost, it’s one of my rules. Any rules set forth by Master are to be obeyed. My thoughts and feelings about a rule can be expressed with permission at another time but my approach to all rules should be obedient. Disobedience, whether intended or not, shows disrespect and a lack of trust. It is important to ask permission, quite simply, because Master said so. Though that seems a very simplistic and elementary approach to a loaded question, BDSM can be made murky by opinions and thoughts and the ever-popular “my kink, your kink”, not to mention the SSC slogan. So for simplicity’s sake, if I need to reduce it to the fundamentals; Master said so therefore I shall.

Asking permission is essentially the process of me handing my free will over to Master. It’s the learned process of accepting that nothing, including my own thoughts, belong to me anymore. Everything about me, my ideas, my opinions, my feelings, my impulses, become subject to His approval, thereby rendering *me* nothing more than an extension of Him. My actions, my words, my thoughts are only mine as He allows me to have them. Asking permission allows Him the framework within He can begin directing me.

It’s a psychological process. There’s a greater authority than me that will provide what He thinks I need. Similar to that of a child who must rely on a parent to have his needs met, so do I have to rely on Master. This creates a bond, a deep seated emotional and physical bond, that connects me to Him with all the strength and importance of an umbilical cord. In order to continue the process of becoming a slave, I must adhere to the strictness of realizing that my decisions are not my own. The repercussions of acting without permission, or of failing to ask, are that the bond will weaken, or at least not have the opportunity to deepen. I’m sabotaging the process by not asking permission. When a child is born and the cord is cut, it’s the beginning of a long process of teaching independence and ultimately, separation. This process of becoming Master and slave is the exact reversal of that. He’s dismantling my independence to force me to become entirely dependent on Him. Just as damaging as it would be to a child to have an overbearing overprotective parent who doesn’t allow the roots of independence to form, so it is just as damaging to operate on an independent level away from Master’s input. Though I may already know the answer, the act of asking permission strengthens that bond every single time. And each time I don’t ask, it weakens.

Master has accepted this responsibility with seriousness and determination. He’s pledged to take me, to own me, to recreate me as His ideal slave.

I’ve accepted His ownership. I promised to love, trust and obey.

When I step away from those facts, and make what is seemingly a minor decision about myself without His input, the message I am sending is that I don’t trust in Him to provide. I cannot move off on my own to accomplish a task that may or may not have been on His agenda for me without that having some effect on His plans for me. He has a master plan for how I am to be trained. Asking permission first ensures that I am not disrupting His plan.

Free thinking is detrimental to realizing that my time is no longer mine but now belongs to Him. He decides how I manage my time because it’s HIS time. When I decide for myself how I’m going to spend x amount of time, I’ve rescheduled His time as well and that is not within a slave’s power to do.

Having to ask permission is a simple and effective reminder of my place. My place as a slave, a woman who no longer holds power over my own actions or decisions.My place as His owned object who makes no move beyond His defined acceptance. Asking permission also reinforces to me that I am not the one with the power. I am not an equal partner in this relationship. I am His possession.

I cannot decide what and when to eat. I cannot decide when or where to relieve myself. I cannot decide what goes into or on this body. It’s not my body anymore. I have to treat it with all the politeness and respect that I would treat anything else that doesn’t belong to me. It’s not mine to use anymore. It’s His, and it’s His permission that I must obtain to use it. Taking it upon myself to use this body as my own carries with it the potential to leave it unusable for Master’s purposes. That’s tantamount to snatching a belonging out of His hand and breaking it. Asking permission before I act allows Master the opportunity to decide if what I am asking to do interferes with His own plans for His object first. Failure to ask implies that I know better what should be done with His belongings than He does.

The same reasoning applies to my mental processes as well. Though thoughts and feelings may still come up because I will always contain human flaws, I do not own the power of free expression. What is expressed and what is said should be at the direction of Master. Also, free expression would mean that He’s subject to being exposed to things that He may not wish to be,( i.e. my opinions.). Asking permission before speaking ensures that He’s open to listening and not me moving into a place of forcing myself upon Him and upsetting that power balance. It’s a logical method that over time, my thoughts and opinions will begin to be shaped by His as they are subjected to His approval to be expressed. From expression to the very moment of thinking it, it will be under His direction. That’s a goal that was agreed upon and discussed. But every time I step outside of those clearly defined roles and rules, I halt, if not backsliding, the thought-training process. That’s an exceptionally damaging and disrespectful thing to do.

Making decisions without thought to obtaining Master’s permission takes from His hands the ability to maintain responsibility for me. If He doesn’t know where I am or what I am doing, how can He protect me? I’ve removed myself from the safety net of His control by not asking permission. I’ve exposed His possession to things that He may not have wanted it exposed to. I’ve been the cause of worry and concern, I’ve created undue stress for Him. I’ve made Him devote time and energy to me, that He possibly did not have the time or energy for. I’ve become the manager of His time instead of the other way around.

As a slave, my first instinct should be to provide for Master’s pleasure in all things first. From His emotional, sexual, physical comfort to caring for His belongings with respect and responsibility. I am not creating a pleasurable environment if I’m being disobedient. My failure to request permission on how to care for His belongings (me) only creates more work for Him, as He first has to expend energy to correct me and then has to expend energy to correct the damage I may have done to myself. It’s not up to me to decide what I consider to be damaging anymore as I no longer belong to me, I belong to Him.

Asking permission keeps Master at the very forefront of my mind at all times. It reinforces that everything I do is done at His discretion and at His direction. Failing to ask signifies that I’ve let Master slip to the back of my mind which is not acceptable. It’s important to stop before taking action and to go to Master and ask first. Not doing so denies Him the right to express His desires about the action in question. It doesn’t matter if I am 100% confident that I know what the answer is. It matters that I don’t take from Him the right to grant permission.

Being allowed to have things that I want, or to do things that bring me pleasure need to be thought of as a gift from Him to me. Those things are not my inalienable rights anymore. I don’t have inalienable rights. I have alienable rights. My rights are no longer defined by the Constitution, by God, by laws made by politicians. I’ve ceased existing as a regular person under the norms of society. I exist as an object under the rules defined by Master. His reward to me is in granting me the things that I enjoy, the music I like, the books I want to read, the tv shows I like to watch, a comfortable chair to sit in. If I take those things at will and as I desire, they cease to exist as a reward. Again, I’ll have taken from Him the right to decide, all by neglecting to ask permission.

Asking permission increases His power. It’s a powerful feeling to have a slave begging permission at Your feet for something as simple and necessary as a bathroom break, or a bite to eat. That power increases with each request for permission to have basic human rights. The power grows and expands, building a sense of confidence and increasing His sense of responsibility. His power includes the ability to make or break me and I feed that every time I humbly ask if I may do something. I starve it each time I don’t.

The process of micro-management isn’t so that He will have to micro-manage me forever. It’s so I will learn that I don’t exist without His input. In time, hopefully, I’ll internalize these truths and everything will become second-nature and reflexive. And at that point, Master will have made me into His ideal cunt. His toy, His slave. Not the slave to suit anyone else’s kinky desires, but the one custom-made to fit Him. My failing to ask permission for something as mundane and innocent as a library card only signifies that I am not there yet. The work is not over.

What this assignment has shown me is that I am getting there. Though I admit that it didn’t occur to me to get permission to stop at the library and get a card, I can see by comparison that I do routinely ask permission for almost every single move I make. Which is incredible progress from where we started. It’s highlighted how close the end goal is. The library card was a spur of the moment choice, and while the card itself is minor, failing to ask permission is not. Asking permission is a very important and vital aspect of this path that I travel and it’s taken that particular mistake and this assignment to clearly define why. I can promise you, Master, that this has opened my eyes to many things.

I am sorry for my mistake and I thank You for taking the time and effort to correct me and to ensure that I learn from it.

~Your cunt.

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The View

A view from the Top

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Pictures are worth a thousand words

Greetings All. Here is just a quick sample of why kaya can’t come to the puter. Hope you enjoy…..there’s MORE to come.

M

pictures behind cut

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From kaya’s Master

Just thought I would let you know that kaya is tied up at the moment. She will be unavailable for the next day or so for posting comments, pictures or answering comments. *wicked evil grins* She is all mine and I am NOT gonna share her even one little bit. Sorry……Just that I’m a selfish Master.

With regards to the Liar post, it was fun making her sore and all……Flying for a total of 30 plus hours, I was able to get some sleep / rest; if a person calls it that.

She isn’t in trouble for most of the stuff she was commenting on. Even though she should be…she’s just so darn cute and all…..love the smile, the anguish and all that she put herself through…what more could I DO???? Nothing I could do would even come close to the mental punishments she put herself through..so it’s all good. Just have to get a new speaker set..WOOHOOO….*GRINSSSSSSSSSSSSSS*…..maybe just have to put a clamp on the power output so she can’t blow this set of speakers….besides..I think they were damaged in the move…..and they are like Older speakers anyways…..

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm Playtime was great…she should have good pictures…even some movies…if I so desire to share them with you all. Any requests???? Not that we don’t have enough ideas for ourselves….but…since I am home….happy…sated…I am in a giving mood.

Hope everyone had a great weekend. We were supposed to go to a Faire..but I just wanted to stay home and veg out. Maybe next weekend, unless I have to travel…anyone wanting to meet up at the Bristol Ren Faire..we’ll most likely 90% chance be there..unless work/family issue pops up.

Only thing to do is take care of her punishments…she’s getting better..she is a great lil slave, cunt, slut, object, toy….and a few other things. Three words says it all……It’s all good.

M

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Liars!

You said jet lag would slow Him down

You said He’d be tired.

You said nothing but sleep for a day or two.

Then why is my pussy screaming at me? My jaw is permanently cramped.

Damn but it’s good to have Him home.

:D

~cunt

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~le sigh~

According to the United website, Master’s final flight from O’Hare to here was canceled. It doesn’t say why, no information at all. Just canceled.

Considering that He’s not yet landed from the flight from Los Angeles (because it was delayed) and the other flight would have left in about 30 minutes, He wouldn’t have made the plane anyway.

I don’t know what He’s going to do. I just sit here and wait,… wait for a phone call, wait for Him, wait for *something*.

I’m ready at least. No more manic episodes going on here. Just nerves and even those are calming. No matter what deviance is coming my way, He’ll make sure I get through it. Possibly in a thousand shattered pieces but through it all the same.

It soothes me to know He’s close, getting closer. I’ll drive to O’Hare and get Him if I have to. I’ve been there before.

Whatever He wants me to do, I will do.

That’s comforting. I’ve been holding on to that today. This changing of the guards that we do, transferring the ‘power’ from me to Him is routine really. I hate getting the boss’s hat, then I settle in to the boss’s hat, then I panic at having to give up the boss’s hat and then, now, today, I realize I don’t want the boss’s hat and can’t wait to thrust it back to Him.

It’ll hurt but then it will be over and things will be as they should be again. So that’s where I’m at right now. Holding the phone and waiting. Who knows, you may hear from me yet again tonight. I can’t guess how He’s going to deal with a canceled flight after being awake and traveling and suffering jet lag for about 48 hours now.

I know what I would have done. I’d have been sucking my thumb, humming and rocking in a corner somewhere. But that’s why He’s the Master and I’m not. He’s not prone to histrionics, no drama, no fanfare. Being the neurotic emotional one is my role. :D

He doesn’t respond to my drama either. That was hard to get used to. I was spoiled by men who’d react appropriately (my definition of appropriate) when I was being my drama queen self. It was pure manipulation, using my female wiles to get my way. It always worked, but then I’d completely lose respect for the guy. And forget about submitting to them.

Master is steady though. I can’t manipulate Him to save my soul. I admire it, and of course it’s led to my being able to submit so freely and so deeply, but it still burns my ass now and then. He’s not playing by my rules, you know. It’s not fair. ;)

Well.. no phone call yet. He’s probably just landing in Chicago. I suppose I’ll go hurry up and wait some more.

Thank you all for the good and fun and painful wishes for us. I’m sure He’ll get around to fulfilling them all. For any of you who have sent me emails in the last little while, I’ll reply to them sometime a little later. I’ve been kind of preoccupied (and frankly, quite insane) and I much prefer to answer emails when I’m halfway intelligent. They’ll make more sense to you, I promise. I do read them though and I appreciate them all.

(Is that a cop out? Making a general reply here? It’s rude isn’t it? I’m sorry.)

(Can you tell I’m stalling?)

(Is this annoying?)

(~cunt)

(I almost forgot! Enema retention time today: 10 minutes!! w00t! Progress. :D)

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I’m going to try and make a sensible post. No promises though. While I’m not quite as frazzled as I was earlier today, I’m not exactly calm either. blackpantheras and kethrybp near about tried to kill me with letting me think Master’s flight was landing tonight and not tomorrow. It really was confusing though, the whole IDL and time change. It’s sorted now though, thank God, and thank you both for reminding me to breathe. :D

One good thing about thinking Master was landing 24 hours earlier than I expected was that I busted ass getting some stuff done. Even after I had the time figured out, I was working myself into a tizzy. All I’ll have to do tomorrow now is a quick trip to the grocery store and shining myself up.

I noticed just a little bit ago, as I was putting away some cd’s that I’d had out, that I hadn’t turned the radio on all day. That’s very unusual for me, to work in a silent house, but it’s also indicative of things boiling away in my head. I can sing or I can think, but not both together. Today I thought.

During my cleaning spree today, I’d gotten so agitated that I made myself nauseous. I was hot, pouring sweat, making quick running trips to the bathroom ‘just in case’ and then pushing myself back to work. Even after I knew I had until tomorrow evening before He’s home. It’s 1am and I’m still thinking of what needs to be done.

I kept asking myself.. why. Why am I doing this to myself? The house isn’t dirty. It’s never dirty. At most, it gets messy but I’m a fairly clean person, even without any chore schedule. I’m prepared for company (not that I’ll answer the door or let anyone in, but the house is acceptable) most of the time.

And it’s not as if Master expects perfection. He’s never done the white glove treatment, nor would He ever (I don’t think). He *always* compliments me on my housekeeping skills. (Is that a skill? A talent?..lol. I can’t sing but by God I can wash the hell out of some dishes.)

kethry asked me something, in the midst of my mini-nervous-breakdown today, something to the effect of “is He coming home to see you or to see a clean house?” At the time, I shrugged off the question because it doesn’t matter which He’s coming home to see. He’s getting both, whether He likes it or not.

And then magdala posed this to me, in response to my routine vs. His routine. “might be that there is some part of us that wants validation that what we do matters that it is important and that we are recognized.”

I tried to apply that to why I was fanatically scrubbing walls and trying to hot glue a rug to make it stay in it’s place, to the tune of making myself physically ill.

Do I want to knock His socks off when He walks in the door, with a brilliantly clean house? Yes. Do I want recognized for it? Of course. Do I want validated, want my hard work praised? Yes.

And I get all those things. Always. Master may be a hard ass and He may be strict and mean and all those other things but He also piles on the praise for me on a number of things. I am not ever lacking in recognition.

And I don’t think thats why I do it. I think I’d get the same praise if I just did the standard house cleaning. I’m not even sure if He really notices washed walls or cleaned out cupboards. He certainly doesn’t know if I wash the floor with a rag on my hands and knees or with a mop. (Hands and knees just get the floor cleaner. No way around it.) He won’t know, unless I tell Him, that I took everything off of, and out of, the entertainment center so I could pull it out and clean behind it, organizing the various cords, and dusting. Thats no small job when you realize there are probably 100 VHS movies crammed into the bottom cupboards, all of them taken out and dusted, which lightened the unit enough so that I could move it.

He’s not coming home to see dusted VHS tapes that we never, ever watch. He’s coming home to see me. Yet even when I thought He was going to be in tonight, I still pushed myself to clean and hadn’t yet gotten into the shower or shaved or worried about my own appearance.

I do this every single time before He comes home. Every day that He’s supposed to be home is a day of marathon work, of sweating, of stressing, worry and panic. Panic that I won’t get it *all* done when there isn’t anything that I *need* to get done that isn’t already done in the first place.

I dusted His fishing lures. Why??

Maybe I’m afraid He’ll get sick of me. Tired of the responsibility, the extra work that is me. Maybe I’m trying to make up for all He has to do by wowing Him when He walks in the door. “See Master? I’m worth keeping around! Who else will organize your winter boots and line them up according to the coat they match?”

Like that’s an accurate measurement of a slave. I can wipe fingerprints off walls and keep the stove shiny.

Maybe I just don’t know *what* I’m supposed to be doing to impress Him anymore. The things that I do specifically for Him, His laundry, cleaning His apartment, cooking for Him when He’s home.. none of those things require that I stay home all day every day. None of them.

But pulling carpet and painting and wall-papering and organizing and reorganizing the various shelves and bins that line the basement walls do. Do you know how many times I have done that? Numerous. More than I can count. And we’ve only been back here for…. 5 months. In 5 months I’ve sorted, binned, stacked, restacked, and moved “stuff” probably 10 times.

I’ve ripped the carpet out of two rooms. We’ve knocked down a wall (at my request). I spent days and days scraping wall paper off the kitchen walls so I could paint it properly. I’ve rearranged the furniture in every room multiple times. I have other projects lined up. My son’s room, the bathroom, hallway. I have to keep adding to the list. I have to keep the projects stacked or…. or what?

He realizes He doesn’t need me here anymore.

I think it’s the consistent separations that do this. That whittle the value of my slavery down to such mundane things. I’m not able to regularly show Him my worth as a slave. The every-day advantages aren’t optional. No daily blow jobs, no home-cooked meals every night, I can’t bathe Him in the morning before work or make His coffee. I can’t do His routine for Him every day like He’d prefer. I got nothing to show off for the time apart except for some raunchy badly aimed photos of a woman who’s rapidly getting fatter and more wrinkled and feeling old, and a damn clean house.

This isnt another post lamenting the woes of living apart. Not really. The choice is made and it’s not going to be changed. I’m not moving the kids and thats that. Master is not changing His job (that I know of..lol) so this is it. I’ve gotten used to the idea of Him having His own place. The furniture and dishes were spread out. That was hard.. it was a punch in the gut every time I thought about it. His own place. That’s what couples who are splitting up say, His place and my place. Splitting up the valuables. Knowing it wasn’t like that did little to quiet the fears. It’s better now. I’m able now to just set things aside, things that need to go to His place. I call it His house. I refer to it that way, ask Him when He’s going home when He’s here. He always corrects me, says “I am home. This is home.” and I nod impatiently and repeat myself, because I still need the answer. “When are you going home?”

It wouldn’t be quite so bad if I didn’t think He would rather be there than here. Sometimes, between the kids and the constant stream of friends and children at the door, on the phone or in the yard… the animals… the kittens are climbing the front of His speakers and that is so NOT going to make Him smile. The noise and activity and chaos can make even me wish for Calgon to perform it’s magic. When He has a whole ‘nother world of peace and quiet to go to, I suspect He longs for it. Then I get anxious about the noise and mess and try to minimize it or eliminate it all together so that He doesn’t wish He were there and not here, which keeps me on pins and needles, worried about stupid shit.

Maybe the obsessive need for perfection when He comes home is to prove to Him that in spite of the chaotic home, His slave can still keep things clean?

I don’t know! Any of you know? Are any of you still awake?? I haven’t bored you to sleep yet?

I would write more (whether you are awake and reading or not…lol) because I have lots more in there, I’ve just scratched the surface of my current angst but my ass and legs are done for for the night.

If the house should catch on fire, I’m kicking this fucking bench into the flames. And He keeps talking about “doing the washing machine” too. The washing machine was a little move He started doing with the other bitch bench. You know, the “nice” one. The padded footstool with the gentle 60 grit sandpaper. He would take it, while I was on it of course, and jerk it around really fast, the way a washing machine agitates. It hurts like a mofo and would leave me bloodily abraded and that was with the *nice* one! If He does that with this one, it’ll be like skidding off a motorcycle and getting road rash.

*sigh*

This jumbled, messy post is dedicated to daddysgirl because she said she liked them. Send all complaints pertaining to length, boredom, nonsensory(its a word in kaya’s world) and having QWERT imprinted on your sleeping forehead to her. :D

Thank you and have a nice day.

(I don’t know if I’ll be back this way tomorrow or when. Everything depends on how severe the jet lag is, what He wants to do, etc. I’m more than content to curl up next to Him and sleep for three days. I miss that so bad.)

So have a great weekend if I don’t make it back before then. Bye!

~cunt

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I can’t believe I ate the whole thing!

Ack! I almost forgot my Pussy Post!

Not that I can forget about my pussy today because it is some kind of sore. This “something better be inserted if I’m sitting” rule can stop any day now.

Which brings up something.

When I was talking to Master the other day, He made mention of looking forward to getting home so He could watch me eat off the floor. It brought me up short to hear that. It hadn’t occurred to me that all of these restrictions, rules, task, whatever you wanna call them, would continue when He was home. A duh moment? Well yes!

I don’t know why I thought that. I just assumed these rules were things to keep me busy while He was away and that things would return to normal (as normal as things can be around here) when He got home.

Apparently not.

Anyway, I’m trying to catch up on comments at the moment. I had wanted to do a post but it would be no more productive than last nights so I’m not sure that I’ll even attempt it. I also know there are some comments that I won’t get to. My apologies for that.

Thank you for the help/info on the flight times. For those of you who gave me mini-heart attacks all day by telling me His flight was coming in tonight and not tomorrow, I will send you the therapy bill. :D

But more on that later perhaps. I got my Pussy Post in!

magdala, darling, honeybunches (of oats), you don’t want to look. It’s plastic! I have food insertion phobias! How strange is that coming from me? Of all the god awful things that have made their way into my cunt/mouth/ass, I shy away from food. You just never know about a person, do ya!? But.. I will do corn. You can watch for that. And as much as I hated your pom pom suggestion, you can bet I’ll be in the store buying them tomorrow… :P

Pussy Post

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