I earned my cape this time around. ;-)

That’s a happy man right there.

~cunt

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A Letter to Master

Dear Master,

It would seem to most people that using livejournal as a means to talk to You is impersonal or silly. After all, when You read this, I’ll probably be kneeling right next to You. It should be just as easy for me to tell You what I want to say.

But livejournal has been a valuable tool for us over the years. I can write to You here what my tongue trips over itself trying to say outloud. This journal has assisted us along so many, many growth spurts, as Master and slave, as husband and wife, and as parents. So it seems fitting now, that I do this here.

You know we’re coming up on our one year anniversary. One year of being Your wife. Do You remember how worried I was those few weeks before the ceremony? So terrified of being ‘demoted’ to wife, and losing my place as Your cunt, Your slave, Your property. What a silly girl I can be.

You’ve shown me, many times over, that being Your wife has only deepened the bond that we held as Master and slave. It’s cemented to me that You own me. Forever.

Over this last year, we’ve walked a path, one beset with stumbling blocks and detours, but with many more times of clarity. We learn more about each other with every passing day, don’t we? I wake up every morning with You as my first thought. And I smile. Every single day.

I love You, more than I could ever express in words. More than I can show You. I’ve loved You since the moment I met You. It’s been a fantastic ride with You, Master. It’s been one year, and we have eternity to look forward to.

More than being a stellar husband and Master, You’ve been an outstanding father to my kids. They love You. (Now I’m crying like a sap and I can’t see the keyboard anymore.) Every parent out there will understand what I mean when I say that finding someone who loves your kids as fiercely as you love them yourself is a rare and priceless gift. It was hard for me to let You do that, hard for me to watch them grow to love You in return. I wanted to protect them, protect me, from the unknown and the uncertainties. But I have let go, a little at a time, and You’ve stepped in with open arms and an open heart. Amber said it best just a few short weeks ago. “He is my Dad.” And You are.

It’s hard for me to think of ways to show my appreciation for all that You do for us. I wanted very badly to come up with something amazing that would convey my gratitude, but my options are limited. I can’t buy You a winning lottery ticket or fly You to the moon. I can’t give You what You deserve. All I have is me. And You already own me.

Summer is almost over. Our favorite time of the year, what with the fishing and the camping and the fun. It’s getting cold and pretty soon it’ll be Wisconsin-winter again. Cold and snowy and windy. And while that brings it’s own pleasures, like cuddling up at night, I’m sad to see summer go.

It seems like we missed the whole season this year, doesn’t it? We didn’t go camping one time all summer! There were so many things going on with the kids. Jessa was here and there were trips to Illinois to be made. Graduation parties and work travels and kids this and kids that. The list was endless, as each weekend came and went, and the tent stayed in the shed, unused.

You never complained though. Nothing more than a few wistful comments of longing. You contented yourself with a few hours on the river bank with Your pole and Your fishing lures.

You work so hard for us. There is so much on Your plate, so many balls in the air, I marvel at how You keep it all together, and keep all of us smiling.

I love You.

We’re in what is probably the very last days of Indian summer, sunny and 70, and even though we’re still a couple of weeks away from our anniversary, I didn’t want to miss these last warm days. They won’t last long!

So pack Your bags (or better yet, I’ll pack Your bags) because we are going camping.

We’re leaving tomorrow as soon as You can get out of the office. I’ve reserved a beautiful rustic cabin for the weekend. And a fishing boat. I may even get on it, if only to show You how much I want You to have this weekend to enjoy Yourself, enjoy Your time outside, get out there on the water and relax. No worries, no stressing, no work allowed.

I know I should have asked permission before doing this. But sometimes a girl just needs to take care of her man.

Happy Early Anniversary Master.

Love,
Your little c.

Doesn’t it look gorgeous!

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We’re having dirt for supper.

Actually we’re having pot roast and garlic mashed potatoes for supper, but I WANT some of that there dirty dessert that I made.

It’s imperative that I figure out this begging thing before 5pm! I have to beg for chocolate!

You know what I love about this journal the very most? I can be feeling like the biggest failure, like the only one in the world who can’t master a simple request, but I post it here and find out that I’m not alone at all. That a lot of you struggle with the same stuff. I love that.

I’m totally in on the “care and feeding of your Dominant” handbook, missa. *snicker* We really should contribute to a manual of some sort. ;)

I liked what Leathers had to say in this comment. I can understand that, BUT, like most everyone else who commented, the persistence, to me, begins to feel like whining and would be irritating (I would think?). You use the child in the grocery store example, and that’s also a perfect example of WHY I wouldn’t want to do that. Even in a more appropriate, adult like manner, it’s still whining. Or feels like whining. It feels manipulative to use the “begging” to “force” Him to give me what I want.

Or I’m just looking at it completely wrong. I don’t know!

I like what teasybratt said here too. But, if what He wanted was to hear and see my “emotional degradation”, it would be sufficient that I stand there in front of Him, blushing and wringing my hands and *trying* to come up with something to say. And it’s not, at least not always. When that is enough and I get what I’ve “begged” for, I think it’s more that He takes pity upon me than that I’ve pleased Him with my begging skills.

Bah.

Well, I am taking extreme personal comfort in knowing that most of you suffer this embarrassment with me. I’ll be thinking of all of you when I’m pathetically trying to beg for that chocolate dirty dessert tonight! ;-)

~cunt

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“If begging should unfortunately be thy lot, knock at the large gates only”

A fews days ago I was giggling to myself about my horrid begging skills, and after mentioning it in that last post I’m gonna make a post on it all for itself.

Awhile ago, brooke made a post about begging too, in pretty much the same vein I’m going in. I told her then the same thing I’m telling all of you. I can’t beg.

I suck at begging.

Naturally Master loves to press the issue. Everything from food to bathroom breaks to orgasms, if He wants me to beg, it’s all downhill from there.

It’s not that I’m too stubborn to do it as much as I simply don’t know HOW. And since I don’t know how, I act like I’m getting mad so He’ll not do it very often. It goes something like this:

“Can I [fill in the blank], please Sir?” (right there with the initial request I’ve “begged” about as much as I know how)

“Beg.”

“Um. Please?”

Silence.

“Please Sir?”

“You must not want it very badly, cunt.”

“Erm. Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

Silence.

“Oh nevermind then! I don’t want it anymore!” (stomp off)

WHAT DOES HE WANT TO HEAR?!?!

And honestly, just how sexy is it to hear (or say!) a stammered out ‘pretty please with a cherry’ when you’re trying to come?

I’ve even tried saying something like “oh please my Lord and God, Master of my Universe, please, I beg you on my knees, humbled and degraded, may I please, if You desire, I beg of you to allow me to relieve myself in the bathroom. Please and thank You. Amen.”

But He didn’t like that either. Double-you-tee-eff, man?

I don’t know any other begging words except please. I can say please 800 times and still He looks at me with that expectant stare. I just get embarrassed and my mind goes blank and I decide He’s watched entirely too many actresses in porn movies. Because I can’t do what they do, yanno? I can’t, with a straight face, beg to have that rock hard cock slammed into my dripping wet slit.

Can’t do it.

Not even if I really WANT that rock hard cock slammed into my pussy, can I beg like that.

Begging embarrasses me and more often than not, if He tells me to beg for it, I’ll choose to go without. And it offends me to have to beg for something that is undeniably necessary (like food!) Well, I don’t know if ‘offend’ is the correct word. More that I’ll just refuse to do it because I know that eventually He’s going to have to cave and feed me.

Though it doesn’t seem to work that way. Not ever. I have that theory stuck in my head, yet every time I attempt to make that theory work He does that whole evil-eyed look and snatches a nipple or something and says in that low grumbly voice, “I said beg. Now.” and I do, all hissing and “mayipleaseSIR”.

But dammit I hate to beg. How do YOU do it? I need a script or something because ‘pretty please’ is really lame but it’s all I got. :(

~cunt

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Sometimes I swear the Universe’s writer is M/s.

Learning to disassociate your dream’s manifestation with the illusions that now surround you; to release one’s self from the burden of figuring out the hows; to trust what can’t be seen; are the high watermarks of creative enlightenment.

Wow -
The Universe

btw, we’re keeping the kitty. :D :D :D :D :D Master was still hemming and hawing until the kitty loved on Him at breakfast this morning. :D :D :D

The vet’s news wasn’t too bad. The kitten is really too young and small to get any medications. She was de-wormed, but can’t get any vacc’s or antibiotics just yet. The vet estimates her at about 5 weeks, possibly older but small due to being malnurished. She weighs 1.1 lb. The respitory thing she has *might* clear up on it’s own with proper nutrition and a healthy environment. If it gets worse (green discharge, lots of coughing/sneezing or lethargic) I’m to take her back and they’ll try and work out a dosage for medication. But right now, with her being so small and fragile, they want to avoid it if possible. So we’ll work on building her strength so she can get the shots she needs.

Support a good cause? Buy kinky krafts so I can pay for these critters! Please? I’m begging. On my knees. ;-)

~cunt

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It’s been awhile since I’ve had task pictures to post!

And this time, Master was here to help. w00t! (There is a part of me that loves and prefers having Master do the tasks, because I’ve never been a self-mutilator anyway. Yet, there’s another part that kinda wishes I was still in charge of the pain. Cuz, yanno, He’s mean. And I am not. :D)

He wanted to do clothespins with weights. But first I had to suck Him off. And, I gotta tell ya, in my humble and lowly opinion, He does it all backwards. I told Him so this morning too.

He’s doing it wrong.

According to kaya’s manual of bdsm, it’s supposed to go in this order here:

1. kaya gets played with.
2. kaya gets beat and hurt and just generally made to cry.
3. Master is then allowed to get horny.
4. kaya performs degrading sex acts while sniveling through snot and tears.
5. kaya gets fucked. Hard.
6 kaya gets fucked really hard.
7. for a long time.
8. kaya gets to orgasm.
9. Repeatedly and Often.
10. Master gets to orgasm.

So what is this business of Master coming before the toy closet is even opened, eh? It’s all ass-backwards and throws me off kilter! Who does He think He is to deviate from the script. Hmmph!

In all seriousness though, Master almost *always* either fucks me or has me suck Him off BEFORE we have a scene. Now to me, the scene is the foreplay, it’s the lead up to the main event. The pain and the atmosphere all work to make me dripping wet, steamy horny and ready to fuck.

Doing the deed before hand can very much lessen my enthusiasm for playing. Once I’ve orgasmed a time or seven, I just wanna go to bed! Granted, most of the time those pre-play fuck-n-sucks are for Master’s orgasm and not mine, but still. It irritates me that He doesn’t see the scene as the foreplay. It’s more like the desert after the main course for Him, when I’m still nibbling the appetizer!

We end up out of sync I guess. I let that bother me. I’m weird.

But to His extreme credit, nine times out of ten, He’s aroused again by the time the scene is done and He’s more than willing to fuck again. I just have my pre-conceived notions on how it should be and He doesn’t do it that way.

Jesus those are hard to let go of, aren’t they? I don’t even know where I got all these ideas on how it’s supposed to be but I have the hardest time letting Him replace my script with His.

And I suppose, if I’m going to really think about it from His angle, He gets His itch scratched whenever He wants, right? So if His itch is tickling ten minutes before the scene, what do I care? I do my thing, He’s happy, there’s no less enthusiasm from Him about the scene (just from me!) I still end up hurting and coming. AND! More than likely, His pre-play fucks relax Him enough to not rush through a scene just to get to the fucking.

The man likes to fuck. A LOT.

So why then, do I get on my knees with His cock in my mouth, waiting to play, and get all mopey because He’s doing it wrong!?!?

Because He just is. And last night was a perfect example of WHY it’s wrong.

We played. And here’s the pictures to prove it. Simple scene, simple task.

Clothespins and Weights

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The Newest Waif.

She(?) doesn’t have a name yet. It’s undecided if we’re keeping her or just nursing her back to health (I’ve decided that we’re keeping her but my decisions count for precisely ‘jack’ and ‘shit’) Anyway, we’ll see what the vet says this afternoon.

Isn’t she tiny?

More pictures of her back here

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Um. I dunno.

I want to post. I’ve wanted to post all day. It kinda pulls at you, don’t it? LJ is magnetized. Once upon a time I heard a rumor that McDonalds puts a mild addictive substance in it’s food to keep people coming back. Maybe LJ does the same?

At any rate, I’ve wanted to post and I have NOTHING to post about. Me, with nothing to babble about. Stop the presses.

But no matter. I have nothing to say but I’m posting anyway! Ha.

I think He’s got some plans for tonight but I’m not going to get all psyched up for it. If I do and it doesn’t happen then I get all kinds of pouty and put out. Master is so careful not to commit to anything these days that I’ve now started bitching about that instead of bitching about Him not following through on what He says! Now He says nothing. I’ve accused Him of being afraid of commitment. All I ever hear is “we’ll see”. We’ll see, we’ll see, we’ll see!

He can’t win for losing, the poor man. But at least I recognize my flaws. I’m not in denial or anything. I’m not fixing them, mind you, but I know they are there! ;-)

I’ve completely taken over Master’s workshop. What was once a finely organized manly cave of power tools is now covered with glue and pink paint and sparkly beads, arranged in kaya-style-disorganized-organization. He keeps saying He’s going to find another spot for me, but I rather like it there. I think I shall stay. I even have (mostly) free access to HIS stuff. I’m stepping up in the world, eh?

I’m “rescuing” a kitten from a house down the street. I’m taking it to the vet tomorrow, the poor thing is so fragile and bloated and icky-looking. I hate people who mistreat animals. :(

Oh! A while back someone said something about the washcloth treatment for taming birds. Care to elaborate at all? This little parakeet is better than she was but still pretty damn rotten. All you have to do is walk by the cage and she starts yelling at you. It’s funny, but really not ideal.

I guess that’s all. What a lame entry. I suck.

~cunt

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I guess I have time to play for awhile yet. ;)

I’ve seen this around on the f-list. I’m rather pleasantly surprised at the results.

Biological Age 36 years
Real Age 19.6 years (oh to be 19 again!)

Average Life Expectancy 74 years
My Life Expectancy 90.4 years

You can expect to live approximately another 19600 more days.

Though I did say that I don’t engage in extreme or risky “sports”. To me, risky means skydiving or rock climbing, not slicing and dicing with a scalpel. Right? :D

From: http://www.poodwaddle.com/realage.swf

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276983

Erm. What the hell just happened to my LJ layout?

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