Beauty comes in many forms.

Just because I can’t play doesn’t mean I can’t look.

Isn’t that the most gorgeous puss you’ve ever seen? Luckily there are plenty to compare it to at Wasteland.com . Yummy.

~cunt

ps. Okay all you kinky gardners. What flower does that resemble? ;-)

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The Corrected Quote

Fighting on the internet is like competing in the Special Olympics. Even if you win, you’re still retarded.

:-D

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Taking it in the rear.

Yesterday we had to make an impromptu trip out of town. Master took the day off to go with me (thank God) because it was a pretty stressful event.

 He loves me like that.

 I was full of nervous energy. Babbling non-stop as a way to pass the time (10 hour roadtrip), to fill the silence… or maybe I just had too much coffee. Whatever the reason, I think my incessant talking was driving Master bonkers. He kept gently suggesting that I go to sleep.

I kept talking.

He kept (less) gently (with each repeated suggestion) telling me to lay down and go to sleep.

I wasn’t arguing with him about it. Part of the reason that I was babbling so much was precisely because I was tired, the night before had been just as stessful and I hadn’t slept well at all. I wasn’t protesting. I was… ignoring him. I figured I would go to sleep… when I was damn good and ready to go to sleep.

“Hey.” He said in that low, growly, shut-up-and-listen voice. When he was sure that I had eye contact and that my mouth was shut and my ears were open, he went on in that same serious, I’m-not-messing-around-anymore tone. “Who’s the boss?”

“Tony Danza is, Master.”

*snicker*

I think he really, really wanted to bust me for being so cheeky, but I was much too cute sitting in my seat giggling at myself. Or so he said, when he told me how lucky I was. ;-)

But then later, much later, while waiting at a stoplight and eating cheese fries, a car slid on the ice behind us and slammed into our rear end. The back of our car is fucked, not to mention the loss of those cheese fries that ended up splattered on the windshield.

Seriously though, it was a really hard hit and we’re both sporting some sore necks and headaches. Today we’ll be dealing with insurance companies, which guarantees further headaches, no doubt.

Kinda sobering how quick shit like that happens, huh? We’re lucky that injuries were minor, for all of us involved. One minute you’re sucking on some fries and laughing over silly shit and the next… boom! Coulda been a lot worse.

Anywho! No play today. We’re too sore, and not in a good way. :(

~cunt

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“Don’t tell me I’m burning the candle at both ends, tell me where to get more wax.”

Life is good, idn’t it? ;-)

~cunt

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la-di-da

Some think that what I do here is distasteful. That it shows lack of dignity.

Some think that I should treasure these intimate details like a rare jewel, tucked securely in a cushion of velvet.

Some think they are better, fancy themselves more refined than I, merely because they aren’t tasked with sharing these private moments.

So I ask them, if your Master did order it, could you? Could you swallow your pride, tamp down that huge, over-inflated ego of yours, and bare yourself?

These moments, these “gems”, are not mine to hoard. I don’t own them. The one who does own them sees no use of them being stuffed away in a pretty jewelry box on a dusty shelf. The approval that I seek I see in his eyes when he views how I’ve put my own modesty aside and done what is asked. A not-so-easy task, and if you doubt that, let’s see you do it. You take far too much pride in the easy things you do. I find *that* way more shameful than my acquiescence.

 Perhaps I’m the one who has it backward, but it seems to me that when it comes to admirable qualities in submission, obedience ranks far above priggishness. As a reflection of your owner, you should be ashamed of *yourself*.

 As for vulgar? Honey, you ain’t seen nothin’ yet.

“The courage to wonder about other life-perspectives than presently held, unprovoked by people and circumstances, especially when they may contradict lifelong convictions, takes not only a spiritual giant with a child’s curiosity, but a blazing desire for more of everything life has to offer.”

~The Universe

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“The pain passes, but the beauty remains.”

This is pretty much going to be pictures more than words. I don’t really know what to say about it all, to be honest.

This is an excellent example of why I don’t have, and don’t want, a safeword. Had I had one, I would have used it from the first squeeze. The pain was immense, overwhelming, exquisite. Had I had the option to end it, I would have taken it. I didn’t believe that I could take it.

But he did. He believed that not only could I, that I needed to.

Sometimes the mantra of “I’m not going to die” is the only thing that gets me through. That’s all I have to lean on and all I have to pull strength from.

I would miss out on so many things, so many realizations, so much ultimate pleasure, if I were given the power to stop it before he wanted it to stop. But worse than what I would miss out on? Is what HE would miss out on, and all because I don’t have the faith in me that he does.

There wasn’t a moment that he didn’t enjoy. From the anticipation of it to the climactic ending, he was thoroughly blissful, happy, powerful. I’d hate to have woken up this morning knowing that I had put even the slightest damper on that for him.

He enjoyed the dance. What bigger gift can I give him?

A short 5 minute clip is up at the clip store.

Pictures are behind the cut simply because there are so many of them.

Read more »

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17 hours and counting.

I’m supposed to make frequent updates but I am not going to post the hourly pictures he’s having me take. That just seems silly.

I’m tired. Soooo tired. Chores are… pffft… I did the dishes. And, um.. I guess that was it. I better step it up.

It’s hurting big time now. I don’t even wanna think about later tonight. Makes my bladder cramp.

I think he’s going to film it though. (who am I kidding? of course he is. I don’t expect I’ll be able to make it through that with any semblence of grace.)

I can’t take a shower because that would mean taking it off. That was weird being told that I can’t shower. I feel icky. He almost said no to any pictures too because it requires lifting the bra away for a sec, but he’ll be delighted to find out that doing that once every hour is making it ever so much worse. Lifting it up hurts really really bad and it barely settles back to a dull hum before I have to do it again.

I would not handle it very well if I had anything that caused me chronic pain I don’t think. I think I’m a short-term masochist you know? I like things that hurt for a real quick minute. This pro-longed suffering is for the birds.

But that doesn’t mean I’m not feeling some element of eroticy from it. I am. I’m definitely turned on and would masturbate if I could do it without moving my arms. I hope I can tap into that when he comes home.

What else? It’s kinda hard to think about anything else. My boobs hurt. Who gives a flying fuck about internal enslavement?? My boobs hurt! *snicker* Pain is a great thought director. “I’ll give you something to obsess about, cunt!”

I really should brush my hair and wash up and get dressed. But that involves arm movement. *whine* I really just want to stand perfectly still and not breathe very hard. Can I do that?

I am scared about tonight. I *know* it’s going to be awful. I know what he’s gonna do. I know I’m gonna cry.

But every time I think about it my thighs get a little wetter and my cunt twitches.

The joys of masochism. :D

~cunt

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It’s alive!

Do you have any idea how often your tits and nipples pucker up into goosebumps? I don’t know if they’re doing it because of the bra or if they do it all the time and I only feel it because of the bra, but holy crap, it’s weird! It feels like I have two puppies squirming for postion in my shirt. It kinda gives me the willies.

 It’s hurting enough that I don’t even want to masturbate because that requires too much movement. Master even offered to allow it and I turned it down. Mark THAT on the calender.

 Needless to say, chores are very slow-going today.

 ~cunt

ps. FREE: One cat  who thinks it’s perfectly acceptable to take flying leaps from the table to my chest for a hug. So hating her right now.

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“Sometimes the littlest things in life are the hardest to take. You can sit on a mountain more comfortably than on a tack.”

He didn’t put it on until 8pm last night. I think because he has no intention of taking it off until late tonight. So my evening wasn’t so bad.

There was a vigorous fucking then, on my knees with my chest pressed into a pillow. The constant back and forth movement as he took me from behind was painful, but good painful, pushing climaxes out of me like a perverted Pez dispenser.

The night though.. was long. I was sore and aching, but what kept me from sleep wasn’t the pain I was in so much as the pain I was trying to avoid. I’m a side or belly sleeper normally, neither of which was possible with a bosom full o’ tacks.

I did sleep, of course, but not well and not much. It wasn’t excruciating at all, lying on my back gravity mostly worked in my favor. If I kept perfectly still and didn’t breathe, I could barely feel the tips of the tacks on my breasts. I would doze and then wake as soon as I went to roll over in my sleep.

This morning, Master was chipper, well rested. He noted even before I said anything that I hadn’t moved much through the night. “I may have to do this every night, cunt. You didn’t wake me up one time with all of your tossing and turning!”

I told him he was a funny guy. Har-de-har-har.

He found my crankiness even more amusing.

Getting out of bed was bad. BAD bad. Any change in position that causes things to shift and resettle is bad.

The worst though, was having to go outside. In the midst of a cold snap, the temp was 0F, and -9F with the wind chill (that’s -22C). We all know what happens to nipples when they get cold, yes? That movement while encased in tacks is a right bitch of a thing.

Right at this point, I’m irritated. I’m tired. It’s not a horrific pain but it’s just enough to piss me off. The underside of my breasts where it’s taking the brunt of the tacking feels like raw hamburger. Doing chores all day is going to suck big fat donkey balls. I also don’t think I’ll be taking frequent pictures because lifting the bra up to take the pic and then having to put it back is insanely, ridiculously ouchies. Unless he calls with some specific times to take pics, I’m avoiding that particular task.

And I am NOT going to Curves today. Can you imagine?? Ow.

Soo.. it’s half over already. I don’t expect it to get really, really bad until he comes home. I know he has plans. Not nice plans either. It’s not as bad as I had expected it to be, though I’ve only been up and moving for about 2 and a half hours. I may not think this way later today.

The current state of things:

~cunt

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Babbles part 2.

(This is further thought on the possibility of M/s with children and careers that I talked about in the last half of this post.)

I’ve been trying to come up with another, better, way to explain what I meant in that other post. Because it seemed like people were thinking I meant that M/s isn’t possible *at all*, or that there is some book of guidelines somewhere. Which is silly, of course, because there are no guidelines except your own. The intimate details of what you and your partner define your relationship by are your own.

But I tend to separate the descriptive terms of ‘Master and slave’ from the process of internalizing enslavement. And that’s where I think the confusion is.

I wholeheartedly agree that being someone’s slave is accomplished merely by being, and doing, whatever it is that your Master wishes. I am not a slave fit for anyone other than my own Master, just as none of you would fit with him. He’s made me be what HE wants, and by the very basic definition of ownership, we’re Master and slave. In someone else’s opinion, I’m not a slave at all. I may not even fit their expectation of a submissive, let alone a slave. But none of that matters a whit to us because we fit each other.

I don’t think it’s defined by how much pain you can take, or by whether or not you’re online or living together, sharing a marriage bed or kept in a kennel, or any of the other fine, minute details of how you do it.

I also think that any of us who truly are dedicated to pleasing our Masters, and who have Masters dedicated to owning us, take what we do very seriously, give it our all (mostly) every day, take pride in our roles and find extreme joy and pleasure (usually) in it.

But I don’t think *any* of that is the same thing as internalizing slavery. I think that internalizing things is not easy, it is a long process and certain things can not only hamper that process but make it entirely impossible, no matter how strong your dedication is.

About the only analogy that I can compare it to is the institutionalization that occurs to prisoners. A lot of people want to deny the existence and validity of the internalization of slavery, but it’s pretty hard to deny the validity of institutionalization, I’d think.

So let’s operate under the assumption that institutionalization is real, it is a long-term psychological “trauma”. Prisoners come to a place, mentally, where they are unable to function in society (or believe they cannot). They’ve internalized the values and modes of prison life and behavior as “normal”. What lies outside this new “norm” is fearful, terrifying, unwanted. So much so that they go to lengths to not have to leave. Committing new crimes to get back to what is their comfort zone, among other things (we’ve all seen The Shawshank Redemption? Remember Brooks?)

So if we can agree that institutionalization is a real affliction, we should also be able to agree that there are certain instances where institutionalization probably *could not* happen.

It probably is not going to happen if you are doing a 30-day stint in the county jail for unpaid parking tickets.

It probably is not going to happen if you are under house-arrest.

It probably is not going to happen if you are doing 1-3 for tax evasion.

It’s also unlikely to happen if, while in prison, even long-term, the prisoner is allowed access to things and activities that combat the psychological break-down that creates institutionalization. Getting an education, working, contact with family and friends, interactions, conversations that stimulate the mind, being prepared for civilian life. If you never completely remove the intricacies of civilian life, I’m not sure how one could completely lose touch with it.

We agree? Yay! I knew you would. ;-)

I don’t think that M/s is on par with being in prison. But I do think the internalization process is similar. I think that internalizing a new norm, new behaviors, new concepts, all of those things are more *difficult*, if not impossible, to do when one is constantly and consistently still exposed to the “old” norms of society. And if you are working and raising kids, you can’t pull yourself out of society completely. You still have to maintain a level of society-defined normalcy.

And maybe some of you don’t. Maybe you don’t maintain that normalcy for the sake of your kids or to appease your boss. There are always going to be exceptions.

So every little thing that plucks away the hand of control limits the process of internalization. A job, a child, school, friends.. whatever. If your Master is not also your employer, then he is deferring control of you to your boss. When playtime is curtailed because Baby Jane puked in her crib, he’s deferred power to your child. You have to be untied because class starts in an hour? Loss of control.

None of that is a *bad* thing, or a negative judgment, or anything like that. They are merely things that combat the process of internal enslavement. If you view internal enslavement as brainwashing, you should be able to understand how difficult it would be to brainwash someone if you are, on a daily basis, sending them off somewhere where all of your hard work is systematically being erased.

But what if Master has ordered you to work? Or ordered you to go to school or ordered you to bear his child? I think that’s a slippery slope. Because no matter what the reason for doing it is, they are still things that limit control and power. And the more limitations you have, the more impossible it becomes.

Do I think it can happen *anyway*, with, as Sinn said, a really diligent Master and slave? Maybe. Maybe if all of the pieces fell perfectly in place… but I think what is more likely to happen is that the pair of them will think they are doing it, up until a time comes when each of those interferences start to disappear and they get the perspective of comparison and realize they weren’t.

Just look at the differences that occur when the kids go to grandma’s for the weekend. I know for us it’s a profound difference, not only in our playtime and sessions but merely in our mannerisms and behavior. So of course I expect there to be a world of difference when the kids actually move out. Once I have that other perspective, I betcha a dime to a dollar that I’m discussing how much we *didn’t* have it before. We just thought we did.

I already have the perspective on the differences between working and not working and how working creates another huge limitation on things, no matter that it is HIS decision and his order that I go back to work. That doesn’t change the interference of it any just because he’s making me do it.

I also know how incredibly different it was when he was traveling and gone all week and when he’s home every day. It’s monumentally HUGE the difference that makes. Yet, back when he was gone all the time I would have *sworn* we had it then, too.

I think you just don’t know until you actually experience the difference.

Besides, there is no Eden, there is no castle to hole up in and do what it is that we do to the extent that we want to do it. We’re not independently wealthy or living in some lawless country where we can do whatever we want. We’re all already limited in many ways merely by society itself. And every limitation you add to that makes it that much harder.

So when is it so limited as to be non-existent? Ever? Never? Does nobody recognize the limits simply because they *feel* dedicated to it?

Fact is, I’m an opinionated bitch really. Which has served me well today. I haven’t thought about the tack bra for an hour! ;-)

~cunt

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