Penny Pinching.

I was recently watching a show on TLC about a family with 8 kids. During the grocery shopping the mother spends less than $120.00 a week. For 10 people. I spend more than that for 5. She made the comment that, as the non-working partner, she considered it her job to keep expenses as low as possible. So I’m inspired to cut costs around here.

Here’s something I’m considering trying.

Homemade Laundry Detergent.

Here’s what you need:
- 1 bar of soap (whatever kind you like)
- 1 box of washing soda (look for it in the laundry detergent aisle at your local department store – it comes in an Arm & Hammer box and will contain enough for six batches of this stuff)
- 1 box of borax (this is not necessary, but I’ve found it really kicks the cleaning up a notch)
- A five gallon bucket with a lid
- Three gallons of tap water
- A big spoon to stir the mixture with
- A measuring cup
- A knife

Step One: Put about four cups of water into a pan on your stove and turn the heat up on high until it’s almost boiling. While you’re waiting, whip out a knife and start shaving strips off of the bar of soap into the water, whittling it down. Keep the heat below a boil and keep shaving the soap. Eventually, you’ll shave up the whole bar, then stir the hot water until the soap is dissolved and you have some highly soapy water.

Step Two: Put three gallons of hot water into the five gallon bucket. Then mix in the hot soapy water from step one, stir it for a while, then add a cup of the washing soda. Keep stirring it for another minute or two, then add a half cup of borax if you are using borax. Stir for another couple of minutes, then let the stuff sit overnight to cool.

And you’re done. When you wake up in the morning, you’ll have a bucket of gelatinous slime that’s a paler shade of the soap that you used. One measuring cup full of this slime will be roughly what you need to do a load of laundry – and the ingredients are basically the same as laundry detergent. Thus, out of three gallons, you’ll get about 48 loads of laundry. If you do this six times, you’ll have used six bars of soap ($0.99 each), one box of washing soda ($2.49 at our store), and about half a box of borax ($2.49 at our store, so $1.25) and make 288 loads of laundry. This comes up to a cost of right around three cents a gallon, or a savings of $70. A jumbo container of Tide costs $28.99 for 96 loads, or a cost of $0.30 a load. Thus, with each load of this stuff, I’m saving more than a quarter.

Use vinegar as your fabric softener. Instead of using expensive fabric softeners, just use two caps full of vinegar in your wash as a fabric softener. The vinegar will gently soften your clothes and the rinse water will wash away all of the vinegar, leaving your clothes soft on the cheap. Do NOT use vinegar if you’re using bleach, however; the two will produce a chlorine gas that you do NOT want to breathe and could possibly damage your washing machine, too. (I wonder how it works for static cling though?)

Any other money saving tips to share?

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Rumination

Not getting what you want out of your bdsm relationship? Are you walking around in a huff, or sitting in worried confusion, wondering why He isn’t touching/spanking/fucking/using you? Look within and ask yourself –

1. Is my service at the level it was at when I was getting what I want/need? Do I make him feel like a man or am I questioning his actions and decisions like we’re in the kind of vanilla relationships I ran away from?

~SimonBlaise from fetlife.com

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Bueller? Bueller? Bueller?

Does anybody know how to install a video player? Like if I wanted to play short clips in a post (without linking to another place like youtube or porntube) how would I do that?

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Do-overs.

I went searching for my past posts about fear but I didn’t find anything that wasn’t already said by most of you in the comments on the last post. It seems we’re almost all in agreement about it. So that’s good.

What I did find though, were posts that I made that I want to repeat. I especially want to repeat the actions that led to the posts.

I am having some seriously wicked pain and Master-time cravings. Like, you know when you quit smoking or start a new diet and for the first little while you’re all determined and you think “oh this is easy. Piece of cake. Shoot.” and then after a longer while it’s just not fun anymore and you hate it and you hate everyone around you who isn’t suffering as you are. Well that’s me. I hate all y’all whose Masters are home and who are gettin’ some when I am not. You suck. :-P

So these were all posted anywhere from two to three years ago so it shouldn’t be quite as annoying as when they show the same Family Guy episode three times in one day, but I have nothing new and these just hit me in the right spot today.

~~*~~

“Hurry up, cunt,” He demanded and I knew that meant He had to go, and go now. I quickly stepped into the shower, already kneeling even as He snapped and pointed to the shower floor. I’m still not eager to have His urine in my mouth and I almost always try to get away with keeping my mouth shut, even though I know He’s not going to let me get away with it.

“Open,” He growled, aiming at my face. It takes forcible will to be staring eye to cock-eye, knowing what’s about to end up down my throat and still open my mouth, turning my head into position. He gives that manly moan of relief as He starts to go and I scrunch up my face and lock my jaw open as it streams down my throat. He then purposely aims up my nose which makes me choke, and with sudden forceful violence, He grabs a handful of my hair and bows my head down, directing the rest of the flow to thoroughly saturate my hair, the current running forward and drenching my entire face.

It used to shock me.. to scare me.. when He’d flip so fast from normal Master actions to violent sadist actions. The act of having me bow my head so He could piss in my hair could easily be done with a command from Him. In fact, I used to get offended almost, spouting off a “You don’t have to be so mean about it!” as He’d force me into a certain position or action.

But He does have to be so mean. That’s what makes Him a sadist. The stinging spot on my scalp and the intensity with which He’d yanked my head down and almost slammed His flowing cock into my hair, the fear that sparks in the pit of my stomach, the tears that prickle behind my eyelids…. and the heat that radiates from my cunt… that’s the attraction for us both. All of it. My early protests came from nothing more than being afraid of the process. It’s demeaning to be treated so roughly, so callously. To accept that He can relate to me as an object without feelings, has no guidelines on how He can touch me and talk to me is quite the pill to swallow. Do you see how limitless that is? Once you stop protesting, all bets are off. It’s frightening.

It takes a huge leap of faith to let go of that. You have to ask yourself, where will He stop? Just how bad can this get? How hard, how deep, will He push me? And then you have to trust that He knows what He’s doing. You have to jump.

As the last drops ran down my forehead, He lifted my head again by my hair and pressed His dripping cock to my lips. “Suck.” I sucked, pulling the remaining urine out of Him and swallowing. He immediately began pushing Himself down my throat, gagging me, blocking my airway. Not even erect, He’s long enough to choke me with it and He does, repeatedly. The tears that gather and fall are more from the effort of trying to catch a breath when He allowed it and from the hard gagging.

The sobbing though, that’s from the laughing He’s doing as He tortures me. Watching me struggle to breathe, watching me struggle to stay in position, watching me struggle to submit to this undeserved treatment and He laughs. Laughs at my tears, laughs at my pain, laughs at my humiliation.

Until with one final hard thrust, He holds Himself in my throat while I choke repeatedly on His cock, until finally, finally, He yanks back and I vomit in a large puddle between my knees, between His feet. He steps back and looks at me, dripping with urine and puke, make up smeared, chest heaving, gasping and half-crying and He nods.

“That’s what I wanted.” He pulls me to my feet, rinses the puddle down the drain and I quietly go about the process of bathing Him. He doesn’t allow me to rinse off. I stand behind Him, out of the spray, stinking, the taste of puke filling my mouth and nose, urine burning my eyes. It’s as I’m washing His still-limp cock that I’m confronted with the fact, again, that treating me in such a manner is not just driven by His sexual impulses.

He just likes it. And that terrifies me. But at the same time, oh my God. The intrigue. The desire to have it, take it, all of it. How deep does it run? How much can I take? Will I break?

I will. I’ll break a thousand times over in a thousand little pieces and He’ll methodically pick them all up, assemble them to His will… and smash me again.

~~*~~

at some point, the camera is set aside and forgotten. The world is set aside and forgotten.

Pain.
Humiliation.

That’s my world.

Fear.
Despair.

What happened to the hot, horny, writhing mass of hormonal masochistic need? Where did the girl who used to race to the toy box, all giggles and un-ending sexual desire go?

What the fuck did You do with her?

What the fuck did You do to me?

Where did this sobbing, messy, whining, begging, slobbering bundle of fear come from? Was it in there, this whole time… and You’ve opened it up and let it out? Or have You taken that simple and easy pain-slut and twisted and warped it into this monstrosity?

And this appeals to You? Snot dripping off my chin, urine squirting down my leg, drool dribbling between my breasts… so buried in pathetic emotional garbage that I can’t even breathe…this makes Your cock hard?

No, not the physical sight. I don’t believe that. That’s hard to look at, and impossible to be aroused by. So what is it then? The naked fear in my eyes? The raw need in my voice? Does the power rush come during the swing or after my cry?

You are such a fucking sadist. Push and push and push. Relentless. Untouchable. Grab ahold of my fear and squeeze it… drain it of it’s juices… hold the mutilated mess of myself in front of my eyes, make me see it… feel it… rub my nose in it… and then slam it back down my throat.

I don’t understand what makes You tick. But worse than that, I no longer understand what makes ME tick.

What makes me follow You into the room, with fear so hot and heavy in my gut I can feel it trying to escape through my crotch? Have I ever told You how my heart stops for a split second when You click the lock shut on the door? What makes me willingly hold my wrists out to be cuffed while tears begin to pool in my eyes… why do I arch my back and thrust my breasts out when You stand there with clamps in Your hand? Why do I lovingly pull Your cock in between my teeth and caress it with my tongue, open my throat for You to impale and balance on the edge of suffocation while You swing over and over again at my back and ass, slap my face and rip at my hair? How am I able to lay back and spread my legs for You… and feel like I am drowning in painful need and simultaneously soaring above any feeling or thought? Why does my cunt clench and drip around Your cock as You whisper what a filthy whore I am in my ear? Where does the whisper of Your breath, the slippery velvet of Your cock, the race of gooseflesh across my skin start and end?

Excitement.
Titillation.

That’s my world.

Intoxicating.
Stimulating.

I don’t understand it and someone wants me to explain it? That’s almost laughable. Every day is a struggle, every day is a triumph.

The goal… cunt-in-a-cage. No thoughts, no emotions, no nothing. Nothing more than available.

I am His. His object, His toy. His it. We’re almost there and it scares the fucking hell out of me.

Jump

~~*~~

He seems to have no doubt that it *will* be the way He wants it. Period. I’m alternately terrified and so turned on I can’t sit still.

“YOU..with no clothes on..sitting at my feet..or used as furniture.”
“I don’t foresee you having a job ”
“i want to brand you..and tattoo you”
“i didn’t ask if you could..i said do it and you will.”
“there is no talking or negotiating”
“i will ask you a question and you will answer…ONLY when I ask you a question. or only when you are spoken too”
“cuz you aren’t an I or a ME anymore..you are an it or a thing.. an object”

That last one… the idea of referring to myself as “it”.. to eventually believing that. Being that. Is it a mindfuck still? Or more than that? Is it really even possible to lose yourself that way?

I’ve wanted this for a long time. Dreamt about it. Now I find myself wanting to dig my heels in and back the fuck up. Maybe if we could set out some ground rules… like… “yes Sir, I’ll live in a cage in the basement IF you make sure I have a comp, the TV, mt. dew and ice cream. Oh, and a recliner.” and “hurt me til I cry but when it hurts too much STOP.” and “when I get bored of corners and cages and of being your footstool, can I quit and go play freecell?”. I’d be alright if He would only agree to those!

Unfortunately for me, I don’t even know if I’m going to be allowed to use a toilet, let alone get a recliner.

Mind blowing stuff.

My song chorus for the day:
“Well, you don’t know what we can find
Why don’t you come with me little girl
On a magic carpet ride
You don’t know what we can see
Why don’t you tell your dreams to me
Fantasy will set you free
Close your eyes girl
Look inside girl
Let the sound take you away”

~~*~~

I miss having things like that to write about.

This next one I copied from here. I just enjoy the message.

“The infinite possibilities each day holds should stagger the mind. The sheer number of experiences I could have is uncountable, breathtaking, and I’m sitting here refreshing my inbox. We live trapped in loops. Reliving a few days over and over, and we envision only a handful of paths laid out ahead of us. We see the same things each day, we respond the same way, we think the same thoughts, each a slight variation on the last, every moment smoothly following the gentle curves of societal norms. We act like if we just get through today, tomorrow our dreams will come back to us.

And no, I don’t have all the answers. I don’t know how to jolt myself into seeing what each moment could become. But I do know one thing: the solution doesn’t involve watering down my every little idea and creative impulse for the sake of someday easing my fit into a mold. It doesn’t involve constantly holding back for fear of shaking things up.

This is very important, so I want to say it as clearly as I can:

Fuck. That. SHIT.”

And that’s all I have to say about that.

~cunt

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Your thoughts?

Seen online (not on FetLife for a change!)

“Being afraid of your master is not a good thing. Ever.”

Do I even need to say how much I wholeheartedly disagree with that statement? Well even if I don’t need to, I might after I cook dinner. What about the rest of you, agree or disagree?

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Reactance – backwards.

The theory of reactance in internal enslavement goes something like this:

Direct reassertion of the freedom through behaviour – Attempting direct restoration of the threatened freedom

Greater liking for threatened behaviour -When a freedom is threatened, subjects usually begin to want it more than before.

Indirect reassertion of the freedom – When a freedom cannot be regained directly the motivation resulting from that freedom will push over into a second freedom.

Aggression – takes the form of feelings of hostility towards the person threatening or removing the freedom.

There is then the peak reactance level, and only when pushed through that to the helpless region, does reactance collapse. A quick example of reactance collapse would be sub-space (or whatever term you use for the floaty feeling during play). “you can think of escaping, but eventually, if you try to escape and realize that you cannot, then a switch goes off in the mind. You have to accept.”

I don’t think there has been one single scene between Master and I where I have not gone through that process. To struggle against the chains and ropes, or even, if not bound, to wiggle out of position until He puts me back where He wants me. It’s not until I accept that I cannot get away from the pain, or from Him, that I accept. The looser the bonds, the more room I have to dance away or the more lenient He is on letting me squirm, the longer it takes me to accept.

Reactance is nothing new or unheard of in psychology. (see: Pyschological Reactance here and here.) Almost everybody experiences reactance in day to day life, to varying degrees, so it’s logical to accept that it’s a normal emotion in submissives whose lives sometimes revolve around limitations, or denials, of freedoms. It’s also logical to accept that a submissive’s level of reactance would be heightened and/or exaggerated as the freedoms denied become harder and harder to accept.

While I don’t think anyone should condone disobedience by using reactance as an excuse, I do think it sheds some light on the whys of what some refer to as “unslavelike behaviors” or “purposeful disobedience”.

One example is the “hydraulic principle”. It compares reactance with water under pressure. Pressurized water, blocked in one direction, will only try to burst out in another direction. Similarly, a slave “reacting” to a new and disturbing loss of a freedom, will “act out” in another way. Indirect reassertion of the freedom – When a freedom cannot be regained directly the motivation resulting from that freedom will push over into a second freedom. For example – Master doesn’t allow me to watch a tv program I love so I sneak off to the bathroom without asking. The “pressure” of denial burts out in another direction, by trying to take control of another restricted freedom.

If all of that is true, and I believe it is, is it such a far leap for it to work in the opposite way? That all explains reactance to a loss of freedoms. What about reactance to a sudden, jolting return of freedoms?

My day to day life with Master is filled with restrictions, or loss of freedoms. It’s filled with rules and restrictions and rituals. When He goes away, most of that comes to a shrieking halt. The bathroom, the computer, the television, the furniture, the car and where I can go in it, what I wear, going to bed and getting up, making coffee, cooking meals, shopping – it all flips from tightly controlled to absolute independence.

How can I NOT react to that? I don’t think it’s so far-fetched to see that my “purposeful disobedience” when He’s gone is nothing more than an attempt to restore those restrictions to my freedom that I am so comfortable with and used to. To need to hear that His physical absence does not change my world in the manner that it feels like it does.

But, again, it is not a justification for disobedience and it does not excuse my actions. It has not been a conscious decision on my part to disobey, at least not with any willful intent on frustrating or angering Master, and certainly not in an attempt to fulfill some manipulative need for punishment. These instances leave me ashamed, embarrassed, contrite and longing desperately for a Gateway GoBack option to reverse what I’ve flubbed up. I’m not secretly thrilled or anticipating the consequences of what I have, or have not as the case may be, done.

The first step to reaching the acceptance level is in identifying the root cause. Maybe I have done so right here. Instead of slipping into “woe is me, I can’t do anything right” attitude (which I already did and which solved nothing) and instead of glumly awaiting punishment for something that I honestly do not understand about myself, I can learn something, both of us can learn something and the behavior can be changed instead of just being dealt with.

“Paradoxically, a heightened level of reactance can be a symptom of productive change underway within the slave’s mind, and a necessary stage that must be gone through before reaching acceptance of her Master’s control of a certain freedom.” Or, in my case, an acceptance that these intermittent returns to freedoms are not cause to believe His control is gone.

It’s said that “the way to prevent a specific act of disobedience is by the elimination of that freedom, rather than by expecting the slave to dominate herself into obeying” and “the removal of emotional privacy is an important tool in eliminating freedoms by guaranteeing the eventual discovery of any disobedience that is committed.” If Master is not aware that I am releasing pressure (and incorrectly responding by reacting) or how I am doing it, there is no way for Him to lead me from reactance to acceptance.

For instance, take the case of Him denying my viewing of that tv show and my reactance by using the bathroom without permission. If He was unaware, either by not noticing or because I didn’t get caught, I cannot progress. It’s only if He can block off these avenues of dealing, and leave me only ONE route to travel – the route of acceptance – then my episodes of reactance will become less and less, and I’d become quicker to accept these measures of control/loss of freedoms. Therefore, by eliminating emotional privacy I cannot sneak to the bathroom without tattling on myself (or, I cannot lie and say I am fetching that water when I am not) and making Him aware of my reactance. This emotional honesty allows Him the opportunity to correct my misdirected methods of dealing with becoming enslaved.

Nor can He allow it to be an unpunishable offense (to ignore it) or He’s effectively given me permission in the future to use that avenue of reactance and resistance. I will not dominate myself into obeying in the manner that pleases Him without His very active participation. That does not mean that He is required to strap me down and beat my ass at each offense. Punishment can be as simple as this personal, and uncomfortable, analysis of my behavior. A spanking would be quick, and will only force compliance. A baring of the soul and examination of motives allows Him, and myself, the chance to expose the root cause of the behavior.

“The thing to remember here is that this isn’t a BDSM chatroom. We’re concerned with changing and controlling the slave’s actions and thoughts at all levels, not just the surface layer of behaviour. This necessarily involves taking the time to lay foundations and root out problems, even if this means periods of what roleplayers call “unslavelike behaviour.” – Tanos

~cunt

When life is like a game of chess
Reactance to Enslavement
Who’s the Boss?
On Being Owned

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Just once…

… I’d like to pull my head out of my ass long enough to NOT be in trouble when Master comes home from a trip.

I woke up this morning to two emails from Him and I got all excited waiting for our fuckled-up computer to let me open it. I was smilin’ and wigglin’ wondering what dirty sentiments He sent me while I was sleeping.

Instead, I get this:

HEY, You better be getting a glass of water EVERY NIGHT…for me..even while I am gone..so you don’t forget..when i get home…got it..

also..have you been posting……you need to send those to my hotmail…

M

Apparently I don’t check my email often enough because following that email came this one-

So I hope you haven’t posted anything NEW in the last couple days..CUZ they are NOT in my mail box….and that means you aren’t doing what you were supposed to do…

Da Big M. -who may not be happy if I check my mailbox..and there’s no posting…if you made one…Grr’s… Get your shit together..OR I will be using the Blue Stick….

Not exactly the “good morning, cunt. I love you and I miss you” email I was hoping for. I went from happy-n-wiggling to oh-fuck in less than a second.

Stoopid FetLife, sucks ya in like a black hole. It eats your brain and makes you forget your purpose! Bah. No excuses though. I’m not even going to try. No “but, Master! the kids!” or “but, Master! work!” or “but, Master! the garden!” or “but I forgot!” (which I did, but He doesn’t accept that excuse anymore. No-how, no-way.)

I also have a task to do, nothing ridiculously difficult, some clothespins and rubber bands, that He’s given me until midnight tonight to have it done, with the *promise* of 50 lashes if I don’t. I had been contemplating trying to beg out of it simply because time is not my friend. But now there is not a chance of appealing to His sense of leniency. I fucked that up for sure.

Too busy talking about slavery and not doing it. Shameful. :-(

The road to Hell punishment is paved with good intentions.

~cunt

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Things that make you go hmm.

“I am worthless without the guidance of my Male Keeper.”

“A female who knows pain is a content and happy female.”

I dunno, but I think Humbled Females is growing on me.

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If You Have Nothing Nice to Say, Say Nothing At All

I came across an article on Humbled Females titled “Taming the Tongue”. As you can imagine, I really needed to read this article. Some of the passages made me stop and think.

“From the same lips that sing our Masters’ praises, also come disdain, contempt, and sarcasm toward the rest of the world.

You may think, sisters, that while you kiss your Master’s feet, the rest of the world can kindly kiss your ass, but to believe so does not, in any way, honor your possessor. You are a reflection of his work, and in this world of varied communication, your words are often the only picture of it. It is through your words and the way you speak that impressions about your character—and ultimately, his—are formed.

While claiming to be tamed, many spit venom like a wild animal. We must put this conflict between our minds and our mouths to an end and seek to tame our tongues, even if it means being muzzled.

Let us look at sarcasm, for example. While it does carry a little sting, sarcasm tends to be regarded as a witty or clever form of speech. A woman who wields it is praised for her quick wit and sophistication. The obvious intent behind the use of sarcasm is to “cut down” and humiliate those on the receiving end. So many men not only tolerate this behavior in their girls, but have even allowed it to mark them as well-spoken and intelligent.

Nonetheless, sarcasm, scorn, mockery and sneering are undesirable, unattractive, and inappropriate. Ladies, I urge you, listen closely to the words you speak and do not allow sarcasm to be a poison to those who hear you! It is unbecoming of you and disgraceful to the Men you serve. If there is flesh to be torn, let us leave it a task for the hands of our Masters, and let us hope that the flesh is ours so that we never forget our place.

If you cannot submit even unto silence, then you have not submitted much at all.

If you allow your mouth to run away with you, it will not be long before the rest of you tries to follow. Protected by our Masters, we have no need for such hardness, so let us return to female gentility, to etiquette and decorum. Let our tongues be tamed and used only for pleasure and selfless service. Just as we would not brush our Masters’ hair with the same brush we use to clean the toilet, neither should we use the same mouth to kiss, suck and serve that spews filth and disrespect to the rest of the world.“

It always socks ya in the gut when it’s reminded that what you do reflects on Him, don’t it?

Of course the other school of thought is “If you have nothing nice to say, get a blog.”

Oh well. Things to ponder anyway.

~cunt

Read the full Taming the Tongue article here.

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Y’ piss me off, ya fuckin’ jerk, y’get on my nerves

Why people get on my nerves example number 946.

Q: Have you ever beaten a masochist, submissive, or otherwise, when you were emotionally charged or angry? Have you eve been beaten by a sadist, in such a sitation?

Perfectly legitimate question. With perfectly predictable answers from the “masses” of bubble-gum players.

A: I wouldn’t take out my anger on a sub. I guess I don’t consider them to be punching bags for my frustrations.

A: He never beats me. It’s all semantics, but to me beating = abuse.

A: One of my favorite saying is “I like to hurt, not injure”. There is a difference.

A: For me if Master was angry and beat me with out me first having offered to take the abuse then at that point it would be abuse.

Of course my answer doesn’t match. It never does.

He beats me when He’s angry, and when He’s not. He beats me whenever He damn well wants to. Being angry does not equal loss of control.

I forgot to sign the part of our mythical contract that said “do whatever you want…….except for!” and then check off all the exceptions.

Now then.. now I can be Your slave. *nod*

*eyeroll*

Could you imagine if I presented this list to Master in seriousness?

Fer real. I swear to God I came from another planet. I just don’t agree with anyone these days.

Is it me? It’s me isn’t it?

It is. Has to be.

Oy.

~cunt

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