“Cowards can never be moral”

“Hiding behind that oh-so-generic, lacking in character, identifier (or really non-identifier), the anonymous person exemplifies the very worst of the Internet in terms of interpersonal relating. Believing that no one can tell who she/he is, anonymous persists in behaving badly — spewing nastiness everywhere. Somehow, the only sort of connection this poor fool can make is that sort of bully-in-the-school-yard swagger that insists on its own correctness, but doesn’t have the self-confidence to own those viewpoints in legitimate, mature, give and take conversation.
I’m sure the anonymous person believes that the arrows that he/she lets fly somehow lodge in my heart and mind and cause me great distress. It just isn’t so. Mostly, I find myself bemused at the mindlessness, narrowness, sadness of the volleys that come from that quarter now and then. It never changes. Never grows. Never explores beyond the tight confines of self-righteousness. A whole world where the anonymous one obviously paces back and forth like some caged animal, longing perhaps for the same freedom and joy that so irritates when manifest in my life.

And so, tonight, in the ebbing of the latest onslaught from “anonymous,” mostly, all I feel is compassion for a person whose life is so constrained that their excitement and pleasure consists in poking at me every now and then.”
~swan

Well she is far nicer than I am. But perhaps I’m jaded. ;-)

I get my fair share of anonymous comments. I am insulted six ways from Sunday in most of those anonymous comments. I think I deal with them a heck of a lot better than I used to. I’m pretty secure in myself and my life these days to give them much more than a skim and a chuckle.

I have theories about anonymous comments, and theories are all they are because I don’t ever leave anonymous comments. If I have, it was an oversight, a failure to log in or whatever, because I stand by what I say. I’m not ashamed of what I say or what I think, even if I’m wrong or told off for it.

I suspect that a number of the anonymous comments that I get come from people who otherwise leave lovely comments with their name attached. I can’t think of any other reason why someone would bother getting here through anonymous search engines, why they would go to such trouble to mask their IP. (And if you had any idea how laughable it is that I would know what to do with your IP number, or understand that I don’t care enough about your IP, you’d not bother.) I suppose that could make me all kinds of paranoid, left to wonder who’s the backstabbing bitch and who can I trust – but honestly, who has that kind of time? I give my trust where I give it and if I’m wrong about someone, so what?

I’ve considered disabling anonymous comments but haven’t. I probably won’t. Not only does Master think it’s “silly”, I also consider my own preferences when I go to leave a comment elsewhere. I loathe having to sign in anywhere simply to leave a comment. I hate it. I always sign my name, but I rarely go through the process of leaving links and email addresses and passwords, etc. I just hate the time it consumes and often, when I would otherwise leave a comment and I’m faced with having to recall that particular log-in name, password, and those hateful word-verify screens? I’ll skip it. So I prefer not to put that sort of inconvenience, slight as it is, upon anyone reading or wishing to comment here. Which, unfortunately, leaves me an open target for pithy anonymous gems.

Occasionally I delete one, though I haven’t even bothered with that in ages. I went through a period of thinking that I was going to “keep my garden purty” by deleting anything that wasn’t sweet as roses- after all it is my “yard” to care for- but I gave that up. Seemed like a lot of work, yanno? Besides, sometimes some pretty nifty conversations and posts bloom up around the shit. It’s like fertilizer!

What I do find amusing though, is that often by the time I even get to read the insult, there will have been several nicer people who will have commented back, either in my defense or to simply point out the error of the anonymous person’s judgement, yet, without fail I will be accused of “calling in my followers” to fight my battles for me. (btw, I don’t know if you all know this, but you have names. Let’s see, you have been “kaya’s cheerleaders”, kaya’s cronies”, “fanslaves” -oh there’s more but they escape me at the moment) I have never once asked anyone to comment in my defense. Ever. Never ever ever. In fact, I happen to think I can be pithy enough on my own, tyvm!

I suppose in a perfect world, everyone would have the conviction (and the balls) to proudly stand behind their words. If you mean what you say, open yourself up to the debate and the disagreement. I do.

~~*~~

In other news: Moose Drool is beer. I forgot to answer that. There is also one that has butt or butz or snot or something like that in the name. Master is a strange, strange man. :-)

I think there were other questions, but if so, I can’t find them.

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There is more than one way to utilize a slave.

“It’s not gonna suck itself.” ~Taylor

~cunt

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“To achieve your goal you need to know and be able to utilize all the resources available to you.”

It all started when I was unpacking the DVDs. I began to brood over the word ‘utilize’.

I tease Master about having a DVD fetish, but the truth is – Master has a DVD fetish. He has somewhere in the neighborhood of more than 500 and less than 1,000. He has… lots.

One time several years ago, in a moment of extreme boredom, I alphabetized His DVDs. He found that to be a grandly wonderous thing. I found it helpful considering that I was usually the one searching for whatever movie He wanted to watch, but I also found it difficult to maintain. People (Master, kids, myself) would just stick a movie back wherever after they’d watched it, plus any new ones that He bought meant having to slide the whole mess of them over in order to make room in whatever letter section it was meant to be in. Often, after I’d spend an hour or so rearranging and realphabetizing, I’d walk into another room and find a forgotten pile of movies that needed to be put away. Eventually, it just fell by the wayside.

Now and then Master would remark how much He’d liked having those DVDs alphabetized. I know He liked it. The pro-active, eager-to-please side of me would occasionally consider doing it. The lazy side of me would promptly talk myself out of it. The stubborn side of me would think “well, then tell me to do it already!”

As I was unpacking the DVDs and thinking, jeez, if I’m going to alphabetize these things, now would be the perfect time to do it, was when the brooding began. I could not, cannot, figure out why, if He likes something done, He won’t TELL me that He likes it that way and to keep it that way. He has a perfectly willing slave right at His fingertips. It’s my daily goal to make His life easier, better, more pleasant, even when it comes to some silly little thing like an organized DVD shelf.

Now I *get* that just having Him say “oh hey! I like that!” should be enough of an “order” for me to do it. In most things, that is enough. I don’t always need specific commands to know what it is that I am supposed to do to keep things smooth and easy for Him. He doesn’t wake up every day and tell me to go make coffee and breakfast – I just do it. (Though I ask Him every morning what He wants for breakfast even though 99% of the time the answer is the same. But it seems important to me, and to Him, that I not ever begin to *assume* that I know what He wants for breakfast even if He does have the same thing almost every day.) I don’t stand there like a brainless idiot waiting to be told what to do, I am generally proactive and anticipatory of His likes and dislikes, wants, needs and preferences.

However – and this is why I did not alphabetize the DVDs when I unpacked them – sometimes, a slave just needs to hear it.

You know how a person in a relationship can know perfectly well and with all their heart that they are loved, but sometimes, you just need to hear an “I love you”? Sometimes it needs to be verbalized, said outloud, hearing with the ears what the mind and heart already know. It means something. And that’s where I was. I know I’m a slave and I know what His expectations of me are – but maybe now and then, I need to hear it. I need to know that I’m doing it because He told me to and not just because I wanted to do one more proactive thing on my own.

Perhaps I’m heading down a path that I shouldn’t. I don’t know.

I just keep thinking that some of these seemingly innocent, or even silly, protocols or routines, things that are generally prevalent during the early stages of M/s but that tend to disappear over time are far more important than one gives them credit for. At what point does what I do completely on my own and without direction from Master erode from M/s into just a helpful, loving wife taking care of her husband?

Could it be something as simple as M/s verbiage? Sure I can organize these DVDs without Master saying a word and know I’m doing something that He likes, which is satisfying to me in it’s own right. Or, I can be told that He expects me to organize those DVDs and to keep them that way, and each and every single time I put a DVD away I’m reminded by His words and His tone of why I am doing it and what my place is in this relationship, which is immensely more satisfying and serves to keep this relationship from degenerating into your standard vanilla marriage.

Am I His wife sleeping next to Him in bed or am I His property, chained and locked where He wants me to be? Am I His loving wife cooking His breakfast before work or am I His servant, taking His order and filling it as best I can? Am I His lover or am I His fuckdoll? His friend or His subordinate?

I may have a place in all of those roles. But one manner of treatment raises the expectations of one side, the other manner of treatment raises the other. It’s very difficult to maintain the expectations and headspace of property, servant, fuckdoll, when the treatment implies friend, wife and lover.

i999shadow wrote a piece on Fetlife a bit ago that kinda-sorta aligned with my thinking here. She titled it “She/he needs me, she/he needs me not”. I quote:

On the one hand, there is the strong belief in the slave/sub that is independent, confident, in control, has it all together, can handle anything, will take care of the partner and all their stuff, and works for a living. We sometimes refer to them as the ‘warrior slave’.

Every now and then, this little voice in the back of my head says “Well HELL…. WHY would anyone that is happy, stable, financially secure, baggage free, totally in control, competent and stable need to have a TPE– and what the hell would the dominant find to control fer chrissakes??? Outside of playtime, what would that bottom/sub/slave have to turn over– and why would any top/dom/etc. WANT them to turn it over– after all, they are handling it just fine as it is, thank-you-very-much.

I find myself becoming more like the “warrior slave” and I find myself wondering the things in her last paragraph. What is there to control if I’m doing it all on my own? If I no longer need direction or commands or reminders – if I’m handling it all just fine, tyvm, outside of Him tying me down so He can make me cry, what are we morphing into?

Utilize! Utilize me.

*sigh*

Last night, I broached the subject. I’d been stewing on it and I know He’s not a mind reader so I simply asked Him.

Master? If You liked having those DVDs alphabetized, why don’t You just *tell* me to do it?

He was quiet for a little while; probably because He knows I never ask some out of the blue question like that without there being some huge “thing” fueling it.

So we discussed utilization. And we discussed expectations. We discussed roles and use and meaning.

And balance. I *am* here to be proactive and anticipatory. I can work very well on my own and make His life run smooth in the process. But when that gets out of balance? It erodes at the foundation of our M/s.

I don’t need to be chained in because I might wander off in the night.
What I need is that physical reminder.

I don’t need to wear a collar because my neck gets cold.
What I need is the visual reminder.

I don’t need to be told what to do because I’m brainless.
What I need is verbal reaffirmation.

And about those DVDs? Of course He wants them alphabetized. And kept that way. It sounds so small, and yet it’s so huge. Symbolism can be found in the strangest of places.

~cunt

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A Bad Hair Day

It was made clear to me why I haven’t been allowed to shave for the last two months.

Because, surprise surprise! Master is a sadist.

I’m not much of a masochist. In fact! I’ve just about decided that I was wholly mistaken in ever taking the label in the first place. Fer realz.

Cuz, pubic hair pulling just plain fucking hurts. More than it should. It defies logic. I think Master was more amused by my screams – which, on second thought, totally makes sense, doesn’t it? A sadist who likes to hear screaming. Duh, kaya.

Oh nevermind. I’m doomed. He’s clued me in on His next plan for my fuzzy snatch. Two words.

Duct Tape.
*sob*

Anyone have room for a scared pussy? I won’t eat much! You’ll hardly know I’m there. And I do windows!

The before shot – I was trying to be all sexy and alluring.

And then when I was happily wallowing in the feel of rope wound around my appendages and knowing I was going to get fucked. As in sex. Sex-fucked. Not fucked-up.

And then the fucking, that could have been done without the hair-handle, but what do I know?

And the after. Cool handprints, huh? :D

Behind the cut are more pictures that Master said I had to post. It’s been a long time since I’ve argued with Him about posting pictures, but then it’s been a long time since He’s made me post pictures. I thought I was over the angst of posting pictures that I think are… um… nasty.

Apparently I am not. And apparently Master is not bored of humiliating me in this manner. Needless to say, that argument (that consisted of Him saying “post this, this, that one, and that one” and me going “*gasp* But Master! I don’t wa-”, and Him replying “Do it and stfu, cunt”, and me mumbling “Yes Sir. *hmmph*”) was won by Him.

(But I’m begging you not to go back there!)

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Useless Trivia

We are not kid-free (sad face) and it is raining so we’re also not fishing (sadder face). And since Master didn’t even frown at yesterday’s meme, I has more. I have been meme deprived for years! I must make up for lost time.

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Tagged!

The way I figure it, if I don’t have posting requirements, I also don’t have any posting restrictions. (Makes sense, right? I think so!)

I was tagged by the delightful Theresa. There be meme behind the cut.

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“In the book of life, the answers aren’t in the back.”

I’ve been under a bit of a Charlie Brown cloud that last few days. It’s clearing now.

I get too bogged down in the mistakes and worry. I let it color my world too heavily, so heavy that it blocks out the good and the successes. My shoulders just aren’t big enough to carry the world on them.

What can one do, but work to focus on what’s wonderful? I have plenty of that in my life, more than I probably deserve. Some days I think I’m battling a clinical depression. Other days I chastise myself because I have no earthly *reason* to be down in the dumps, so ‘suck it up, buttercup’ becomes my mantra. And still other days, the sun shines inside and I’m overflowing with happiness.

I’d blame pms but I’m not at a place in my cycle where pms is even remotely the cause. That’s a shame, too, because pms makes a handy scapegoat. Anyway…

I took a short walk in our ‘backyard’ yesterday. We’ve still not explored it completely. I know that we’ll have tons and tons of wild blueberries, I know the ground is shit for gardening (but I’m exploring the raised beds site (thank you, Kitten!) and we’re looking into a compost bed and bringing in topsoil). The ground is covered with fallen logs in various stages of rot, there are curious piles of very, very old and rusty debris (like beer cans from the 70′s mixed with a bright red plastic sled, a tire rim, and two miniature plastic elephants) that make me wonder who was here before and what the HELL they were doing. It was a short walk because Master said He saw a bear crossing the road on His way home from work and because I saw a dead fox on the side of the road and because I heard on the news that farmers want to take the timber wolf off the endangered list so they can start shooting them for killing livestock – and though I don’t consider myself a “treat” necessarily, I figured an animal might.

We want to get chickens and raise our own, probably not until next spring/summer, but the more I hear about wild animals, the more I wonder if I really want to have a buffet-like attraction that close to my house. Maybe it’s just that I’m still weirded out about having nature up close, but I think Master should teach me how to shoot just in case. (Imagine. Me on the loose with a rifle during pms. Skeery!)

We’re possibly going to have a kid-free weekend. If so, Master has serious plans of deviance and debauchery. If not, Master has serious plans for boating and fishing. Both sound like winners to me. We are surrounded by the most gorgeous lakes (I’ll take the camera and show ya!) but we haven’t yet gone fishing in them. That is a crime, fer real. Actually, with fall here and the leaves turning, it’s simply gorgeous wherever you look. I hear the winters and the snowfall are pretty brutal here so I suppose I better enjoy the fall while it lasts. We’re already getting frost on the windows in the morning and can see our breath outside. So a couple of outdoor bondage scenes right now would be nice too, cuz me naked in the snow is on my imaginary hard limit list.

I guess this is about as much of an update as I can manage right now. For some reason I’m holding the smut close to me lately. I know this makes for a boring read, but as it stands I’m not under any posting requirements and I’m kind of enjoying it. No worries though – it won’t last long I’m sure. Vulgar-kaya-porn is still on the agenda. ;-)

In the meantime, if porn is what drives you (not that there is anything wrong with that!) check out these outdoor scenes from The Training of O that Master and I are getting inspired by.

And just in case you didn’t know, if you want kink but don’t want a full membership, try Kink on Demand. My personal favorite sites are The Training of O (obviously!) and Men in Pain (it feeds my penis envy. Cuz if I had one, I’d totally want these things done to it!). Plus I don’t think we share near enough for the female sadists around here!

~cunt

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Playing by the Rules

I remember back before I had any real-life bdsm experiences, when I had just discovered it on the internet, before I even knew that people actually lived it – when I was a wee grasshopper – I was filled with the “shoulds” of it all.

What a Master *should* do and what a Master *should* say and how a Master *should* act. The things that a naive clueless submissive dreams of I suppose.

I wrote a contract once. Silly thing it was. Full of detailed responses that a Master *should* have in response to very detailed trangressions that a submissive would probably make. I remember showing it to someone once, and they laughed at it.

It hurt my feelers. It didn’t even occur to me that by detailing what the Master should do, I wasn’t letting Him be in charge. I was writing a script, mine and his, without realizing it. I was merely detailing my fantasies. Oh I suppose in a fictional Beauty-series moment, the contract was great. It certainly provided me with hours of masturbation material anyway.

I don’t have that contract anymore; it was written several years (and several computer hard drives) ago. If tasked with re-producing it today, I probably could not recapture the gullibility and innocence I had then. I think I would feel so incredibly stupid, now that I know reality from fantasy, that I could not do it with any amount of sincerity. And that shows through in writing, don’t you think?

Even after I had been well-educated on how Master was going to do things His way regardless of my silly preconceived notions, it took even longer to stop feeling a little bit embarrassed when I’d get bogged down in comparing Him to other Doms who were doing those things that I had once thought to be required. And even longer than that to stop feeling ashamed when another submissive would ask, shocked and disapproving, “He lets you do that?!?”

Shame and embarrassment morphed into a subdued sort of longing for awhile. At some point, the longing turned into reluctant acceptance and from there, a healthy respect began to grow. It’s rather awe-inspiring to think back on what I was when I came into this relatonship compared to what I am now, and how He got me here. How He’s trained me and changed me and re-created me. We both came into this with a very clear idea of what we wanted from the other, what behaviors and actions would fit our desires, and without any help from me, in fact, in the face of sometimes very active resistance from me, He was still able to “win”. I did not change Him a fraction, yet He’s totally re-wired me. When one talks of evidence of dominance, I’d say it lies, not in the welts on one’s backside, but inside of the one being dominated. I am the evidence, not the marks I carry.

I suppose you’d not believe me if I told you I started this entry with the intention of talking about shaving, huh? I was going to discuss how far off His rules and whims are from what I thought they “should be” when I first became His. That, and the recent comment discussion around the “He lets you talk like that??” had me thinking about the shoulds of it all.

He hasn’t let me shave in about 2 months. It’s getting pretty gnarly, starting to grow down my thighs. I joked that at this rate by the time the snow flies I won’t have to wear pants. I don’t know if He’ll let me shave again ever, nor do I care really. I’m no longer disgusted over pubic hair, it doesn’t make me feel dirty or gross. He’s mentioned a time or two that He’ll make me post pictures and I just shrug. If He does or doesn’t, I don’t mind either way. You’ve all seen my cootch in all manners of hairy stages, from bald to furry, so it’s no biggie.

I DID think though, that someone would comment that He should make me shave.

Well anyway, this entry kinda went nowhere fast so I’m abandoning it.

~cunt

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Random Acts of Violence

That’s the new buzzword floating around the bdsm world. Stands for, near as I can figure, those times when the slave (sub, bottom, whatevah) is standing at the sink (or wherever), minding her own beeswax, doing her thing, and the Master (top, sadist, etc.) walks up and outta nowhere *POPS* her on the ass. Or rips a nipple off. Or yanks out some hair. Or something like that.

Apparently, people like this. All I’m hearing is that gushy “omg! I love it when Master does that! Squee!”

I don’t get it. I don’t LIKE it. In fact, it pisses me right off.

It’s no more erotic to suddenly have my world clouded with pain when I don’t see it coming, ain’t in the mood for it, am thinking about dicing potatoes, than it is to fall down the deck stairs at 5a.m. when you’re trying to beat the garbage truck cuz you forgot it was garbage day. (that sucked. and hurt. A lot!)

I stub my toe on the table leg? I get mad and kick the coffee table. I smack my head on the cupboard door? I curse and slam the door shut. Master walks by and rips a nipple off? I glare and contemplate smacking Him upside the noggin.

Does not compute for me. Pain *can be* erotic, sure. But it’s all about the setting, the build up and lead in, the atmosphere, the mooooooooood. None of this potshotting bullshit!

Srsly, I get mad. Like I have to stand there and count to ten before I even speak or else I’d be digging my own grave. And I have to close my eyes and take a deep, cleansing breath. And then I have to grit my teeth and dig my fingernails into my palms. And then I turn around and say, “would You knock it the fuck off!!!?” real calm like. Sort of calm like. Okay, not calm, but calmer than I WAS ten seconds prior.

And then He grins at me, and cocks His eyebrows, and silently challenges me with that and-what-are-you-going-to-do-about-it-little-cunt? look of His and does it again!!

ARGH!!!!

Hot or not?

NOT!

So He does this all the time and He knows full well that I hate it with a passion. Doesn’t stop Him. Doesn’t even make Him pause.

That part is kinda hot.

A little.

This much >.<

But that's all.

~cunt

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The sad and the happy.

The sad: We lost a cat. Dusty, aka FatAss, aka Godzilla got outside about a week and a half ago. We’re not sure how or when, the last I remember seeing him was Friday night in the kitchen, feeding him some treats, but Saturday morning he didn’t show up for breakfast. Best we can figure, he must have snuck out when one of us took the dog out before bed that night.

He’s been outside before, but not in this semi-wilderness. I might mention that bear hunting season started recently. Oh you read that right; I said bear. As in wild BEARS.

As an aside; I grew up in the country but the biggest pest problems we had to worry about were the raccoons in the garbage and the skunks in the chicken house. We didn’t have bears. I’ve never seen a bear. I’ve never wanted to live in a place where bear hunting was a season.

(As another aside, outdoor bondage was kinda sorta scary-fun before, but now what with BEARS, it’s taken on a whole new meaning of scary and not-so-much of the fun.)

Anyway. Dusty hasn’t been seen. I think the worst part of losing a pet is not knowing what happened. Is he stuck somewhere, cold and hungry and suffering? Is he just lost? Dead? Eaten? I can’t think about it too much or I’ll cry.

We’ve done the standard lost pet routine, but I think it’s pretty unlikely that he’ll turn up now. :-(

But now for the happy. Master let me go to the humane society. They were having a “2 fur 1″ special on cats and kittens. I got to adopt two kittens, about 4 months old, brothers, and just as sweet and lovable as all get out.

One is a ginger, like Master (tee hee) and darn near as demanding, too. When he wants to be petted, which is often, he doesn’t so much ask for it as he climbs up your body, drapes himself around your neck and bites your ears until he’s had enough. If you try to put him down, he twists around and hangs on with all claws until you submit. He’s quite the dom in orange fur.

Jes named him Tipsey, probably because he’s the clutsiest, most uncoordinated kitten I’ve ever seen. And he purrs so loud you can hear him in the next room. I am so in love with him.

The other one, Am named Sweeney Todd (because she’s all obsessed with Johnny Depp), but it fits him because he’s pure black (basement cat! ahh!) and rather aloof and dark. He can be just as affectionate as his ginger brother, but only if he wants to.

Annie, the stray we took in last year, is not so full of the happy at this invasion into “her” home. She’s not made friends with them yet. See?

Click for more pictures of cuteness!

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