I Suppose

I should update this thing.

I know I promised you some porn a couple days ago. Sorry. I suddenly got very greedy with my porn and didn’t want to share!

Actually, all I was going to do was direct you to the Free Hardcore Gallery offered by Kink.com. I was going to pretty it all up with enticing photos and whatnot, but, meh. I’m lazy and you can click.

There are terrific still shots and some video clips. They are short, teaser clips but you can’t complain about free shit! I don’t know about the rest of you but in this recession, anything free is worth checking out. That goes double if it’s free porn, and it goes triple if it’s Kink.com’s free porn.

The recession, however, hasn’t yet kept me away from The Training of O. I just don’t think there are many sites that come close to matching O for bdsm porn.

Except for Paintoy. Dude, if you’ve never checked them out, you have to. For real. WAY worth it. Alebeard and Dru haunt my bdsm nightmares.

There. I’ve delivered porn. :-)

~~*~~

I’m starting to slide into a disgruntled state of mind that, if any of you could be so kind as to kick me in the ass so I get out of it, I’d be most appreciative.

It’s not only not an appropriate attitude to carry around, it’s just not fair to him to even feel it.

Of course, rational thought does shit-all to kick it to the curb apparently, because instead of keeping it at bay, it’s only growing day by day.

What I keep thinking is that it just doesn’t pay to even work at trying to rekindle the desires when ain’t nothing going to happen. All of that resurgence of masochistic need that broke through has done nothing but awaken desires I’d successfully squashed and I’d prefer not to want what I can’t have when I can just not want anything at all.

One way is dead.. the other way is angsty and irritable and unfulfilled. Given a choice, dead is easier.

It’s just not fair to HIM to be so grumpy about it. He’s working really long, hard hours right now. He’s out the door at 6am, he’s home at 6pm, he eats and goes to bed. Repeats it the next day. And the next. And the next… wash, rinse, repeat. He hardly wants to have vanilla sex let alone anything more involved.

When he does get a day off, he’s trying to recover. Even if he weren’t drained, the opportunity isn’t here anyway.

So. Not fair, not appropriate. Needs to be squashed. I regret that I let it consume me. I know better.

Anyone volunteer to kick me and set me straight?

~~*~~

I’ve been having a ball on FetLife lately though. I really enjoy the people I’m “hanging” with on there. Our sense of humor is similar to one another and we do nothing but egg each other on. It’s way fun.

~~*~~

The snow is melting *finally*. It’s melted enough that I’ve discovered Christmas decorations that I forgot were out there. That was just too funny. I kept peering out the window over the course of a couple of days going, wtf is that red thing in the yard?! Someone threw trash in our yard, the bastards! Wait. Is that a..? That looks like an ornament! Who the heck would throw an ornament in our yar… Oh. Oh wait. That’s mine. Nevermind.

Still out there too. I already packed away the Christmas stuff. I am not even digging it all out again. I figure if I didn’t miss it when I was putting the stuff away, I must not love it very much so… fuck it. Hello, trash day.

The melted snow has also revealed a winter’s worth of frozen dog turds, which, I have to admit, has done a lot toward healing my heart from the loss of Sutter. I will not miss poop scooping one little tiny bit!

~~*~~

Last but not least- It’s a girl. :-)

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Titles are so last year!

Master is working this weekend (boo) so I have nothing but time on my hands. I’m gonna fill up on some memes, some pointless babbling, and then, later, (today or tomorrow) I’m gonna shoot y’all some porn (and it’s not me! Another boo!).

I think we need to make some porn though. After watching some of what I’m going to show you later, I’m feeling quite neglected and horny and very much like stomping my feet and demanding that he “play with meee! Wah!” Not that that works or anything but that’s how I feel. I ain’t gonna lie.

Yesterday, I had a big resurgence of masochism. It’s been pretty low-key, as I’ve shared here, almost to the point of Do-Not-Wantism rather than masochism. But yesterday it all kind of bubbled up to the surface and now it’s just slowly simmering. I haven’t had this itchy, twitchy feeling in my panties in a looooong time. It feels kinda weird actually.

What was the big event that sparked the masochism tango in my spankies? Hee. I’ll tell ya!

I was making dinner. Roasted red pepper, asparagus and mozzarella cheese stuffed chicken breast with fettucini alfredo on the side. Wanna see?? It was uber-yummy!

First, you pound out some chicken breasts. I sprinkled them with an Italian seasoning/parmesan cheese/chives mixture on both sides. Then add in a couple of asparagus spears, a pepper slice and some mozz. cheese. Roll up, stab with some toothpicks to hold it together, drizzle with olive oil and bake at 350F for, oh, 20-30 minutes or until done.

Here’s the precooked look.

Here’s the finished look.

It was so nummy. But I digress. Enough of the noms.

So I was standing at the counter, pounding out the chicken breasts, right? And, you know, I was all alone and, admittedly, I’m getting a little stir crazy, a little cabin fever taking root as winter never ends up here in No Man’s Land, and I talk to myself. In LOLCat language. I guess maybe I figure my cats can understand me if I speak in their native tongue. That way I’m not really talking to myself. I’m talking to *them*.

They do look at me like I’m insane so they could be listening!

Hush.

Anyway, the cats are terrified, either because I’m talking to them or because I’m rattling the windows with my earnest meat flattening, hard to say really, and it amused me that they were all poofed up and hunkered down and wild eyed, stalking around the house trying to flush out the enemy. So I started brandishing the meat tenderizer at them and going, “Ahh! I are teh skeery meat lady!” *Slam!* “I will beat you with my skeery hammeh!” *Wham!*

I’m beating the bloody hell out of the chicken breasts. “I are teh Chicken Boob Sadist! I will mangle your titties! Grrrs!” *BamBamBam!*

And then I held up my little wooden meat tenderizer and I thought, now why in the HELL is this neat-o toy NOT IN THE TOYBOX!?!?!

Just like that, I bubbled. Yep. Bubbled over with masochistic need.

This?

Will be in the toybox. And I will have my breasts tenderized. Probably not quite as mangled as I did that poor chicken, but close. I hope.

I has needs!

Dinner was good though. Really. ;-)

~~*~~

Speaking of the cats, Loverboy (orange kitty) has been acting up the last few days. He wanders around the house yowling (and he’s fixed so no chance of being randy), and we call him over and he comes and lets us pet him for a second and then he resumes his prowling and yowling.

He tore the shit out of Am’s lunchbag. Like, shredded it. He dumped over the water dish. He paces up and down the stairs, to the bird channel window, to the door, to the bedroom, to the food dish but doesn’t eat, to the bathroom, in and out of the cupboards, back to the stairs…

I think he’s looking for Sutter. :-(

~~*~~

I was tagged! By TakenByLovely.

List five songs you’re REALLY into right now and then tag 5 more people:

1. Single Ladies- Beyonce. (It’s not the song so much, other than that it gets stuck in my head, but the video! All that ass-shaking and air humping, my eyes become glued to the screen.)

2. I’m Yours- Jason Mraz (for the same reason that I like that Hawaiin dude’s version of Over the Rainbow.)

3. I’ve Been Loving You Too Long- Otis Redding (this is a crap video but I can’t find a good one. Love this song though. One of my all-time favorites ever.)

4. Pretty Pink Rose- Ashton Allen (I don’t think this song is very popular. I had to upload it myself to get in on youtube, and though it says it’s like 7 minutes long, the song is the usual length of 3 and a half minutes or so. The rest of the time is dead air. I dunno why nor do I care enough to fix it. I really can’t say why this song appeals to me. Just.. the melody, the smoothness of his voice. I dunno. It just do!)

5. Oh, Darlin’- Robin Gibb. (Again, not the best video. Just, yanno, don’t look at him. Just listen.)

I tag everyone. 5 times.

~~*~~

The Controversial Survey

Would you do meth if it was legalized?
I would not.

Abortion: for or against?
Against.

Would our country fall with a woman president?
Yep.

Do you believe in the death penalty?
Yes. But I think the cases it’s used in should be absolute.

Do you wish marijuana would be legalized already?
No.

Do you believe in God?
No.

Do you think same sex marriage should be legalized?
Yes already. Preferable before my daughter is in love and of legal age to marry.

Do you think its wrong that so many Hispanics are moving to the USA?
No, not wrong. I wish they’d do it legally though.

A 12 year old girl has a baby..should she keep it?
I guess that depends on her parents, as they’ll be the ones raising it and paying for it. But, yes, if she wants it, she should keep it.

Should the alcohol age be lowered to 18?
Well, I think that either the legal adult age needs to be raised to 21 or the drinking age lowered to 18. Preferable, raise the adult age. But the spread between the two makes little sense to me.

Should the war in Iraq be called off?
Before it even started actually.

Assisted suicide is illegal..do you agree?
No.

Do you believe in spanking children?
I do, but with lots of qualifiers. The childs age, how it’s done, what it’s done with- that sort of thing. I don’t necessarily think that physical punishment is the answer for every mistake, but when you need to make a point pretty quickly, a swat on the ass can sometimes shock them into listening better.

Would you burn an American flag for a million dollars?
I probably would do just about anything for a million dollars, though if I did this one, I’d have to be prepared to be disowned by both Master and my dad. Soooo… No. I wouldn’t.

A mother is declared innocent after murdering her 5 children in a temporary insanity case, Do you agree?
I agree with the defense of temporary insanity in some cases, however, I don’t agree with that equalling getting off punishment free. If not life in prison, then life in a mental institution. Whatever.

Are you afraid others will judge you from reading some of your answers?
I am not afraid of it, no.

~~*~~

Amusing (to me) story:

Master, and the rest of us but Master started it, likes to snack on peanuts. So we buy them in these big ginormous bags from Menards. But we’re dorks, right, so we don’t call them peanuts. We call them penis.

As in: Hey, anyone want some penis?

And: Who took the bowl of penis??!

And: Am, they’re gonna kick you out of the Lesbian Club if you keep sucking on penis.

In the store: I found the penis! Penis over here! Penis in aisle 3!

And: I could really sink my teeth into some penis right about now. *nom nom nom*

Hee. Anyway, it’s become stupidly normal to call peanuts penis, we all do it without even thinking about. So last weekend, Am had a friend over and they were sitting at the table working on a homework project. I walked into the living room and the coffee table was a damn mess. Peanut parts scattered all over!

So I holler through the house, “Who in the hell left penis tracks all over the damn coffee table!?”

Am answers back, “The cats were playing in the penis and tracked it all over, Mom.”

And this poor girl (snicker) gets this terrified expression on her face, her mouth drops open, and she’s looking back and forth from me to Am to me to Am and she whispers to Am, “Did your mom just ask you about putting a PENIS on the coffee table??”

We cracked UP. Omg. Freakin’ hilarious. And she’s just staring at us like we’re fucking crazy. Took a few minutes to explain the whole penis-peanut connection and then she was fine, but oh lordy, I forget that not everyone is as weird as we are.

And it isn’t that she was offended that we say penis. She’s 17 and I’ve been with her and her mother and I know they talk about penis, too. It was just the context of it I guess.

Too funny.

Well. Anyway. This is the longest bullshit post in the history of ever so I’m done now. :D

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Sex is always the answer, it’s never a question.

Yesterday I met up with a couple of other small s-type girls for lunch. It’s really a lot of fun and I relate to this group of women so well that, literally, hours and hours pass before I know it and then I’m scrambling to get home. I didn’t get home yesterday until almost 4:30 in the afternoon! Yikes. Good thing I did chores in the morning and had dinner in the crock pot.

(Pat myself on the back for good planning. Good job, kaya! :D )

Anyway, one of the conversation questions was “What would you like to have happened in your life within the next year?” and my answer was that I would like to have the protocols and BDSM stuff become a higher priority than what they have been lately. I said that the line between being a normal vanilla wife and being a slave gets awful blurry awfully quickly.

It’s just all too easy to become complacent within our M/s relationship when we focus more on trying to avoid some of the curveballs life throws at us. Maintaining M/s to the level that we both prefer it takes work. Real work. Maintaining normalcy doesn’t. Or doesn’t seem to when compared to the other, I guess.

(And of course, even as I sit here talking about feeling like a vanilla wife, I can’t help but think of just how much of my day to day life would feel incredibly non-vanilla to a vanilla. But that’s not my topic today.)

As I was saying, I had said that I would like to have bdsm practices become more commonplace. I had also mentioned that in thinking that, I had to acknowledge that I could be more proactive myself. That I tend to fall back on thinking that, oh, he’s the leader and I’m the follower so I should just sit and gather dust while I wait for him to lead- when the truth is I should not be absolved of the work portion of keeping things high on the priority list. That I can’t fault him for not doing it if I’m not doing it either.

I don’t mean to make it sound like we’re wallowing in vanilla territory because it’s not that either. There are a myriad of things that happen throughout the day, and he does pay attention to things, and it’s not all bleak and dreary at ALL. But there are definitely areas that could use improvement and I was acknowledging that, in some cases, that improvement could start with ME, within myself, my attitude and my approach rather than taking the lazy way out and excusing myself because HE didn’t do this or say that or whatever.

Make sense?

No? lol. Too bad.

So yesterday evening, shortly after Master came home from work (which was shortly after *I* got home!), he started making sexual advances at me. And this is one area that we both know needs improvement. Sex.

Not the sex itself. He’s phenomenal in the sack and dammit, I am one lucky whore in that respect. What’s been off lately is the timing. Somehow, our timing together got totally screwed. Not only that, but the fact that his advances are coming at what I consider a “bad time” for me even factors in is totally whacked.

Part of it certainly is my continued lack of libido, which I am fairly convinced now is directly related to our lack of play. Because the fact is, when we do play, I get hornier than a two-peckered billy goat so I know it’s *there*, it’s just not getting “fed” as it used to. I don’t really worry about anymore because knowing it’s there and just a little starved right now is a pretty big comfort. I am not becoming non-sexual, I’m just hungry. Good enough.

So, having a lower desire means that when he wants to “do it” at odd times of the day, I’m more prone to try and weasel out of it. If I know it’s going to be just a wham-bam, or under the desk (I’m seriously hating that right now. Like, you don’t even know.) AND I have no desire for it? I’m just all… blah… and “do I hafta??” which, as you can imagine, isn’t conducive to creating happy-horny feelings for him.

Now, if we’re getting into bed and it’s going to be a good fuck with no pressing concerns like kids asking for homework help or dinner burning on the stove or whatever, then even though I still have a low desire, I’m less likely to try and excuse my way out of it.

Unfortunately, Master tends to be sleepy-tired by the time we get to bed and HE doesn’t want to do it then. He wants to fuck when he’s horny and has the energy. Like, when he gets home from work.

So, needless to say, it’s been kind of a hit and miss, with some mutual but understood frustration on both of our parts.

My frustration has been blanketed with some hella heavy guilt, too, though. I’m supposed to be the sex slave here, yanno? Oy.

Anyway, so after the conversation at lunch, and then he comes home and starts smooching on me and eyeing the bedroom, and then he asks me what I’m doing and says let’s go fuck.

Seriously, and this is so fucking sad- I gave him a rueful smile and pointed to the kitchen. “I can’t. I’m cooking.” which I was honestly doing, and to back up my words, right as I said that, the oven timer dinged. As I walked away, I jokingly quipped over my shoulder “Excuse me while I go tend to the real master of the house- the stove.”

He didn’t say anything. I mean, this is the norm around here lately. Unless I’m really NOT doing anything, somehow his needs have fallen to the bottom of the priority list. I just can’t fathom how cooking or homework or *whatever* started trumping his dick.

So I go into the kitchen and check on the biscuits. They aren’t quite done yet so I reset the timer for another 2 minutes and I’m standing there thinking. The conversation at lunch is echoing in my head, along with his quiet acceptance of me having walked away and it’s bothering me. Like, bothering me a LOT. And I just keep thinking, be proactive, cunt. THIS is not proactive. THIS is lazy. This is shameful. This is NOT slavery or bdsm. This is what you say you don’t want, yet this is what you DO?? Get with the program, woman!

I kind of look around the house a bit. B-man is in his room playing video games and probably won’t come out until I drag him out. Am had fallen asleep on the couch and probably wouldn’t wake up until I poked her. Jes is gone still. So what uber-important thing am I doing here? What is the worst that will happen? We’ll have cold biscuits for dinner. That’s what is keeping me from going and servicing my Master’s cock?? Srsly, cunt?

Let’s see. If I were him and my cock was twitching and I had a supposed sex slave who, ideally, is to service that cock whenever it twitches and instead she’s decided that watching biscuits brown is more important?? Uh… mayhaps there needs to be a lesson given about priorities. Or.. maybe that lesson should already be known and the next lesson is giving up.

Sad thoughts, yeah? Sobering thoughts.

But this is how we grow, right? I mean, I like to think that being brutally honest with myself about my failures means something.

I guess the real test is what I ultimately end up doing with these realizations. Not just for one day, but every day.

Well, I’m happy to report that we had cold biscuits for dinner. Onward and upward, Christian soldier!

~cunt

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A little bit lighter…

How to tell that the honeymoon is over:

The other day I was walking down the hall and I glanced into the bedroom as I passed. Master was in there, he’d just changed into some pajama pants and he was doing that very manly-maneuver known as “teh ball scratch”.

I leaned against the door frame and watched him for a bit. “Hey now,” I said, snickering and waggling my eyebrows. “That is some kind of sexy. I don’t know if I can control myself when you do that.”

He looked up at me and smirked. “Oh yeah? How about now?” He shoved both of his hands down his pants and started scratching with some real enthusiasm, lewdly wagging his tongue at me. “Now come here, baby. Daddy’s got a little sumpin’ sumpin’ for ya.”

“No!” I shrieked and took off running down the hall. My momma didn’t raise no fools!

He chuckled and chased after me, leering and cat-calling, his hands stretched out in front of him like some weird, sexed-up zombie.

He finally caught me in the living room though I put up a good fight, screaming and squealing like a girl. He grabbed me from behind and smeared his hands all over my face, laughing in my ear.

“Take that!” He yelled, and he shoved his fingers up my nostrils. “How do my balls smell now, bitch? Huh? Whatchoo got to say now?!”

Laughing, I tried to wipe my nose on his arm. “I say you need to take a shower, you nasty ass! You fucking stink!”

He grinned and biffed me in the back of the head. “Some slave you are, talking disrespectful to your master like that. You should be ashamed! How come you don’t share these moments on the blog, huh? Afraid you’ll tarnish your reputation? Don’t want anyone to know you aren’t ‘twoo’?”

I kicked him in the butt. Then I went and q-tipped out my nostrils.

I am so twoo. Twoo slaves always kick ass.

~~*~~

So there. The honeymoon is over and we’re left with ball scratching and nose picking.

Does this mean I can stop plucking out my stray nipple hairs now?

~cunt

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All Dogs Go To Heaven

I knew it would be hard. I just didn’t expect it to be this hard.

It was time, hell, it had probably been time for awhile now. But when we’d decide it was time, when he would fall and have to lay there for a bit to gather the strength to stand, when he’d practically lick his fur off in an effort to get at the pain and we’d look sadly at each other and nod and say “It’s time.” – then he’d have a good day and chase the ball or do something cute and we’d think, oh, just a little while longer yet.

A little while longer for us.

Over this last weekend though, we couldn’t keep telling ourselves to wait a little bit more. We woke to find Sutter in the hallway, lying in a pile of his own excrement, unable to move out of it. Anyone who has had a dog will know what I mean when I say that he looked embarrassed and ashamed.

Master had to carry him outside, I cleaned up the mess- and we started saying our goodbyes to him then. It was time.

But, oh man, the guilt. He gets so excited when he sees the leash. Even more excited when he gets to go in the car. “Wanna go for a walk?! Wanna go bye-bye?!” and he’d chuff at you, smile all the way to his ears, prance in place– and where do we take him?

I just can’t shake the feeling that he felt betrayed, that he wasn’t ready at all- that we were.

That feeling isn’t helped by the fact that it took 3 times the dose of what it should have taken, the final dose injected straight into his heart while the vet petted him and remarked that he had the strongest heart of any dog she’d ever met.

And I stood there, his head in my hands, crying, second-guessing the decision, a decision that was just too late to change. I stayed until the end, hard as it was. There was just no way I was going to let him go alone.

Master was a mess. He couldn’t get out of the car, he tried- he couldn’t. He’s had that dog longer than he’s had me, longer than he’s had anything I guess. Longer than most relationships between people last. Sutter was the child he never had. He didn’t want his last memory to be watching the injection. I don’t blame him for that, not at all, and difficult as it was for me, animal lover that I am, I consider this to have been one of the deepest and most sincere services I could provide for him.

After, when it was over, we sobbed together in the car. I cried because he cried, because he loves so hard, and strong as he is, tough as he is, mean old sadistic bastard that he is- the loss of a plain old dog, HIS dog, crippled him. He sobbed, heart-broken and lost–

It was very humbling for me. It’s not often that I see him so vulnerable, so laid-open and raw. It’s not often that I’m in the role of the comforter. I caught a glimpse of how deeply he loves, and it touched me.

He’s not made of stone after all.

I love him all the more today knowing that.

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The Learning Curve

(Another Fetlife rant brought to you by the letters U, R, and D-U-M-B)

I maintain that the only (and best) teacher for me when it comes to matters of slavery and service is Master.

Everyone else is great for sharing and comparing, for conversation, forging friendships (or enemies, as the case may be).

When it comes to knowing what he wants and how he wants it done, who *else* could teach me that??

So, I mentioned that I get irritated by people, especially slaves who are less than 3 weeks into their M/s relationship, who want to *teach* me stuff about *their* slavery.

Not tell me about it. Not share stories. But *teach* And some little snot-nosed brat replies that that’s “sad that I think one person knows everything and that no one can teach me anything”.

I am not their slave so pleasing them isn’t at the top of my list. Knowing how to please their Master is not even ON my list. So where do they figure they can *teach* me anything?

I may or may not be interesed in what they do, but as a learning tool? I don’t fucking think so.

Now if Master had said to me “cunt, you need to learn how she does that.” – that’s a whole different ballgame! I’d be begging her to teach me, whether she’d been doing it for 5 minutes or 20 years.

I can’t imagine the ego behind “I have things to teach you” type statements. Just blows me away.

I could spend all day learning what someone else has to teach, but if it’s not something that Master has an interest in, *how* have I served him that day?

This should not irritate me as much as it does. Gah. I’m such a bitch.

~cunt

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Gratitude. I has it.

Thanks guys. Your words have been a great comfort to me over the last day or two. I know I shouldn’t need to hear that I’m doing the right thing but… I do.

I have my mother and my daughter trying desperately hard to convince me that I’m NOT “doing it right” and then I start feeling guilty and start doubting myself – and that’s the cycle we’ve been in throughout Jes’s formative years.

I was surprised really, to hear that not many do the allowance thing though! I thought it was more common than that (even though I never had one and neither did Master).

The allowance was something we wanted to try, more as an experiment between us, in an attempt to come to some sort of compromise over money/kid issues. When I became a non-money earning partner, while I was okay with giving up the “right” to buy myself mascara when I wanted some or whatever, I was not (am not) willing to make that same sacrifice on behalf of the kids.

But then I’m rather sensitive to making sure that my decisions to be submissive do not become their decisions, as well as making sure that Master’s dominance and control over me does not extend to them – beyond the normal parenting stuff of course (and even at that, sometimes the lines blur in my head – but that’s a different entry).

So we thought we would try it and obviously it didn’t work. *shrug*

I haven’t talked much with Jes since she left, but I have argued with my mother. That’s a nice little bonus. Jes has always been the “chosen child” when it comes to my mother so I didn’t expect anything less, it’s just too bad because my parents and I had finally come to a fairly peaceful place and now that’s on shaky ground again.

Well. Anyway-

I just wanted to say thanks. Again. You’re all back on the Christmas card list. ;-)

~cunt

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Uhh…

I’ve heard of this before but I’d never taken the time to read it.

So I did. And… I’m struggling a little bit.

I… it’s… well. I don’t think I get it.

I’m all, like, what the FUCK is it even about? What’s the moral, the message? I understand that buried somewhere in here is some Master/slave epiphany but….

Where?? What??

Do I need watered?

I can find all kinds of material to snark but deep and meaningful M/s significance?? Was it *made* to be snarked? Cuz.. that I get.

Yeah. It’s not real right? I mean, I know it’s not *real* but I mean, was this really in the book and people really read it and really find something in it?

Well. You tell me then cuz I am as lost as I can possibly be.

~~*~~

HOUSEPLANTS OF GOR

The spider plant cringed as its owner brought forth the watering can. “I am a spider plant!” it cried indignantly. “How dare you water me before my time! Guards!” it called. “Guards!”

Borin, its owner, placed the watering can on the table and looked at it. “You will be watered,” he said.

“You do not dare to water me!” laughed the plant.

“You will be watered,” said Borin.

“Do not water me!” wept the plant.

“You will be watered,” said Borin.

I watched this exchange. Truly, I believed the plant would be watered. It was plant, and on Gor it had no rights. Perhaps on Earth, in its permissive society, which distorts the true roles of all beings, which forces both plant and waterer to go unh appy and constrained, which forbids the fulfillment of owner and houseplant, such might not happen. Perhaps there, it would not be watered. But it was on Gor now, and would undoubtedly feel its true place, that of houseplant. It was plant. It would be watered at will. Such is the way with plants.

Borin picked up the watering can, and muchly watered the plant. The plant cried out. “No, Master! Do not water me!” The master continued to water the plant. “Please, Master,” begged the plant, “do not water me!” The master continued to water the plant. It was plant. It could be watered at will.

The plant sobbed muchly as Borin laid down the watering can. It was not pleased. Too, it was wet. But this did not matter. It was plant.

“You have been well watered,” said Borin.

“Yes,” said the plant, “I have been well watered.” Of course, it could be watered by its master at will.

“I have watered you well,” said Borin.

“Yes, master,” said the plant. “You have watered your plant well. I am plant, and as such I should be watered by my master.”

The cactus plant next to the spider plant shuddered. It attempted to cover its small form with its small arms and small needles. “I am plant,” it said wonderingly. “I am of Earth, but for the first time, I feel myself truly plantlike. On Earth, I w as able to control my watering. I often scorned those who would water me. But they were weak, and did not see my scorn for what it was, the weak attempt of a small plant to protect itself. Not one of the weak Earth waterers would dare to water a plant if it did not wish it. But on Gor,” it shuddered, “on Gor it is different. Here, those who wish to water will water their plants as they wish. But strangely, I feel myself most plantlike when I am at the mercy of a strong Gorean master, who may water m e as he pleases.”

“I will now water you,” said Borin, the cactus’s Gorean master.

The cactus did not resist being watered. Perhaps it was realizing that such watering was its master’s to control. Too, perhaps it knew that this master was far superior to those of Earth, who would not water it if it did not wish to be watered.

The cactus’s watering had been finished. The spider plant looked at it.

“I have been well watered,” it said.

“I, too, have been well watered,” said the cactus.

“My master has watered me well,” said the spider plant.

“My master, too, has watered me well,” said the cactus.

“I am to be placed in a hanging basket on the porch,” said the spider plant.

“I, too, am to be placed in a hnaging basket on the porch,” said the cactus.

“I wish you well,” said the spider plant.

“I, too, wish you well,” said the cactus.

“Tal,” said the spider plant.

“Tal, too,” said the cactus.

I did not think that the spider plant would object to being watered by its master again. For it realized that it was plant, and that here, unlike on Earth, it was likely to be owned and watered by many masters.

~~*~~

Such is the way. *sage nod*

wtf?

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Kaya and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

PMS. I have some. At least I think I do. I never keep a schedule of it, I just kind of figure that when I start getting irritated that the people around me are still breathing – I’m close to bleeding.

Yesterday was blechy. Jes has left. Again.

I just can’t keep doing this with her. Everytime something happens that doesn’t please her 100%, she bolts. All I can see in the future is her using that baby as a pawn, a manipulation tool to force me into giving her her way all the time or she’ll take it away.

My gut response is to try and keep myself from bonding any more than I already have with the baby-to-be. Self-protection I guess.

I’m truly thinking about telling her not to come back. And yet… the words stick in my throat because…. the baby bump.

What was the catalyst this time, the horrifically awful event that caused her to run away from the evils of this house?

The end of allowance, and my refusal to do it again at any time in the very near future.

Not just for her. For all three of them. And not because I am determined to “ruin her life”, as she thinks. (As if allowance is the life-ruining factor she needs to be worrying about anyway. Jeezus pleezus.)

Here was the deal with the kids and earning an allowance.

Allowance had stopped working in the way that it was supposed to. It had become a source of fighting, between me and them, between Master and I, and within myself.

Here’re the ways in which it went wrong:

First, there were hassles over what it was supposed to be used for. This was a lot of where Master and I would start to bicker. He felt that it should be used for anything they *wanted*, and while I don’t disagree with that theory, I would tend to disagree with what was a want and what was a need. (Imagine that huh? A slave who wants to haggle over wants and needs. tee hee)

An extension of the ‘wants and needs’ disagreement was that it seemed like I couldn’t buy them something for “just because” without him thinking it should have come out of their allowance. Again, he had legitimate points, but so did I. And unfortunately, the kids had picked up on some of the discord between us about it and were playing that in their favor, the manipulative little monsters.

But these things between him and I were being worked out as we went along. That wasn’t even the reason it all blew up, but it was a mitigating factor in the final decision.

They had a very small, very reasonable, list of chores to earn their allowance. They had to do simple things like make their bed in the morning, put their clothes away, help clean up after supper, take out the trash, yadda yadda yadda.

But all of a sudden, they seemed to think they didn’t have to do anything that wasn’t THEIR chore. There was no spirit of cooperation anymore, no willingness to help someone (me, mostly) do anything. Not that I expect cheers and cartwheels when I ask someone to set the table or dust the living room, they are teenagers after all, but about the 100th time I heard “No. That’s not MY chore.” I’d had enough of it.

If there wasn’t a monetary attachment to doing something, again, they thought they could refuse to do it. Everything I’d ask was answered with “how much will you pay me?”

Uhh. Nothing. That’s how much.

I was in a constant cycle of having to remind them to do their chores, of tracking them down, asking them if they’d done it yet, being told that yeah, they were coming to do it in “five minutes, Mom!” and then, an hour later, the table still isn’t cleared, I’m getting tired, I don’t want to clean the kitchen at 9pm when THEY are ready, finding that they’d “forgotten” to scoop the litter box for 3 days straight, they’d “forgotten” to take the trash out…. blah blah blah and excuse after excuse and wah-wah-wah-wah.

Plus, they’d lost any and all motivation to find other ways to actually earn money. When I was a kid I did all sorts of unpleasant things to earn spending money. I detassled corn in the summer (if you’ve done that, you’ll agree it’s a suck-ass job for a kid), I babysat on the weekends and in the summers instead of hanging out with my friends.I waitressed. For one short and disasterous time over a summer, I delivered pizzas. (Me and directions? Are not friends. I cost that poor restaurant more free pizzas than were paid for I think. I was the worst delivery driver than any delivery driver in the history of ever.)

But I’d mention to them about looking for work like that and they’d sigh and “Nah” and “don’t need to” and “why?”.

And, this is where Jes factored into it the most, what it was being spent on just was burning my ass more and more.

She would save hers until she has enough to make a trip to Wisconsin. Which, on the occasion that the three of them would cooperate so they could go together, I was much more okay with it. The other two kids liked to go down there and spend the weekend with their old friends, too, so they’d all chip in one week’s allowance and that was enough to cover the gas there and back; they’d leave after school on Friday, come home on Sunday, and it was all hunky-fuckin-dory.

I knew where they were and I knew when they were coming home.

Jes doesn’t like doing it that way. She doesn’t want to only have Friday through Sunday. She wants to stay there for a week or two. In order for her to have the gas money without needing her brother’s and sister’s contribution, she has to save all of her allowance for a month. So she was in this cycle of saving for 4 weeks and then taking off for 2 weeks.

Her car, the car we gave her? Needs some work done. We did not give her that car so she could drive it into the ground by zipping off to Wisconsin and Illinois all the damn time. And the fact that we’re struggling to figure out how we’re going to pay for her baby while she’s pissing away money so she can go get laid once a month? Umm. no. There are a lot more important things she needs to be saving her allowance for.

So the whole thing accumulated into one big fight between the kids while we were gone the other night. I heard all about it when we got home and it all started over Jes saying that she wasn’t going to take Am and B-man with her anymore because she doesn’t like having to come home at the end of the weekend. She wants to stay there for that week or two.

And I’d just had enough. Her selfishness and her irresponsibility, on top of all of the other problems with the whole allowance business, on top of the fact that we’re not exactly rolling in the dough anyway and if that sacrifice from us isn’t properly appreciated?? Enough is enough, you know? Seriously.

And I’ve been threatening to do this if things didn’t shape up for quite a few weeks anyway.

So I told them all that I was done. I was done with allowance, done with chore lists, done done done. They can just do without until some of this other stuff improves. Or forever. Whichever comes first.

Am and B-man? They’re not stupid. They knew it was coming and they know why. They heard the warnings, they chose to ignore them, and they get that this is the consequence.

Jes? Not so much. Back to that entitlement syndrome of hers. She thinks that she is earning that money and should be able to do what she wants with it.

She thinks I’m only trying to keep her from seeing the baby daddy (who is still unemployed and has made zero contribution to anything).

She thinks I’m being unfair.

She thinks I don’t want her to have any fun.

She thinks I only want her to sit around the house and be miserable.

She thinks since we gave her that car, she can drive it without oil, drive 3,000 miles on bald tires, and that we shouldn’t say anything. Because it’s hers.

She makes me so tired. One day with her is like two weeks with the other two, I swear.

She doesn’t think she should be still be treated like a child, yet she’s doing *nothing* adult-like in any way whatsoever- nor can I get her to admit that even getting allowance is pretty childish.

She’s still just 17 and lives here and *should* be treated like a child, especially considering that she acts like she’s 12.

Everything is “not fair” or “not my fault!” when it comes to her, and even though it’s not my fault she got pregnant and not fair that we have to pay for it, she’s too stuck on how “not fair” it is that I took allowance away and how it’s “not her fault” that the other two kids have to go to school and can’t take off for weeks at a time.

So she gets pissed, she says she’s going to leave, I tell her to do what she has to do, she calls grandma crying and whining, my mom wires her money- and she leaves.

She writes me this long ass note about how it’s “not fair” (scream) and how she doesn’t want to leave but she doesn’t think I’m being “fair” (scream) and it’s not “her fault” (scream)

Round and round we go. Didn’t we do this same thing last month over something else?? And the month before that?

Fucking tired of it, of her, of the drama. Maybe I’ll take a big ol’ pass on being a grandma after all.

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Q&A-#?

You said about things/facts/evidence the kids know or not, but i just wonder how do you title each other in their presence? Are there some times when D/s utterance slip out, just unconsciously…
[...] Or you are just so skilled in the switching of the two speech parterns that it means no problem for you in whatever moment?

It is not that I am skilled. (Skilz. I has none.) It’s that I am not in the habit of using those honorifics. It’s just the opposite in fact. When it should be appropriate for me to refer to him as Master or Sir, I’ll “slip” and call him Babe..lol.

That is probably not his most shining moment at a public bdsm function. ;-)

Do you think it will be hard to go from being vanilla-ish to cunt-in-a-cage? would it have been easier to go from degrading masochistic to cunt-in-a-cage?

Yes and yes. A person gets used to a certain lifestyle, a certain manner of treatment- and comes to expect it. At one time I was very much comfortable with being degraded and humiliated, but now, when it seems to come out of the blue, I get my little feelings hurt (and do the whole pouty lower lip and everything). It will be that he’s almost going to have to start the process over and ease me back into it.

But we knew that. Part of the reason why he lightened up in the first place was because I wasn’t functioning well enough with the vanilla things that I still have to do. So he’s aware of the headspace and the need to create, or destroy, the environment that fosters said headspace.

~~*~~

I am done with questions. Thank you for playing along. :-)

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