Invisible Title

So I know this is old news but it was new to me today. Fetlife made NY Post.com. Heh. Check it out.

I wonder how many new people signed up to gawk at all the weirdo kinky folk after that story. Good thing I don’t have revealing and humiliating pictures up on there! ;-)

(that’s a joke. A bad one, but a joke nonetheless, cuz I totally DO have ridiculously humiliating photos there.)

Then I came across this, which is just hilarious: Fetlife Butthurt Report Form.

I’m going to fill one of those out. And then I’m going to file it with John Baku. I expect some immediate compensation!

Speaking of Crystal. she’s a shoo in to win AI. Though I thought that last year about Adam and America completely let me down. Plus, I think Crystal’s getting kinda cocky. Meh. I like Lee, too. He can win. I’d approve.

I’m really not that into AI this year. The show is sucking. I’ll be surprised if it airs another season. Too bad. It was a good show.

Anyway, so I have to share this funny story. Well, funny to me.

Am and I were out running some errands and we stopped to grab a bite to eat. We’re sitting in the middle of a somewhat crowded place, and we’re just talking, having fun, blah blah blah.

I like talking to Am, mostly because she thinks I’m brilliant, but whatever. I like to talk to her. She’s a teenager (as you all know) and as such, she has a tendency to talk loudly and very quickly, smooshing her words together.

We’re talking and we get on the subject of our favorite toys as a kid. I was telling her all about my paper dolls and how exciting it was to get a new paper doll book. She decided that one of her favorites had been a collection of Rugrat dolls, most especially the Dillon (Dill, for short) doll.

She says, in her ultra-loud, smooshed-up-word way, “I used to carry my Dill doll with me everywhere!”

Now say that outloud. Quickly.

And the people sitting around us kind of hush… look over at us.. and I just. Cracked. The. Fuck. Up.

She’s sitting there going, “Wha..? What’s so funny? I don’t get it.”

Ha. I made her repeat it until she got it. I think she wanted to hide under the table. *snicker*

Well that is all. I have to go take a sitz bath. Walking a little funny today- and it ain’t from the elliptical!

~gloat~
~gloat~
~gloat~~gloat~~gloat~~gloat~~gloat~~gloat~~gloat~~gloat~
~gloat~~gloat~~gloat~~gloat~~gloat~~gloat~~gloat~
~gloat~~gloat~~gloat~

yeah yeah, I’m going..

:P

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Again??

Yes! Again!

Three times in five hours ain’t too shabby for granny sex, eh? :D

I told him he was out of the doghouse now.

*nods*

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Again!

!!!!!

I’ve died and gone to heaven.

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Stop The Presses!

I just got laid.

That is all.

*beams*

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Foiled Again!

Master fell asleep watching a movie at about 6pm last night. I woke him up at 10 to go to bed, he growled at me, flopped down in his clothes and started snoring.

Fuck me to tears.

Well, actually, the problem is that I’m NOT getting fucked to tears.

He told me this morning that he’d fuck me twice tonight to make up for it. But ‘afraid to hope’ springs to mind.

I had a few moments of imagining trying to coax him awake and into arousal after getting into bed last night, thinking of how many times he’s taken me when I’ve been sleeping/cranky/notinthemood, yet somehow I don’t think he’d just grab on to the headboard and hold on for the ride like I do, you know?

Sometimes, it’s a real bitch remembering which side of the slash you are on.

Sometimes, I wanna hang the whole damn bag of kink up in the closet with the rest of the toys.

Sometimes, I’d really like it to be more than cleaning and cooking and doing laundry.

Bah.

And no, I don’t have pms. It isn’t even close to time for it. Sumbitch.

I do believe I’m having an attack of nofairitis. Great. The treatment for that is usually unpleasant. Tips for self-medication before The Boss has to administer a cure??

headdesk
headdesk
headdesk

Just for the record- Master works hard and I more than understand being tired. Though I AM hornier than a three-balled Tom cat, I am not complaining that he’s tired. I just want what I want when I want it. Is that so much to ask??

I don’t have to LIKE everything, do I? I’m allowed to not be happy alla time!

Shit. Imma go take a walk or something.

Needed: One Attitude Adjustment. Stat.

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I see phallus, people.

The sun is shining, the deck is clean, I’ve got eggs on the stove so I can make macaroni salad and I’m gonna boil some brats in beer and onions and then grill ‘em. I has pickles and potato chips, and coke and Leinenkugel’s chilling in the fridge.

They’ll all eat that stuff and drink their sodas and Master will drink his beer and I’ll eat a stupid salad and some stupid brussel sprouts and have a stupid glass of stupid water.

Stupid diet.

I did an hour on the elliptical today. 4 miles. I did the random hill setting with a max of 8 (and that 8 just about kilt me!) But no shin pain. Yay! Well, no NEW shin pain. They’re still sore but getting better. I didn’t do aerobics yesterday or today because the constant hopping and short, quick moves were so painful on Monday, but I think by next week I can go back to that if I just keep with the elliptical and stay off the treadmill. That’s my plan anyway.

So.. still no sex. I’m trying to channel my sexual energies into exercise. Probably no sex today either as he thinks he’s working late again tonight.

Bugger. Whoever heard of a sex slave who has no sex??? Imma have to change my label pretty soon.

Incidentally, up until a few years ago, I wouldn’t eat brats because I think they look like boiled penises.

Oh. Hey…

~eyes the stove~

I wonder….

You know what they say… Desperate times call for desperate measures!

I’ll just eat that one myself. Fuck the diet. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do!

Brb!

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Can’t Always Get What You Want.

I was horny all day long yesterday. The kind of low-buzzing horniness that puts a secret little smile on your face. The kind of horny that makes you pull your jeans higher than was even fashionable in the 80′s so you can rub against that hard seam in the crotch. The kind of horny that makes you call up your man at work so you can inform him that you plan on molesticating him when he gets home.

Any other day that I’m NOT horny, Master is home by 4 or 4:30-ish.

On the day that I’m practically leaving a slimy snail trail behind me everywhere I go, he’s not yet home by 5. Or 5:30. Or 6.

He got home at 7. Dead-ass tired. He looked like Droopy Dog, the poor guy.

Too bad, so sad, Domy Dude. I needed some. Over dinner I reminded him that I was gonna fuck him and he propped an eyelid open with his fork, snorted, and told me that he’d likely sleep through the entire thing.

I shrugged. I didn’t care if I had to rig up his tool o’ pleasure with popsicle sticks and zip ties, I was getting some, dammit.

When, less than an hour after eating and a full two hours before bedtime, he announced he was going to bed, I popped right up and started buttoning up the house. The dishes could wait til morning. I had things to DO. I figured I could start out with a nice, soothing full body massage and if my cunt just so happened to slip and fall on his dick? My bad. He always says not to start what I can’t finish… so… I’d be obligated to see it through, right? Right!

And then his cell rang. And I practically heard the door to my fuckfest slam shut.

You know what I hate about his job? Even when he’s not on call, he’s on call. Because whoever is on call will just end up calling him anyway. Bastards.

So I was sitting on the steps dejectedly watching him put on the work gear he’d JUST taken off when he reached out and tugged on my pouty lower lip. “Awww. You look so sad. You really that desperate?”

I nodded, all sad and shit. “Use your toys. Go to bed. Don’t wait up.”

Well, boo.

I hate going to bed when I know he’s tired and sore and still working cuz I feel hella guilty, so, instead, I washed the dishes. Did a load of laundry. Set the coffee pot for morning. Packed his lunch. Took a shower. Gave myself a mani-pedi, decided I didn’t like the color, took it off and repainted.

I’d put some slut-red on first because Master likes slut-red, but then I decided I wasn’t much feeling like a working-the-corner-girl so I opted instead for a barely-there, pale pink that is more iridescent and shine than actual color. That suited me. It looked fleshy… and wet… and pink… and wet… and horny…

By midnight, I figured even if he did come home right then, he’d be so wiped that not even popsicle sticks would hold the poor guy’s dick upright. And I figured I’d pushed the boundaries of “don’t wait up” just about as far as I could push them.

So, I watched some porn on the net and masturbated. A girl has needs, you know!

And it sucked. The porn sucked, the vibrator sucked, being alone sucked, the whole thing just sucked. Worst. Orgasm. Ever.

Bah.

And tonight is probably not going to be any better. He got home somewhere around 2am, and was up at 5am, back to work by 6. He probably won’t get home until 6 tonight and then I expect he’ll go crash.

I don’t remember him coming home at all, though he says he talked to me. He said he told me to open my mouth, which I apparently did, and then he told me to go back to sleep. When he was telling me about it this morning and I asked him why he told me to open my mouth, can you guess what he said?

Oh come on. This is an easy one.

“Because I can, cunt. It amuses me to watch you obey, even in your sleep.”

Do you ever feel like a puppet on a string?

Yeah. Me too.

Which, yanno, kinda MAKES ME HORNY.

So I’m still horny, obviously. Desperately so, as a matter of fact. I’m still grinding against the seam of my jeans. I have vibrated my clit to the point of tender numbness yet I’m not even coming close to touching that deep internal itch that is somewhere up in the folds of my cunt.

Somedays, a girl just needs a good dicking.

Today is that day- and I am that girl.

Pray for me, would ya? I may spontaneously combust out of pure sexual frustration.

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The Point Is…

Conclusion

Master and I are as good as we were before.

I always think we’re communicating splendidly, right up until I realize that we aren’t. It was really ridiculously simple to clear this up, all with just some effective communication.

But, you know, every hiccup is a chance to learn and grow and gain something. Fortunately, neither of us are too pig-headed to embrace these opportunities… at least, not once we stop being mad at each other. The during part sees plenty of pig-headedness, trust me. As long as we keep coming out the other side a stronger and more determined couple, I don’t even mind that we get the hiccups now and then.

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Be All You Can Be

When something gets laid to rest in this household, it is laid to rest but good. We simply pick up exactly where we left off. There is no wallowing, no residue, no returning, no do-overs. Done means done. So! Though it might be a bit of a head-spinner for y’all, I’m just damn used to it. What happened last week might as well have happened last year for all the effect it’s going to have on us today.

So, onward with the realness. (Told ya that was gonna be my new slogan!)

I wanted to kinda yak about the notion of Master helping me to be all I can be because it was mentioned in the comments and I think that’s a common misconception surrounding M/s.

(I’m not snarking at ya, ms. commenter, it’s just a good opener for a post.)

There does seem to be some rumor floating around that a “good” dom is, essentially, a life coach and that his (or her, fill in your gender) “duty” is to make his slave become a better person.

Which, if that’s how it works for some of you, that’s wonderful.

That’s just not us. Like.. not at all. I didn’t sign up for the army or a self-help class. I signed on for slavery; specifically for slavery HIS way.

I’m not saying he doesn’t make me better because he does. It’s just that the occurences of being a better person are handy-dandy side effects of what his real purpose is.

That purpose? To make me a better slave for him.

Turning me into the slave of his dreams has included betterments to me in a multitude of ways. In being taught how to please him, I’ve learned a lot of lessons that I can also apply to other areas of my life, and to other relationships.

But he’s not going to compromise a single part of the slavery aspect for the singular purpose of improving me for my own, or anyone else’s, sake. In fact, I’m sure there have been a few instances where improving my slavery has lessened my person. And that’s okay, because mostly, he’s the only one who has to put up with me.

I think it’s a bit of a romantic notion to submit with the idea that the person you’re submitting to is going to “fix” the areas of your life that are lacking. “Oh good. I finally have a Master. He’s going to make sure that I finish school/get promoted/lose weight/stop being a psycho/be a nicer person/etc. Now I don’t have to do it myself!”

That’s putting a negative spin on it, on purpose, because a negative spin can be put on anything if you twist it. But is it any less insulting than insinuating that a dom isn’t ‘doing it right’ when his goal is “better slave for me” instead of “better woman for society”?

For some, good service is going to include self-improvement. For Master, good service is a touch more self-serving.

Just because I am prone to the occasional freak out over it doesn’t mean he’s wrong in doing it. Just because I sometimes come a little unglued because it’s a vulnerable and frightening position to be in doesn’t mean I want it any less. Just because I sometimes question his methods doesn’t necessarily mean I have issues with how he’s doing it.

Even if I DO have an issue with it, it really doesn’t matter. I can talk about it, whine about it, commiserate with other slaves about it, but the bottom line remains in doing it.

For the most part, what he’s doing works well for us. (leaving out the kids and my abandonment issues and blah blah blah, yada yada yada). Strictly from an M/s standpoint, we zip along pretty well.

So no, I don’t think he is supposed to make me be the best me I can be (say that 10 times real fast!). I think he is supposed to make me be the best slave for him that I can be. Just sometimes, that involves choking on a doorknob or two.

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Verdict

Verdict: a stay of execution.

I’m not going anywhere, neither is he.

We’ve done a lot of talking and have cleared up miscommunications and misinterpretations. A lot of things have been put to rest, fears have been assauged, and what’s left is just “borrowing trouble”.

When things got snarly, he poked me with his olive branch. It is hard to snarl with an olive branch in your mouth. This may become a new method of communication for us.

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