Fading Fast

In more ways than one.

The last couple of days I’ve been all itchy and picking scabs off various parts of my body. I think I’m mostly healed now.

Most of the bruises have faded. Quite a few of them had faded before we’d even gotten home to take pictures at all. In fact, the vast majority of the whip welts, except the ones that broke skin, were completely gone. Which, considering that he whipped me on Thursday and we didn’t try and get pics until the following Tuesday isn’t too surprising.

I posted some of these on Fet already. They ain’t nothing spectacular.

One of the new collar. The rings we picked up at Micheal’s of all places. Master picked out the ones that said what he felt summed up our relationship and I set about memorizing them. Passion, Honesty, Faith, Focus, Discipline, Integrity, Respect and Strength.

It doesn’t show in the picture but the Discipline ring is tarnished. Heh. That amuses me to no end.

Or we could skip the pictures and you can watch Master’s bruise ID clip. He’s such a goofball.

So, busy day today and then Master is (hopefully) off for the 3 day weekend, though he’s on call so that sucks. And then next week he goes out of town. Which is something I’ve put out of my head ever since he mentioned it because I don’t want to think about it and I prefer to believe that something else will come along to muck up the plans and he won’t have to go. He’s looking at a possible couple of months with not much time off to come home. I can go there, and I likely will, but I’ve also got kids starting school and a baby to take care of.

I’m already beginning the meltdown sequence. This may not be pretty. My apologies in advance for the extreme amount of angst I’ll be dumping here.

Red!

It was the first day of camp when he led me down to the small sandy beach area where a couple of bondage frames had been set up for our kinky convenience.

Blindfolded, led by a rope tied to my collar, he walked me down while a silent war waged on inside.

It’s been a long, long, LONG time since he’s had the opportunity for indulging in sadism. I think there’s an opposite effect on masochists than on sadists when those opportunities are few and far between. For me, the masochist, the desire for and tolerance of pain settles into an all-time low. For him, the sadist, the desire for and toleration of my pleas, climbs to an all-time high.

He was flying up at the top of the spectrum. I was swimming somewhere at the bottom.

I understood that we needed to meet somewhere in the middle. I also understood that finding that middle ground was going to be exponentially more painful for me than for him.

I was glad it was being done right away though. You wouldn’t believe the amount of angst and worry I was carrying over it.

Well, actually you probably would believe the amount. I happen to do angst quite well.

So it was, sometime mid-day on Thursday, he was walking me down the road, with nothing but a singletail looped over his shoulder.

It’s surreal actually. You’re walking past people who see you, cuffed, blindfolded, being led on a rope by a big guy carrying a whip, and they’re casually carrying on everyday conversations as you pass. Not a single hiccup in their goings on. As if it’s perfectly normal to be discussing what’s for dinner while your neighbor is about to get whipped.

And it is. There. For that weekend. Hell, I did it myself numerous times. My camp neighbor to the right screaming through orgasms on the picnic table. My neighbor to the left using some guy’s balls as a foot stool while flipping through a magazine. What was I doing? Making coffee. Fixing dinner. Getting dressed.

That’s normal. Camp normalcy.

Anyway. To the bondage frames we marched. To the bondage frames I was attached.

He didn’t start light. He never does. The concept of warm up is lost on him, honestly. I suspect that he *thinks* he’s doing warm up. But… no. Not so much. At least not from my perspective, which is the only one that matters since I’m on the receiving end of the non-warm-up warm-up.

He likes to target the nipples with the singletail. It amuses him I think. Actually I think he takes pride in being able to concentrate on such a small target with such accuracy.

I? Am not amused.

On the rest of the body I don’t think he even tries to aim. He has no reason to. It’s an open and large canvas and he can randomly and messily throw the whip, letting it land where it may. No part is really off limits, except for the face, and even then if a snap catches me on the lip (which it did) then it’s likely because I made the mistake of dropping my head in a futile attempt to shield my nipples with my tongue or something (which I did).

There’s no apology for a misplaced stroke because there ARE no misplaced strokes. That’s the beauty of nothing being off-limits, see.

The thing that gets me about how he uses the singletail is the speed and the circling. I’d bet he gets a stroke in at least one per second. Maybe more. It’s FAST. Or feels that way on my end anyway. And he circles me. Snapping. Over and over and over. Until I think I’m going to die.

At least until I scream. And beg. And kick.

I pulled out of one of the cuffs in a desperate attempt to cover my nipples after several minutes of targeting them.

I really just think I’m going to go crazy, you know? It’s not even that each stroke by itself is so painful that I can’t stand it. It’s the repetitive, fast barrage of them that drives me over the edge. I think I must cry out to “Slow down!” a million times during a whipping scene.

Which he finds amusing.

In fact, he’ll go faster if he can.

Fucker.

Sir.

But here is where the internal war starts. A war that is specific to camp. (I’ve been there all of two times so, you know, I’m an expert on it now.)

As most of you know, we don’t play with a safeword. I don’t get to dictate the direction of, or the end of, whatever is going on. He’s the boss, yadda yadda yadda.

Camp has a safeword. It’s a camp-wide, everyone gets to use it safeword. I can certainly understand the reasoning behind it, nobody balks or bitches about it. It’s just one of the rules of camp. If you call out the camp safeword, your scene stops or someone listening WILL stop it.

Imagine, if you will, how fucking TEMPTING that knowledge is when you’re in the middle of dying.

Melodramatic, I know, but that’s my middle name.

Seriously though. I’ve said I’m not a painslut. Pain hurts.

One of the reasons I don’t have a safeword is because I would use it before he even touched me. I’d scream it out as soon as he pulled the implement out of the closet. I’d holler it everytime he wanted to stick his dick up my ass. I’d abuse the fuck out of it.

So to be given this POWER the minute we cross through the gates of camp is fucking fucked up.

He tells me, in no uncertain terms, that I’m not allowed to use it. But, at camp? He’s not teh boss of THAT.

It’s a tool that is within my grasp to use.

So when I’m standing there, naked, halfway to escaping the cuffs in a desperate attempt to protect my body from the barrage of stings, sweating, panting, in pain… and he’s standing behind me holding the empty cuff, whip in hand, and ordering, quietly, calmly, that I voluntarily put my hand back into the cuff because he is NOT done with me?

Fucking WAR.

In my head I’m screaming the safeword. My lips are wrapped around it, it’s in my throat, it’s right. fucking. there. I can taste it on my tongue.

You know there is nothing that turns him on MORE than to watch me battle the fight or flight instinct. To watch the desire to submit and to please war against my dislike of pain. To see the tears streaking down my face, to hear the whimpers. To make me choose who I love more, him or myself. To make me choose honor over shame. To make me stuff down every instinct inside of me for the simple sake of putting a smile on his face.

And then I put my hand back into the cuff. He locks it tighter. He ties it back up. And he whips me more. Harder. Until I break, sob, and hang limp.

He leans in and tells me my sobs and tears turn him on. “4 more, cunt. 4 more hard ones. Then we’re done.”

Except it wasn’t 4. It was 7 or 10 or 15 more. It was losing-count more. It was me screaming that he can’t fucking count more.

It was him laughing. The laughing touches something mean deep inside doesn’t it?

Some of them didn’t count, you see. Because they weren’t hard enough to qualify as “hard ones”. So says he from his pain-free perspective.

In the end, after he’d led me still blindfolded and cuffed back to our campsite and fucked me silly, running his hands over the welts and cuts, slapping in the sting, that gap that existed had been bridged. I don’t know that we met in the middle so much as he yanked me over to his side of the spectrum, but either way, we were on the same page again. For the rest of the weekend, the temptation of camp safeword never again reared its ugly head.

He won that war. Even being given the power on a silver platter to use at will I can’t do it. I don’t think I could stomach wiping that smile off his face.

Thievery

To whoever it was who broke into my daughter’s car at the beach over the weekend and stole her purse containing her very first, freshly cashed paycheck from her first full-time, hard-working job:

Fuck off and die, you useless waste of oxygen.

Seriously. I mean that with every ounce of sincerity in my body.

You’ve got an 18 year old teenage mom doing her damndest to get her shit together, *trying* to save up for an apartment, wanting to take care of her kid, and some fucked-up loser with no fucking morals or scruples or honor or integrity comes along and kicks her down.

Now she doesn’t even have the gas money to get to work and back until her next paycheck.

Karma’s a bitch, baby. You enjoy that money that she worked her fucking ass off to EARN, a concept lost on you apparently. I hope you fucking choke on it.

At first I was kind of mad at her for leaving it in her car in the first place. But you know, she’s 18, she’s got a rose-colored view of the world. She locked her doors and thought that was enough. She counted on people having the same moral code that she does.

It’s a tough fucking lesson to learn. That it was her FIRST check that she’s been so excited to get, had plans on what she was buying babygirl, had budgeted out a gas allowance and a savings fund- and then to lose it all during one 20 minute walk on the beach with her new boyfriend-

I’m rapidly getting more pissed off at the world. Just- jesus christ, cut the girl a break already.

Injustices committed against my children piss me the fuck off. This is the shit that will turn them into the cynical bitch that I am. And that sucks.

Fuckin’ people. Assholes.

And we’ll have fun, fun, fun

Until Master packs the tent away.

I don’t even know if I can detail much of anything right now. I think back and it’s all one big happy painful blur of fucking fun.

Fucking being one of the key words.

Cuz we did. A lot. *beams*

I need some time to process and separate, I think.

One thing that I’m sticking on and circling around and that makes my heart pitter-patter is this:

He surreptitiously leads the lamb to slaughter.

I’m not sure what part it is that I’m hung up on exactly. I’m not sure I can even explain it.

Here’s the scenario-

There was a fun little POW/Interrogation scene, in which I think us POW’s were supposed to be tortured into revealing secret information (that we didn’t have) and I think it was supposed to be intense and serious and blah blah blah.

Unfortunately, they captured POW’s like me and my flirty little friend who named Fred Flintstone as our commanding officer and who licked the duct tape off and just generally giggled and had a damn good time.

But that aside, at the end of the interrogation the POW’s were to be executed by the firing squad.

My flirty friend avoided the firing squad by virtue of “I don’t gotta do that” limit listing. So, I was the first ‘victim’. I was marched out, naked except for a thin little skirt (and a protective face mask), placed against the side of a building, arms to my side, and faced 3 people holding guns.

Paintball guns.

First, just lemme interject that I did not willingly volunteer for this. I was willingly volunteered by the fucker that owns my ass. I also did not have the option of opting out of facing the firing squad.

In short, I was pretty fucking terrified. I’ve never played paintball even with the protective body padding. Now I was standing, facing three people ready to shoot, completely unprotected and naked and vulnerable and and and…. you know! Naked!

I was really waiting for, and expecting, someone to call “PSYCH! Just kidding. Bubbye!”

All the way through the ready-aim-fire! sequence, I was waiting to be saved.

Especially because one of the three executioners was my own Master.

It was one of those things where I was convinced he’d step in. Or at the very least, hesitate. Check in with me first? Warn me? Protect me in some fashion?

I don’t know.

What I didn’t expect was the barrage of paintballs that came after the ready-aim-fire! I just really didn’t expect to get shot. And not 20+ times either!

And I know, I know, it’s just paintballs. Not even the most painful thing I’ve experienced at his hand.

Pretty fucking painful, though. Some of the hits bled. Some of them blistered. All of them welted and bruised spectacularly.

I know I’m not explaining this right.

Sometimes he just wraps me up in this cocoon of love and warmth and care and concern.

And then he stands me against a wall, and knows, BELIEVES, that I’ll stand there, naked and vulnerable, won’t run, won’t cover, won’t protest– and shoots me with a paintball gun.

Or sits me in a chair, not a restraint in sight, and hammers six nails through my tits.

I won’t run. He knows I won’t run.

Where does the cocoon go? That’s what I wanna know.

I don’t know if I’m more stuck on the why-the-fuck-don’t-I-run or if it’s his fucking confidence that I’ll submit that’s sticking in my craw.

His lack of hesitating? Lack of compassion?

I am not a painslut. I am not incredibly submissive.

I won’t admit to being that well trained either. But I don’t know what else to pin it on.

I’m afraid this is coming across as a negative thought process and it’s really not negative at all. These aren’t BAD feelings. They’re just… perplexing. Interesting (to me). A little confusing. But not negative.

Maybe it’s just another little slip down the rabbit hole.

Anyway. It’s good to be home. And I mean that in more ways than one.

Gone Camping!

In the continuing saga of how my menstrual cycle is fucking with my camping plans- I *just* started my period today.

I had 3 whole days of spotting, which I’m attributing to the hot parsley water because I have never in my life spotted for 3 days before my period, and no doubt these 3 days will simply add to the regular 7 days that I usually bleed. It was a gift. Thank you, Mother Nature, you whore.

Haven’t I ever been told not to fuck with Mother Nature??

So, meh, it changes some things but as Master likes to say, it is what it is.

I’m not as excited about camp as I was last year. I’m delighted to be getting a vacation. I’m delighted it’s a kinky vacation. I’m just kinda ‘meh’. Maybe that’ll change once we’re there and the atmosphere sinks in. Maybe I’m sensing that Master is also kinda ‘meh’. Maybe we just need to reconnect.

It’s been a long, hard, stressful year for us. We’ve had to put a lot of things on the back burner just so we can stay afloat, and that takes a toll on things. I feel disconnected from s&m. Service is still strong, but camp isn’t really about service. So I’m a little nervous, a little worried.

I’m sure it’ll be fine, no matter what. I know that I can’t come away disappointed because that is not possible! Y’all really should put Twisted Tryst on your bucket list. It’s absolutely an amazingly fun experience.

So, we’re leaving Wednesday morning, possibly even Tuesday night, coming back on Sunday or Monday. It’s going to be good. Bloody or not. *grumble*

~~*~~

I have a new collar coming. It should be delivered today. It’s one I can’t rip off and throw at him when I’m mad and want to tell him to shove the whole slavery gig up his ass. I’m curious to see if that’ll make any difference to how I feel when I’m wanting to shove the whole gig up his ass.

I’ve heard a lot of talk about the getting-used-to process of eternity type collars so that has me a little apprehensive. Sometimes having things around my neck, especially rigid things, makes me feel all choke-y. Hopefully, we measured correctly and got the right size.

I dunno yet about wearing it when we’re at home, around the kids, etc. They’ll know exactly what it is. I’m not sure if that makes it better or worse, to tell the truth.

They already know what kind of camp we’re going to. Not specifically-exactly what kind of camp, just a general idea of it being adults-only and “one of those weird things you guys do”.

Anyway, I’ve got lots of packing and sorting and planning to do so until next week (unless I get online from camp!), y’all have a great one!

Guess What?

Go on. Guess!

I think I’m starting my period.

Sometimes I get off to a reallllllllllly slow start, and I’ve been examining the toilet paper for signs of color and I think I’m seeing a smear of color.

Fer realz!

No really though, I am starting. So what that means is I’ll be finishing up by next Thursday/possibly into Friday, which is pretty okay. Plus, I’ll be way over the worst of it before we even leave for camp. My biggest worry was that I’d be starting as we got there and for the first two days, I don’t go far from a bathroom because it is fucking Red Niagra Falls in my panties.

TMI?

Too bad. Deal.

But this will work out just fine.

Of course when I read this comment this morning: “You could wind up oh so lucky with a bloody tampon shoved in your mouth. ”

…then I had a little moment of “oh golly gee, I hope I’m on my period at camp!”

Because that is just disgusting enough to be hot as fuck.

In other news–

Buppy is doing pretty well. He went potty on the floor that first day but hasn’t since. I don’t know that he’s housebroke necessarily, I’m just taking him out everytime he moves, just about.

He sleeps a lot. A LOT. He seems quite content curled up on your lap, snoozing away.

He loves his walks, though. For a tiny thing, he can sure give a pull on the leash! I’m trying to figure out how to train him to use outside time on the chain as potty time, because he isn’t quite figuring it out. He seems to think outside time means walk, and walk means potty, and chain time means stand at the door and whine.

He plays fetch like a pro, plays tug of war, barks at the door, plays with the cats- who have already gotten over having a dog in the house.

The worst thing so far is that he gets growly and snappy with Babygirl. All she has to do is come near him and he’s unhappy. I’m trying to make friends by letting her feed him his treats and having her hold or throw his toys when we play. He must have had some bad experiences with little kids though because he does not like her AT ALL.

The best thing so far is that he parks himself under the highchair at mealtime. He’s done earning his keep already.

Lessee…

Babygirl is sick. She kept me up til 1 am last night, just crabbing and kinda urpy. She made some noise a couple times after that, fussing and crying but not really waking up. Of course Master rolls me outta bed at Early O’clock this morning and by the time he’d had his breakfast and coffee and was out the door, it was just another 45 minutes before Baby was up for the morning. Awake and sporting a fever, snot running down to her neck and coughing, crying, pale. She’s been a delight all morning long.

I. am. so. tired.

Blech. More later. I can’t type with her wiping snot on my leg. ~gag~

Brb!

Time’s a’wasting!

The window is closing and still no blood. I even sucked down some god-awful hot parsley water. I’m on the brink of turning my vagina into a garden in a last ditch effort to kick start it. I thought I saw a tinge of pink on the toilet paper, and I thought I had a cramp, but I think that was just wishful thinking.

I’m willing to extend the time to Friday, but then that’s it. Then I’ll have to go to the mooncups or whatever they are, though I tried that once and it was uncomfortable, plus I leaked all around it. No doubt I didn’t insert it right, though I swear I’ve had LOTS of vaginal object insertion practice.

I know you’ve enjoyed this much contemplation on my menstrual cycle. Thank you for listening.

I’m starting to get the butterflies regarding going to camp. It’s the same-old, same-old. I get all angsty that he’ll want to do something hard and mean and I’ll wimp out. And then I get all angsty thinking he’ll want to do nothing and treat me like a fragile china doll.

I have no clue which would be worse.

Fact is though, he’s going to do what he’s going to do. Accept it and move on. Meh.

We had a little verbal exchange last night that has left me feeling very unsettled and very… angsty.

Angsty is the word of the day apparently. I do it so well.

We were watching a video of some girl getting beat on and he said something to the effect of “I want to find a girl I can do that to.”

*blink blink blink*

Wtf am I, chopped liver??

I *know* that he meant someone who could take it at the level of the girl in the clip, but you know- I used to be that girl. It’s not my fault that I’m not that girl now. And if he wants that girl back, bring her back. Unless it’s just easier to find someone already there.

It just threw me for a loop and of course I’m going to obsess over it. I do that very well, too.

It kinda makes me want to just give up. Bah.

I can haz mah pr0n nao?

So, remember about 3 years or so ago when I was selling cd’s of our clips?

Well, seeings as how it’s all been lost, I don’t suppose any of y’all still have that cd? And, if so, could I buy it back from you?

I’m a sad, pathetic, porn-less slave. Take pity on me. Before he gets the bright idea of remaking them all.

Please.

Buppy, Blood, Bspam and Blaziness

That’s Buppy.

Buppy looks nothing at all like the picture I posted last week. Either my memory/observation skills are that bad or the shelter gave us the wrong dog.

Either way, he’s adorable.

We couldn’t come up with a name that fit. Am wanted Hercules. I wanted Leonidas. B-man wanted Turd (yeah. He’s 15.) Jes didn’t care. Master wanted Jack. And Babygirl called him Kitty.

Probably because our cats are bigger than he is.

In the meantime of no-name, we called him Puppy. He responds to Puppy. Maybe Puppy was his name before. Who knows. Anyway, fascinating story as this is, when Babygirl finally acknowledged that he was indeed a “buppy” and not a kitty, Buppy it became.

~~*~~

So, I have to ask all of you a favor. I need you to help me pray for my period.

I know, I know, it’s an odd request and slightly squicky, but for the first time in my life (since that unplanned pregnancy 5 months after having Jes wherein I conceived Am) (and since I conceived B-man on the day my divorce was final) (Okay, so for the 3rd time in my life), I NEED my period to start. Preferably NOW. At least sometime between today and Thursday at the latest.

Pray for blood. I’ll even take PMDD, wicked cramps and passing clots if I gotta. I just need to start so that I’m finished by next Wednesday which is the day that we leave for Twisted Tryst!!!!! Woot!

Otherwise, I’m due to start the day we leave. Which would put a serious damper on my fun activities. A SERIOUS RED DAMPER!!

If I started taking birth control pills now, would I be able to hold it off? Or would I just start spotting because I’m starting mid-cycle? This is an emergency of epic proportions. I need to bleed now, or I need to not bleed until September. No inbetween bleeding.

Chant with me. BleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleedBleed

~~*~~

Just a quick note about comments: If you posted one that never shows up, let me know. I’m currently getting a wave of spam here on the blog (like 100 to 200 a day). Most of it is being caught by the spam folder so all I have to do is empty the folder. However, it’s not uncommon for a comment to end up in the spam folder, too. Unfortunately, I don’t have the time to read through 200 comments looking for the one that shouldn’t be there. I’m just dumping the folder without looking. So give me a head’s up, or else forgive me for deleting and know that it’s not intentional. I loves ya. Honest.

~~*~~

My house is a wreck. My god. I was so so tired yesterday. Just one of those days where it feels like someone sucked the life right out of me. I even took a two hour nap when Babygirl went down for hers, and I rarely sleep midday. So, I did nothing and it shows. It doesn’t take but a couple of hours of not being diligent with the housework before things start to pile up. Apparently, we are slobs. *nods*

I apologized probably 10 times to Master for being so useless. He poo-pooed the thought and told me that everyone has days like that… SOMETIMES. He really stressed the SOMETIMES. Obviously, today had better be better than yesterday. Maybe I should have y’all pray for energy AND blood.

I’ve also been sucking ass at cooking the last few days. I dunno, sometimes I just lose interest. I get so tired of trying to think of meals, of cooking the same thing over and over, and of the expense of groceries that I start avoiding the kitchen. I need to get my shit together.

I also need to lose about 30 pounds by next week Wednesday.

Set achievable goals!

~~*~~

Annnnd she’s awake. My time here is done. Later taters!

Facebook me!

So I JUST signed up for Facebook. Me and the Man. We’re sharing. Cuz we’re close like that.

Leesa, that’d be why we aren’t friends there. Yet. Because I just got it.

(In the vein of being behind the times, there’s this great little movie that I watched the other night called Close Encounters of the Third Kind. Have you heard of it? As ufo movies go, it’s a’ite. You should watch it. *nods*)

So, anyway. I’m clueless. Now what do I do with it??

And who are all these people that Facebook is telling me to friend?! I don’t even know who they are!

(I’m completely wired tonight. It’s friggin midnight and I’m jittering. I had a Mt. Dew. He went to bed and left me out here all alone to jitter without irritating him.)

But back to Facebook. I’m excited! I’m networking! If I could just figure out how…

Oh! We are Scottnkaya. Someone be my friend before I have to eat worms.