They say it’s your birthday!

And it was, on Sunday. 38 years old.

Teh depression. It hurts.

Thank you for the birthday wishes.

Age is bothering me lately. I don’t know if it’s because my mom is sick and I’m facing the realization that my parents won’t live forever or because Jes is thrusting granny-hood on me before I’m ready or if it’s because Am pointed out that I have wrinkles or because I’m losing the battle of the gray hair or because I’m just getting old and I don’t wanna be. Whatever the reason, I think 40 is going to be hard.

I certainly don’t *act* my age, though. Imma hang on to immaturity for as long as I can!

We had a spectacularly pleasant weekend, Master and I. One of the better ones of late. Friday, Am went to a party so she was gone for the night, and B-man had two friends over (lose one, gain two – story of my life), but it does my heart good to know the kids are making friends. That’s not easy when you’re the new kid in town.

Saturday was the local munch, and that’s always fun. We’re liking this group here quite a bit. It’s very laid back, very comfortable. There aren’t 800 rules or protocols, doesn’t seem to be any fighting or anything like that (a common problem in some munch groups is ‘office politics’) and there are a few people who Master and I had an immediate connection with. So yay for socialization!

The only bad thing about the munch is that it’s just dinner while trying to socialize about kink in a vanilla setting. Other munches that we’ve been to have taken place at someone’s house where they had a regular play place set up and after a little eating and talking, things would get down and dirty. There just isn’t that space here.

Someday, when the kids move out and we have our place set up, we’ll do it. *nods*

But speaking of being kinky in a vanilla setting, there was another thread I was reading (on Fetlife of course!) where someone was complaining about people who show up to a munch, in a vanilla setting, wearing obvious fet-wear. This person said she and her partner had stopped attending the munch because they were afraid of being seen in the company of such freaks, that whole guilty-by-association thang. I think she claimed that her husband would be jailed or fired if he was caught having breakfast with someone in a collar though she was totally fine with having face shots on a highly detailed profile on a kink site, which, oy.. nevermind. I’m getting off topic. Again. Anyway…

There are a couple of people who come to the munch here wearing questionable attire. It IS a vanilla setting, a family restaurant, though we kind of hide in a back, semi-private room. But, you know, ropes, collars, corsets, revealing clothes – that sort of thing, it doesn’t bother me at all. I don’t get the idea of condemning someone based on the company they keep. For all anyone around knows, you’re a bunch of chess geeks and some of you just dress really funny. Since when are we responsible for dressing anyone besides ourselves? Meh. Maybe because I’m a mother of teenagers who never dress how I’d prefer them to dress, I’m immune to the funny looks. I dunno.

But speaking of questionable attire, Master made me wear the tack bra to the munch. As soon as we walked in, he made sure to tell everybody that I was in desperate need of frequent body-crunching bear hugs, and then helped them by doing hug sandwiches with me in the middle.

The pain was exquisite. ~puts my fingers to my lips and blows a kiss~ Perfection.

After the munch, we came home and Jes and Am had gone to the store while we were gone and bought stuff to make and decorate a birthday cake, which I thought was really sweet. It was all lopsided with frosting an inch deep on one side and barely there on the other, but still. They’d baked it and decorated it all by themselves (and these are the kids who can’t master the toaster, remember) so I was impressed.

The same girl who took us out after the last munch had come back to our house with us and we had hot, raunchy sex with lots of slapping and pinching ate cake and watched a movie.

Just one more occasion when I wished the kids had separate living quarters.

Opportunities for debauchery just slip right on by because the kids sit on the couch. Grrs. And they don’t leave either! Any other time, the idea of sitting on the couch on a Saturday night with mom and dad? Too boring. Too dumb. Too gay. But we bring home a sexy chic and the kids turn into sticky boogers.

Bah.

After she left, we went to bed and I woke up early Sunday, on my birthday, to 39 birthday spankings with the belt (38 years plus one to grow on!) and some awesomely hot birthday sex (there may have been 38 orgasms in there but that could be a slight exaggeration. I’ll never tell.)

Then Sunday afternoon, another M/s couple from the munch came by to visit. We’d all just kind of planned on a short little visit, have some coffee, chit chat a little, you know, take that first step to getting to know each other – and they ended up staying for like, 7 hours or something. The time flew by, and we just sat at the table talking about shit. They stayed for dinner and everything, it was really a lot of fun.

When the kids would get bored enough to wander out of earshot, we’d talk a bit about M/s stuff, how hard it can be, and when the kids were listening, we’d ease back into vanilla conversation. As the wife (slave) of the couple said, it really makes a difference to have like-minded people to converse with. Gets the creative juices flowing and all that.

I see a light at the end of the tunnel. Things are falling back into place, words are coming easier, tensions are easing.

It’s nice. Pleasant.

What’s Happenin’?

Today is Master’s birthday. Happy birthday! I have to go to the store to get the fixin’s for his favorite dish (lasagna) and to make a cake. Or maybe I’ll buy a cake. Bakery cakes are so much yummier than Betty Crocker. I have a present for him and a card and fun! Tomorrow night we’re going to a comedy show with some peeps.

I hope I get spanked! Maybe a Birthday Blowjob can be worked in there somewhere too.

It seems kind of ridiculous for me to “offer” a birthday blowjob when he can get a blowjob any ol’ time he wants one, though. It’s like offering an m&m to someone who owns a candy store. :/

Oooooh.. maybe if I smother his cock in frosting and poke a candle in it?

*snicker* Can you imagine the look on his face if I stuffed a birthday candle down his cock? 

Okay. Enough of that. These kind of thoughts don’t usually bode well for me.

I’ve been busy here. Staying out of trouble….. mostly.

I’ve been working on some kinky craft orders. Getting them sent out soon. I’m still selling them if anyone is wondering. Just zip me off an email (kaya at underhishand). Same goes for the clips on a cd, too.

We’ve been remodeling an upstairs bedroom, we have a new dog, the kids never leave the house anymore, I’m struggling with a deep NEED for pain but it’s hiding behind an intense FEAR of pain. The usual stuff.

Master and I got into a little spat Sunday evening. Part of it was pms-fueled, but even at that, I felt like we both handled it all pretty decently. Whereas in the past we might have continued to poke at each other, to fan the flames into a huge blow out, we didn’t do that this time.

I’ve been working on this issue specifically. How to handle being angry with the All-Powerful Owner. It’s such a futile gesture, this business of being angry with him, one that would have me spinning my wheels in frustration. Frustration that heightened the angry emotions, communication would break down, submission took a flying leap out the window, words would be said, accusations, hurt feelings… the works.

In the past, I used being angry as a punishment to those around me. In other relationships, there was a price to pay for pissing me off. And I don’t mean getting pissed off because the cap was left off the toothpaste or some silly shit like that… but really important issues, things that were big to me. If someone (a partner) crossed that line, I’d get mad. And I’d stay mad for.. days. Days upon days upon days.

I can be a bitch (I know. Hard to believe huh? ) and I can be cruel, both with my words and my actions. I’d use that to “punish” the person. The tension in the  house would be insanely intense. It takes a lot of energy to “win” that way. Of course my goal was to get them to think twice the next time they were contemplating crossing the line, MY line, and pissing me off again.

Sad thing is, it worked. On them. It does NOT work on Master.

Imagine my surprise.

It was hard though, because I only knew one way to be angry. That way. The way I’d always done it, the way that had always made me the winner.

That approach is not only damaging in a normal, equal relationship, it’s even worse in a power exchange relationship. I was hardly showing off my submissive colors by setting out to “win” an argument with Master.

I’d like to say that once I made the choice to be a slave and to hand over all control, that it was as simple as handing over the tv remote. But it wasn’t. It’s not. It’s been, and will continue to be, an ongoing process as little pieces are plucked, things that I am not even aware that I’m hanging on to, until it smacks me in the face.

Trying to win an argument is a way of trying to have control. Of course it is. You’d think it would be easy to KNOW that. Maybe it is, intellectually. Not so much though, when you’re in the middle of the argument and what you have to do is quiet down.. and submit.

I have to sit back and examine the beginning of the argument. Give up trying to pinpoint where HE went wrong and ask myself with brutal honesty: “where did I go wrong? How could I have handled that better as a submissive? At what point did *I* try to take control?”

To have to swallow my pride, especially if I am (or feel I am) right and justified in my position, to let go of the anger and the self-righteous attitude? Monumentally difficult. At least, it has been for me.

But, it works. In any relationship, finding what works is the key to making it a success. Master isn’t interested in always being right, or in always overruling me. It’s not a matter of him needing to “win” an argument. It’s really just me being submissive. Even when… especially when… it’s difficult. The harder I fight submission, the harder he pushes to get it.

Maybe I could stand there with my arms crossed and eventually, by sheer stubborness, he’d give up and LET me win. Maybe after that I would make a show of submission by mumbling an empty apology for being a bitch before skipping off on my merry, victorious way. And maybe that wouldn’t do permanent, fundamental damage to the core of us.

Maybe. I’ve done it before.

Or, maybe, after several days of clashing of wills, I’d be the one to give in and give up in the face of his stubborness.. and submit.. but not out of any genuine acquiescence. Out of exhaustion perhaps, or defeatism. And maybe that wouldn’t do any permanent damage either.

I’ve done that before, too.

But you know what happens when I check my ‘stubborn’ at the door? When I remember that I’m a submissive and that this man, who I entrusted my life to, is making the decisions and gets to drive?

Well I’ll tell you what you don’t get. You don’t get damage. You don’t get days of tense, exhausting fighting. You don’t have character assassination as each of you try and gain the upper hand. You don’t end up having said anything that you regret or wish you could take back or have to apologize for. You don’t break anything.

You get appeasement. You get compliance. Tractability, servility, humbleness and humility. And appreciation. I get appreciation. I have a Master who was prepared to fight for what is his.. my submission.. and didn’t have to. Because I willingly offered it, at a time when it was -is- the most difficult for me. I still did not “win”…. but I feel like I did. I didn’t get my way, but I got a hug, I got a kiss, I got a happy Master.

A happy Master makes me a happy slave.

~cunt

Wimpy, wimpy, wimpy!

Happy 37 to me!

 Thanks for all the well-wishes.

~cunt

Happy Birthday, cunt!

She’s a happy cunt. Does it show?

And the clip store has been updated. That task is long overdue I’d say.

I think a birthday spanking with a newly-gifted hairbrush sounds great. Or should it be some other instrument? Shall we do another vote? *grin*

A) Hairbrush
B) Attitude Adjuster Paddle
C) Cheesegrater Paddle
D) Smashball Paddle

I love birthdays.

Lookie what I got.

With a cute little “I love you” card and a personal handwritten message just for me.

For no reason. Just because. Because he loves me. Because he knows I’ve been a little… out of sorts and off-kilter and worried about things.

Have I said how spoiled I am lately? I don’t think I have. It’s something that he likes me to acknowledge now and then. Maybe because I give him such a Billy BadAss rep here that he wants everyone to know that I am indeed a spoiled rotten brat.

As if you all didn’t know that already!

If I could speak for a moment to the flower industry? Would you PLEASE stop trimming the thorns off the rose stems? Screw the Roses, Send me the Thorns is more than a catchy book title you know.

(Speaking of thorns, I’m dying to find some nettles to play with but I can’t find any to save my life! It’s a yearly summer quest of mine. Makes me mad that I can’t find any.)

My birthday is on Friday. I know what I’m getting too. Master is awful at keeping secrets, he had to show me as soon as he ordered it.

He’s buying himself me a glass dildo. w00t!

Master has been wanting a glass dildo for a long time. I think he’s most excited about the prospect of heating or cooling it. Heating sounds good.. cooling? Meh, not so much. Cold doesn’t do much for me except make me miserable. Ergo, cooling it will be done often no doubt.

Personally, I’m looking forward to how smooooooooth it will be. I’ve heard lots of good things about the smoothness of glass dildos, and since I’m also the official toy cleaner, I know how easy they are to clean up. I bet the weight of it will feel pretty damn good too.

What I think is funny about the adverts for glass dildoes is this line right here: “Makes a wonderful display piece. The handcrafted glass looks like a striking work of art.” Granted they are quite pretty, much nicer to look at than your standard flesh colored penis replication, but I think I’ll pass on the idea of displaying it on my mantle as “art”. Pretty colored glass or no, it’s still, unmistakenly, a penis.

Anyway, with our new sex book and our new fleece blindfold and a new glass dildo, by God, we ought to be able to get up to something interesting!

Now to get rid of the kids…

~cunt