Under His Hand

The journal of a slave

Fucking crop.

I don’t even think I want to post. Bah.. like *that* ever matters.

I’m way over the three a week requirement lately. I should count them. I deserve a gold star or *something*.

This.. emotional nakedness is exhausting!

Okay… enough lollygagging.

Last night…. seems a lot of posts start that way.. “last night”… I’ll have to google-thesaurus on “last night”.

Yesterday evening…(heh).. Master beat the hell outta me with His crop.

No…. see. That’s not right. Well.. it IS true. But it sounds icky.

Okay okay… He was absolutely relentless with the crop. If I could have maintained any rational thought I would have counted the strokes. A thousand? Ten thousand? A millionbazillion! At least! The pictures just don’t show it. I’m telling you, my ass was on FIRE and it barely looks pink in the picture. And not many marks today either which truly burns my ass. I love marks.

He was… sadistic (way too mild a word here)… I was sobbing within the first ten minutes I think. Hard hard strokes.

And more! than the crop… the face fucking.. making me gag myself (what a fucking mind bender THAT was). And, did I mention, it was one of my best and most favorite masturbation fantasies? One that I don’t recall even talking about before. To be ordered, which entailed being trained enough, to throat fuck His cock. Now I’m sure that I wasn’t completely satisfactory… but still… I was proud of myself.

I puked. It’s not that Master or I have any kind of puke fetish by any means. It just feels to me, that throat fucking past the point of puking.. not stopping for *any* reason… is…. extreme? I don’t know. You are all probably just thinking it’s gross and here I am practically bragging about it.

Anyway.. I puked. He wiped His messy balls and cock in my hair. He whipped me some more with the crop. Did I mention they were hard strokes? I’m surprised the crop isn’t broken. I think my ass is..lol.

He spit on me.. He pissed on me. I can’t even imagine how lovely I must have looked.. with slobber and puke drying in my hair and on my face, spittle running down my cheek, urine soaking me. I will never, in a million years, understand what fuels a sadist. Never.

We showered, thank the lord for that. He tied me up to the wooden pony and cropped my tits… I was done, though. Exhausted, mentally and physically, and still sobbing at this point. He didn’t leave me there for long (thank You Master), letting me down and pushing me into the cage.

The cage.. my refuge. And yes Sir, I was thinking that as You shut the door. You mocked it as You locked the door, mocked me feeling safe in there. But I did.

Adrenaline overload.. mental fatigue.. whatever the reason… as soon as You walked away, I was out. It was a brief nap.. probably more my mind’s attempt to revamp than actual sleep. When I woke, You were gone.. my head was pounding.. I felt cramped and stuffed and I hurt in places I forgot I had.

And I was afraid.. afraid that You weren’t done with me yet. Afraid that calling out to You would kick things up again. I didn’t like that. I didn’t like feeling like I couldn’t count on You. I had to talk myself into it.. to convince myself that no matter what the scene, no matter what the activity, if I *need* You.. You are there. And You were.

And You weren’t done with me yet. You did let me out for an aspirin… and back into the cage. I don’t know how long… I was sooo tired. At that point, I just wanted.. needed.. to know that You still loved me.

How can You… or anyone… be *in love* with a person… and be as sadistic as You are. I’m glad it happens that way, or masochists would be SOL… but I don’t get it.

All the crying and sobbing that I do.. has not too much to do with pain. I don’t think. After all, I gave birth to three kids and shed not one tear and as bad as Your toys are, they ain’t shit compared to labor pains! It has more to do with Your attitude… Your cruelness towards me. That’s what breaks me.

What are You thinking… what are You feeling.. as I lay there at Your feet crying? What thoughts run through Your head as You raise the crop to strike me again? Do You hesitate? Inside, do You? What is it, what happens to You, to me, when You decide You are done?

Does it take You awhile to come back to me? It takes me a long time to find my way back to You. I’m ashamed … embarrassed.. humiliated. I’m mortified by my bodies reactions… still fighting the old demons… aroused by such inhumane treatment…worried… that You are changing Your opinion of me every time my pussy clenches and squirts.

This morning though… I was back, You were back. You still love me. I am more in love with You. Gentle hugs and tender kisses… those are nice, after a night like last night.

And did I… did I honestly *ask* if we could do this again tonight?? I will never in a million years understand what fuels a masochist. Never..;)

kaya

Vanilla Saturday

I slept in the cage last night. Well, not all night. I woke up around 5am and let myself out, snuggling back into bed with Master. I was cold. Someone didn’t get me a blanket.

It was my request to sleep in the cage. I was just having an awful day yesterday. After playing so hard for the last week, Master didn’t want to do anything yesterday. Or I didn’t want to do anything I should say. I just didnt want to be asked what I wanted to do. I wanted to be told. Being nice has never been a “gift” to me, not from Master. Call me fucked in the head but it hurts my slavely feelings a little. Almost as if I’ve not been good enough to earn His sadism, I’m reduced to vanilla niceties. Blah.

Now, I don’t begrudge the man a day off, nor do I think we have to be doing “something” bdsm all the time. And it’s certainly not my place to demand a play session. It was just a bit of culture shock I think. I felt… well.. I don’t know how I felt. Just… alone.

I couldn’t sleep at bedtime so I asked for the cage. I needed *something* to center me.. to calm me. It worked anyway. I could just feel things slipping from my mind as I lay there.. naked.. looking through the bars at the distant glow of the fishtank.. no noises.. no distractions.. nothing but a naked slave in a cage… as it should be.

It wasn’t sexual. It wasn’t erotic. At least not for me. (Though I did lay in there and masturbate, but thats not the point). The point is… I like how my mind shuts up when I’m caged. I like it too much maybe. I could see spending a lot of time in a cage. Days, or weeks.

I think I’d maybe like to explore being caged when I’m less enthusiastic about it. So far, it’s always been at my whim or desire. I let myself out pretty well as I want, even if it’s locked, I’ve only to ask. I ask to go in, when He’s ordered me in, I’ve wanted to anyway.

I wonder how much that will shift the dynamic of it in my head… if I begin to loathe it a little.. if I begin to see it as a cage and not as an escape.
Right now, I’m blocking the world OUT… I want to see it as me being caged IN.
There has been very little pain associated with the cage. No clamps or anything of the like.

It’s truly always been my place. My fort. I think I’ll make a sign for it.. “kaya’s fort, no Master’s allowed.”

But that knowledge, knowing that its MY haven, lessens the usefulness of it as a bdsm tool. I don’t feel Master’s power or control there at all. I find my own inside myself.

I’d like to change that. I don’t like it. I want to crawl in there, feeling and living and breathing and knowing His domination. His cage. His lock. His cunt.

I’m a caged slave.

I want to be a caged cunt.

kaya

Content Cunt

Yesterday I got some cage time. It’s such a mindfuck to be the one inside the cage while the animals play outside. Our kitten was just running circles around the cage, swatting and poking at me. She definitely needs to be declawed. And the dog (who owned the cage first) just looks down his nose at me as if to say “wtf are you doing in my house?”

Master let me have my vibe to occupy myself with. That’s fun and all.. but christ, a person can only orgasm so many times before it gets boring! So, I tortured the cat with it…lol. She’s half afraid of it and every time she’d get brave enough to sneak up on it, I’d flip it on and watch her jump and run. Oh, what small things we find to occupy ourselves with while in a cage.

It seemed like I was in there for hourssssss and hoursssssss. Though I guess it was only about 2. I know I was ready to get out when I finally called out, “what are You doingggg?”. He said that’s what He was waiting for. To hear me whine.

Back the truck up.

Did I *hear* that correctly?? He *wants* to hear me whine?? Good lord, Master. The pandora’s box You have just opened… :)

We went from cage to bedroom… and four burning candles. It’s funny how one forgets how HOT wax is. I was all excited.. happy.. “yay wax! I love wax, Master!”… practically skipping to the bedroom (in all probability, I was giddy from the blood rushing from my head to my limbs after the cramped cage). I smiled and joked and went spread eagle on the bed… ummm… wax is hot. It burns.

Still.. I DO love it and was wanting more even after He blew the candles out. It sure made me wiggle though.

He was going to flog the wax off but we really weren’t prepared for the mess it was making. Wax was flying everywhere! He did enough flogging to make me squirm and ready to quit (tummy flogging is truly not erotic pain) and we disposed of the rest of the wax in the usual way.

For the record, wax clean up sucks the big kahoona.

Tonight… we were supposed to go to a carnival thingie here, but Master just called and said He’d be late. So.. who knows what now. I’m truly content to sit home naked, caged or chained or cuffed or beat or whipped or needled or fucked. Or any other devious little activity that can be thought of.

I like being a slave. I like being owned.

Right now, I’m a content cunt.

kaya

Cravings

Do any of you ever go through a mood, where you crave *something*, some part of bdsm yet nothing seems to satisfy it just right? A scene seems lacking or discipline doesn’t seem quite strict enough. Not that the session wasn’t good… just not good enough.

It’s not a complaint really. How could I expect Master to know what it is I need when I can’t even explain it to myself. Maybe it’s just the addiction.. the more you have, the more you want, always searching for something to take you higher, push you harder.

Yesterday, when I got home from work, I just felt out of sorts. For no particular reason I just felt like I needed to be reminded of who was in charge. I hate when I get like that but can’t seem to stop myself. So I push and push. Ignore the rules, challenge the requests. Master was right on top of it. Every turn I made, He turned me back to where I belong. I “got away” with nothing, so why, at the end of the night, did I still feel like I was all alone?

I think I have some pretty strict rules. Stricter than some I know, less than others of course. If I sit back and look at it objectively there is no way that I can kid myself into thinking that I am not “controlled enough”. Do you really get so used to the standard rules that you can’t see them anymore? I told Master yesterday “You don’t care what I do”. He challenged me to name a time when I had done *anything* without asking first. I couldn’t. I can’t even say that we aren’t playing enough because even with kids and jobs, we sneak in something almost every day. I don’t know. I just hate that dissatisfied part of me.

Because of space-issues and curious kids, Master and I had taken the cage out of our bdsm equation. We talked some last night about bringing it back, making it fit. I really really love the cage. It’s simply the most basic and easiest way to get me to feel objectified. And being able to shut the rest of the world out, letting me focus entirely on being His property is a head-space that I miss terribly. No other bondage or restriction can take me there like the cage. I’m excited about it. I hope that wasn’t just heat of the moment kind of talk.

I only posted twice last week but since I did so much work on the website, Master dropped the three-a-week requirement, just for last week though. Like Conor has been saying.. the week gets away from you and all of a sudden you are scrambling to get it in. Hey Conor.. maybe we could send each other little reminders. Something like.. “It’s Thursday. Do you know how many posts you have?”…lol.
kaya