Choices

First.. another thank you to everyone who responded to the previous post. You are all wonderful people. Of course I adore people who agree with me!..lol

A few days ago, New Years Day to be precise, prompted by Intricate I asked Master if I could make new year’s resolutions. I fully expected Him to say no, but I ask.. always gotta ask. I expected Him to say no because how can I decide to improve on something of His? If something about me needs work or changing, that’s for Him to decide. So I asked and waited for the right answer.

What He said was.. “No” (see, told ya He’d say no) and then followed it with “how can someone who has no choices make a resolution?”

Well, my slavely little eyebrow went sky high.

See, I know that I’m controlled. I know that He decides almost every aspect of my life. I know alot of things. And it’s one thing to know it.. and another thing to have it voiced back to you. Putting truths into words factors into our life alot.. in the middle of a whipping, He makes me repeat out loud what I am, who He is. In the middle of the day, walking by me, stopping just to ask “what are you?” “who owns you?” In case I’ve forgotten you know..;)

That really has a deep affect on me, to have to SAY it. To have to look Him in the eye and voice it. My whole body reacts to it and that simple act can affect my thought process for hours. And sometimes it takes every single ounce of my will TO say it. To get my voice out. I’ll try not to.. I’ll bury my head against His chest or hide my face and whine.. “I don’t want tooooooo”… I don’t know why it gets to me like it does. But there it is.

And so I say it, with my face beet red and my heart hammering, my hands shaking.. looking into His eyes, (always always with the eye contact!)… “I’m an it, I’m an object, I’m a cunt, I’m a slave, I’m whatever You want me to be. You own me.”

So.. these things I KNOW. I feel it, I believe it. But… not having any choices??? I beg your pardon?

I have choices!

I literally was shocked when He said that. And indignant! Forget New Year’s resolutions, this needed to be sorted.

I quite confidently stated “I have choices Master.” Like… trying to keep the “duh” tone out of my voice and not roll my eyes. Honestly, what was He thinking!

He just looked at me. And I just looked back.

I repeated.. a little quieter. “I have choices Master…. right?” He just gets that look. That… “oh this is going to be fun” look.

“Such as?” He asked, brow quirked and amusement plastered ALL over His face. I mean, He doesn’t even have the decency to be embarrassed for me when I’ve backed myself into a corner. What nerve!

Lots of things went zipping through my mind. Here’s the thing though.. no matter what I said, no matter what choice I would pull out as evidence of my freedom, as soon as I said, He’d snatch it. JUST because He can. Just to wipe the smirk off my face… which was rapidly dwindling on it’s own, thankyouverymuch.

So I had things I could say.. but I knew I would lose them if I did.. so I couldn’t say them! And damn if I wasn’t willing to give in! Plus, He’d take whatever “choice” of mine that I threw out there and totally make me see how it’s His gift to me to have it and not really my choice at all and I just wasn’t ready to give. Not yet. Soon.. but I was still stung a little.

Pride is a horrid thing for a slave, it really is. And no matter how many times They conquer it, it has a way of wiggling back in, trying to take over.. and fuck me if it isn’t a painful extraction. It was pride rearing it’s ugly head that day… pride that made me say “It’s my choice to obey or not.”

And it is dammit. Isn’t it? Don’t I choose each and every time to either obey, or suffer the consequences? Because I’ll be damned if I know anymore.

January 2nd and 3rd were spent largely showing me that I don’t choose to obey. I obey, period. I’m not carefully considering the decision… or weighing the consequences. I didn’t have a choice in the 2,006 spankings. I didn’t have a choice in whether or not I was in or out of the closet, I didn’t have a choice in when He beat me, where or how hard. Not when He fucked me, where or how hard. And not once did I ever NOT obey. (Oh I might have balked and whined, but obeyed, every time) Nor did I stop to “decide” that I was gifting Him with my “choice” to obey.

When I said that to Him, “It’s my choice to obey or not.”, He simply laughed.. that dismissive, you-are-so-cute laugh… the one reserved for children putting out cookies for Santa… and for delusional little slave girls who still think they are choosing to obey.

It appears that the last choice I made was to be His.

Not a bad choice if I do say so myself..:)

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