When Master and I first started this heavy power exchange, things were pretty confusing for me. Of course He had it all figured out in His own head but as usual, I was being dragged along behind Him saying “but.. but.. but..” I was forever bringing up scenarios and what-if’s and maybe’s. Attacking it from every single angle and possibility. I analyzed it to death. Enough so that Master would very often order me to give it a freakin’ rest already. We had quite a few conversations where I was apologizing for being so obsessed. And Master would pat me on the head in that condescending manner of His and say things like “oh shucks, its a good thing you are obsessed with it. It shows your commitment and your dedication and I love to talk about it too, just not ALL the time. Now go make dinner and shush for awhile.” (maybe not those exact words but close…:)
These days, I don’t know that I talk about it any less, or if He’s just used to it, or if the conversation just flows continuously with bdsm as a constant background no matter what the actual topic, but it’s no longer a source of conflict for us. Not my obsession or His patience.
One of the things that confused me the most in the beginning was Master’s insistence that I NOT become a doormat in how I interact with Him. He likes how we banter. He likes that I’m a perpetual smartass (I crack myself up, I really do. I know it sounds so egotistical and I’m not necessarily saying that I am funny to anyone else, but I make myself laugh… I don’t care about the rest of ya..:). It’s not innocent humor though. I’m mean. I call Him names and stuff. I flip Him off. I do all sorts of disrespectful things. And He thinks it’s funny. Most of the time.
It was the “most of the time” that would get me. Being allowed such freedom of expression went against everything that I had ever thought I knew about a bdsm relationship. Even in the name of humor, the perfect little slave wasn’t allowed to be disrespectful. He was pretty adamant about it though. He had endless discussions with me about intent. About voice tones. The difference between funny and disrespectful. How saying “fuck you” while we’re teasing and He tells me to strip naked and jog around the block and how saying “fuck you” when I’m pissed off at Him are two very different things.
And I tested it. Over and over and over, I tested it. For one thing, it felt extremely unfair to me, that I was in essence having to guess at what His mood was, at how much was too much teasing. At what voice tone was acceptable. I would say things when I was mad, but He didn’t know I was mad and I’d think to myself “ha! I just got away with calling you an asshole!” Other times, I’d be honestly joking and He would take it the wrong way and I’d get in trouble. And sometimes, I’d just fly off the handle and rant and rave cuz I’m mouthy. And I’d get in trouble for that too.
I kept asking Him if He would PLEASE just make a damn rule that forbid me from talking to Him that way ever, for any reason. Things would be so much easier then. (yes I could have just did it myself, but see, I don’t self-dominate. Ever. If He doesn’t say it, I don’t do it. I don’t know yet if that’s a help or a hindrance. Some things I should maybe be doing on my own, but if I don’t fully sense His participation, I can’t. It just makes me feel silly. Like playing tic tac toe by yourself. Ever done that? It’s ridiculously silly) He wouldn’t budge on it though. I was going to learn how and when it was appropriate to be a smartass according to His rules and when it wasn’t appropriate. Fair or unfair, like it or not, deserved punishment or misunderstandings, He insisted. I would learn.
And I did! I can tell now when I’m even just getting close to “disrespect”. I can tell just from the look on His face if He’s in the mood for smartass-me or YesMaster-me. And in most instances, I’m extremely grateful that He insisted I learn it the hard way. I don’t at all feel smothered or stifled, I’m free to snap off most anything that pops in my head.
I still have some trouble with being able to shut my mouth when I get really really REALLY mad. Sometimes I just say everything I can think of as fast as I can before He tells me to hush. Of course then, I’m already in trouble and it’s too late for hushing. You know, getting off track here, a few people have made comments about how they could not live with being made to hush when they have something to say and I can honestly say that this has been the hardest aspect of slavery for me. If I have something to say, it KILLS me to not be able to say it. But I fully accept that He has the right to not hear it. Anyway, that’s a whole different post. Back on topic here.
So, I’ve learned when it’s ok to be a smartass and when it isn’t. And Master didn’t go easy on me in learning this lesson either. It didn’t matter if I didn’t mean it the way He took it, or whatever.. if it hit Him the wrong way, I got punished for it. You’d think that would have made me censor myself huh?..lol. It didn’t. It made me that much more aware of His aura.
In short, His method, while tough, worked. He didn’t lose our banter, He is still blessed with my wicked tongue (in more ways than one) but I can generally shut my mouth off when He requires it of me.
But now… today.. our main form of communication these days is MSN. Just try sending your tone of voice through msn. Try giggling in that cute way that softens a “fuck you Master” through msn. You cannot banter in the way that Master and I normally banter on msn. And how do I know this?
Cuz I was bantering along when out of the blue that last “yeah whatever” should have been a “yes Master” and fucking WHAM! Down comes the hammer. He claims I should have seen it coming. And maybe I should have. The trigger phrases were there.. but dammit.. just.. god dammit. The thing is, it doesn’t matter what I think or what I meant or the shoulda-woulda-coulda’s.
It was a mild transgression though… so the punishment was quick and mild too. Enough so that I will know He isn’t letting anything slide just because He isn’t here. (Did I really complain once upon a time that He wouldn’t be able to “Dom” me from afar?? Scratch that, cuz.. He doms me MORE from afar.) Two clothespins on my pussy lips all slathered up with icy hot for only 5 minutes, snap a couple pics to mail Him and apologize. The end.
See, last weekend when He was here, He told me I couldn’t shave again. I don’t know what the deal is with the whole not shaving thing but I didn’t mention it at all because I am NOT giving Him the satisfaction of watching me freak out over it. I refuse. I’m taking that weapon away from Him. I can’t shave my cootchie. So what. It’s disgustingly hairy and gross and I don’t care. You know when I look at it I literally feel nauseated? When I touch it, I just get the willies. It’s nasty. But whatever.. I’ve purposely not mentioned it at all. Not here and not to Him.
Until I had to send Him these two pictures tonight. Which was humiliating. Master does not like pubic hair. I know He doesn’t. He’s only forbidden shaving so He can humiliate me with this, the evil fucker. He’s going to come home next weekend and by then I’ll have a damn lap full of fur and He’s going to completely annihilate me with it. He’s going to point and laugh and make faces and pull on it and simply…… totally…. defeat me.
And there is nothing I can do about it.
He started it already just with those pictures. And then He told me to post them. I know some of you are thinking, what’s the big deal, right? A little pubic hair, wtf. Well, think I’m crazy if you want. I hate pubic hair on my own body. Looks damn fine on the rest of you. Master’s pubic hair is gorgeous. In general, pubic hair is sexy on a woman. Not on me. Hate it hate it hate it. It makes me feel dirty and smelly and it looks filthy and it makes me itch and and and the little hairs look like worms and it just makes me ill and the very thought of posting those two pictures made me want to scream “NO FUCKING WAY!!!”.
Which I did say. Out loud. Here. Where He couldn’t hear me. I typed one very small “please no” which was immediately shot down. I asked one more time if I really had to post them and He said He would think about it but most likely YES.
So I can stew about it all night and post them tomorrow morning.. or I can just do it now. Go hide my head for the night… and for the next several days… and die a million little embarrassing deaths and get it the hell over with. Because I know Him.. and He’ll hold it over my head and make me squirm and beg and plead and then make me post them anyway!!
Here. It’s done. Humiliated and punished.