Reminders

I’ve got two different topics here, both inspired by Chloe, cuz she rocks with the inspiration.

First, she wrote this bit on Culture Shock, which you should go read.

A short synopsis for those of you who won’t listen and go read it, you obstinate boobs: A woman she knows came from Iran, born and raised to be a submissive wife and how her submissive ways do NOT rely on her husband being dominant. She just IS. It’s a state of BEING. Not an active exchange of D/s. She is submissive regardless.

Here’s where I leave Chloe’s thoughts and start my own. Because Chloe’s post was just the spark, Fetlife (of course!) added fuel to the fire.

What happens on Fet is this: Some poor person makes a comment, something to the effect of “Master did so-n-so to remind me of my place.” Or “I need my collar to remind me of my place.” Or “We use ritual and protocal to remind me of my place.”

See the common thread there? Someone actually states that they need reminded of their place sometimes.

And all holy hell breaks loose on Fetlife. The holier-than-thou Submissives move in for the kill. Like a pack of Queen Bees, they snark and shame that poor girl into silence.

THEY do not need reminded of their place.

THEY do not understand how someone can forget their place.

THEY chose, and committed to being a slave, and therefore, the angels have smiled upon them and they shit perfect rainbows of submission.

THEY do not need reminded that they are mothers, or women, or wives, so how does one ever need to be reminded that they are slaves??

They shake their heads, tsk, roll their eyes, scoff.. just, yanno, generally be big bitches.

Women are SO GOOD at being bitches. So very good. I do think that may be why I decided not to be a lesbian after all. *nods* (And that I really really like cock, but that has nothing to do with this convo.)

So, in Chloe’s post, she was talking about how it’s the cultural norm for women in Iran to be submissive to their husbands, and how cool it is to witness that sort of marital D/s without the labels and the angst and the internet forum discussions. Watching D/s in its most organic form, I admit, would be pretty damn cool.

She also said she is working on (or has achieved?) that sort of organic submission herself. Where her submissiveness is not dependent on his dominance, how it just becomes the natural state of being and ceases relying on HIM to keep her in place. She stays there because… well, because. Because it just IS.

Now, don’t get me wrong here. I think Chloe is on to something profound and neat and it is definitely a goal to strive for.

But.

Cuz there is always a but.

D/s is not the cultural norm in our society (which Chloe readily acknowledges), therefore, to me, it seems completely reasonable that women *today* who *choose* to submit, who haven’t been born and bred to do so, DO require a consistent and constant “force” from the other side to help them maintain that place.

At the very least, needing that active dominance is not, should not be, a shameful admission.

Just as one could say that if you are going to be a submissive then just be a submissive without requiring certain acts from your dominant, then shouldn’t it also be that if one is going to be a dominant, then just be dominant regardless of your submissive’s behaviors?

I’m really trying to imagine Master ordering me around if I *weren’t* submissive and how well that would NOT work.

I understand the point of just being submissive, of not relying so heavily upon the active dances, of finding the peace that reigns when it just is what it is.

Because, that’s really nice. And, I think I’m there actually. There’s not a system in place where my submission depends *entirely* upon his actions. Somehow, because he’s really really good at what he does, he’s taken my original kink, that need to be forced into submission, and turned it around so that doing it while being ignored, has become even kinkier than being forced (beaten into it).

I’m being forced by non-force. How fucked up is THAT?

However, there IS a give and take. There has to be because I am not an altruistic servant. I do require acts of dominance, they DO remind me of my place, I DO begin to falter without them, I AM fueled by his actions, and I DO need things from him.

Fortunately, dominance is also HIS state of being. It’s not work for him to be consistent and constant with his requirements. It just IS.

Therefore, I can just BE, as well.

Without some instances and acts of dominance and submission, we’re not M/s. We’re just… an old married couple, cruising along with the cultural norm. And that is so NOT what I want in this lifetime.

Which brings me to my next topic, which isn’t one of the original two that I mentioned earlier. In fact, I probably won’t get to the original second topic.

Anyway.

About that force fetish. I still have it.

It’s really strong too. It’s… deep-seated. It itches. It niggles at my brain, my soul! It’s- okay okay. It’s not quite THAT melodramatic, but close!

See, what I wanted when I first began fantasizing about BDSM was to be forced to do *everything*. To have my every move, my every activity of daily living be determined by a force other than myself. That doesn’t mean somene standing over me telling me what to eat weilding a whip- well, yes, actually it did. That is what I fantasized about, in my more extreme moments.

Mostly, the fantasy centered around having dire consequences for not obeying.

And by dire, I mean, banning me from American Idol or something.

No, not really. I’d hate that actually.

Remember when I talked about that Stephen King book about the abused wife? Rose Madder? That’s what I fantasized about. Getting to a place where to NOT obey ceased being an option.

And so, yanno, Master really doesn’t roll that way. Because, he’s not an abuser. And because he doesn’t think submission should require that much work.

He’s right.

So, after many months of figuring that out for myself and learning to submit out of more… pure… desires, I was still left with the very real, and very much unfulfilled, force fetish.

The other day, when I said I was playing up the martyr angle? I meant that! I am playing it up. Because that’s about the only way I can scratch that itch. It’s the only way we’ve found where he gets the easy submission he wants and I get the forcing I want.

There are SO MANY things about bdsm that I hate. That I really really loathe. And I am SO TIRED of having to pretend to enjoy them. It’s like, if I don’t pretend to enjoy it, then someone thinks badly of Master, and that really kills me, yanno? He’s such a good guy.

For instance, I don’t like pain. I just like having to endure it because there is no choice NOT to. I don’t crave the pain, I crave the humiliation of being beaten like a dog, of being tied down and hurt, of being forced to accept what I hate.

I think it works that way for a lot of people. At least, a lot of who I talk to say the same thing. It’s not the specific acts that pull you in, it’s the overall allure of being forced to do that which one hates.

So, I’m just not going to worry anymore about trying to save face. Even Master’s. He’s a big boy, he can handle the scrutiny (like how I tossed him under the bus? tee hee)

I’m not going to say “Oh yes I love it” whenever the question is asked, because I don’t love it. I hate it. I just love that he makes me do it anyway.

Sometimes I think even HE wants me to say that I love it when I don’t.

Sometimes I wish he’d get a touch more “abusive” with me. I wish he were more.. comfortable.. being thought of as an abuser. But that’s.. wow.. that’s really not fair to him.

God. The pressure people put you under to ease their own minds.

*wistful sigh*

This post is pretty weird, huh? Probably I should have chosen easier topics to get my groove back before going all crazy with letting my thoughts poor out.

Ah well. It is what it is, as Master would say.

Actually, this COULD be a prime example of me NEEDING one of those overt acts of dominance to remind me of my place. I told you I start to falter without them!

~cunt

The Short List

* No baby. But she’s dilated to two. She really wanted to deliver yesterday because of the “cool” birthdate it would have been (07/08/09). And she really wanted to have her on the 4th because of the easy birthday parties she’d have had. “Look at those fireworks! I did them all for you, honey! Happy Birthday!” But now all the neat-o dates are over and she doesn’t care. If she hasn’t started by Sunday, they want her to check into the OB floor. I’ll keep you all posted! (I feel like we’re all in this together now, so, yanno, when I hit you up for diaper funds, don’t bail on me! )

* This morning’s walk/run was grueling. I was so. bloody. tired. I hardly jogged any of it and it took me almost ten minutes longer than it should have. Bah.

* But I spent most of the entire walk thinking about the details of last night’s fucking. There was foreplay. FOREPLAY! It were delish.

* Those of you who have those turian style slave collars, what tips and hints would you have for measuring and comfort and all of that? Like, is it better for it to lay low and loose or what?

* If I ever get diagnosed with a terminal illness and I spend what time I have left hating on people and being a bitch, slap me upside the head, mmmk? Promise? Life is too fucking short for that shit.

* Remember that child vs. slave post I did a bit ago where I’d gotten pissy over bedtime? Well, it happened again, this morning actually, when he started telling me how and where to walk. I got all “I know how to walk, goddammit!” on him. (Even though I am “doing it wrong!” and walking with traffic, I have my reasons for it so lemme ‘lone about it already!)

So, subtle had made a post about this very thing and I’d suspected that she’d hit on why I get pissy when I first read it. Now? I’m sure of it. It is exactly that. I mean, I don’t agree with *everything* she said (for instance, being told what to do about my career- or lack thereof- doesn’t push the same button as it does for her), but the distinction she made between being told what to do and being treated as if I’m too stupid to know what to do, is pretty spot on.

Not that I think Master is in any way trying to treat me like I’m stupid. At all. And I know he doesn’t think I’m stupid. He’s just.. really really bossy. Mostly, I adore that. But, yanno, if he ever tells me to brush my teeth, I might bite him.

Just sayin’.

*Hitler jokes are funny. So are dead baby jokes, fat jokes, Polish jokes, Priest jokes, gay jokes, girl-bashing, blonde-bashing, etc. etc. etc. Yes, it’s tasteless and I’m a horrible person. I feel bad. Really.

Okay, not really. I’m sorry you left your sense of humor in your other pants, though.

* Last week, I went into the doctor’s exam room with Jes because she was too afraid to argue with him about something, and the nurse says to me “Are you her friend, sister, what?” Hee. I told her she was my new BFF.

* Some kitty love to share:

This is Cranky Cat. Being cranky. This is how she reacts when you touch her before she’s decided you are allowed to touch her.

And this is Dracula. I caught him in a moment when he was looking very, um, Un-Dracula-like. And very stoopid-like. Someone needs to make a gif icon out of this (cuz I don’t know how).

Happy Thursday!

~cunt

…and, boy, are my arms tired!

So far this morning:

*I cooked Master breakfast (bacon, egg and cheese biscuit sandwiches)

*reheated and packed Master’s lunch (leftover pot roast, garlic mashed taters and carrots)

*serviced him after his shower

*walked 2 1/2 miles (in less than 30min)

*made 5 gallons of laundry soap

*took a shower

It’s 7-freakin-30am.

It can be nap time now?

This early morning shit is for the birds.

At least Master is off that 4:30am rotation (for now anyway). Even though getting up at 5:30 is still suck-worthy, that one hour makes a HUGE difference.

And he can drive me down the road and drop me off now. When he was leaving at 5am, it was still dark and the last time I tried to go for a walk before the sun came up, I could hear howling (wolves? coyotes?) from way too close and there was rustling in the trees and I got all kinds of spooked. At least by 6am the sun is up and I’ll be able to see the animal as it attacks me.

I’m dieting/exercising with determination now. When I went in for my check up at the docs, she worried that I’m in the beginning stages of hypertension. Which, considering my family history, isn’t a huge shock. But after watching my mom deal with the medication side effects and the general health problems associated with her blood pressure and weight, I don’t wanna go there. I don’t need to lose anywhere near what she needs to lose, but I’d rather do it now than have to be trying to do it at her age.

So, Master said he wants me to do another 20 min on the treadmill (which he has set up on an incline, the heartless bastard) later today and maybe, if I have any energy left, I’ll try the Nordic Track, too.

We got the Nordic Track for free from Master’s boss. It’s a really old one but it works. Unfortunately, I’m about as uncoordinated as a kid on his first two-wheeler so getting the hang of how to move my arms and legs and not fall? Fun. Funny, too.

Kinda like this girl here. Hee.

Also, y’all have scared the dickens out of me over taking that prozac. I don’t wanna lose my orgasms! *sob* I’d rather have pms!

Yesterday I repotted all of the flowers in the flower boxes on the deck. I’d planted them in super cheap dirt and they weren’t faring so well so I bought the Miracle Grow potting soil to start over. I don’t know if they can be salvaged but I’m gonna try. They’re only petunias and they seem to be hardy little flowers. The herbs, however, were a lost cause. I dumped them out and just planted a couple of parsley plants. That’s the herb I use the most when it’s fresh anyway.

The tomatoes look great, the cucumber plant is growing.. the rest of the seeds haven’t done a damn thing. I figured this year would be difficult until I get a handle on the growing season/weather pattern so I’m not too disappointed. Next year, I’ll be ready.

The weather is fucking cooky up here. It’s July, yanno? I should not be seeing my breath when I go outside! We about froze our asses off at the fireworks. We all had jackets and blankets and we were still shivering. There was a week of temps in the upper 80′s and I sincerely think that was all the summer we’re going to have. And the kids want to get a pool? Wtf for, ice skating?

Speaking of pools.

The other day, in jest, I made a pithy comment in the Spankfest group on Fet about watersports and needing a snorkel.

Master’s Spankfest shopping list this morning? Snorkel, goggles and a wading pool.

A fucking wading pool!

What was my safeword again?

Oh, that’s right! I don’t have one!

I want a do-over. Hmmph.

~cunt

I’m bored.

Master’s taking a nap cuz he has a headache (which *I* did not give to him. For a change.) but we’re supposed to go fishing.

So I’m bored.

I could clean the house but – that’s boring.

I could watch a movie but- that’s boring, too.

I could read but- yep. Boring. I’ve read like 4 books this week. My eyes are tired.

So I come here.. and I really have nothing to talk about.

I killed most everything in the fish tank last week. Not on purpose, just.. cuz I didn’t know why everything was dying. I had about 25 dwarf african frogs and a betta fish and an algae eater in there and then… I dunno.. the frogs started to die. I changed the water- still dying. About 2 a day. I hadn’t done anything different at alll so I was baffled.

Anyway, I finally took everything out, dumped out all the water and in looking over the filter noticed that it was completely clogged with muck. So I’m guessing that even though it was running, it probably wasn’t cleaning the water very well. Probably the water just got too toxic or something.

So, after I cleaned that out and put in all new water, the remaining frogs (about 10 left, if that) and the algae eater seem to be doing okay. The betta died (sniffle. Poor Guapo).

I don’t know how well the garden and flowers are going to do. It got so rainy and cold here for awhile, though the sun is out today. We’ll see. Right now, they look pretty wilted and bedraggled and I’m pretty sure the herbs are drowned. Boo.

The upside down tomatoes look good though. I’ll have to take a picture cuz, you know, everyone has empty cat litter buckets hanging from their deck. It’s a decorating statement!

There’s really not much going on. The summer just seems to be sliding away into nothing. The kids stay up all night and sleep all day- and I don’t really care. *shrug*

Except for Jes. Hee. She’s up earlier and earlier every day. She can’t sleep, too uncomfortable. I told her it was nature’s way of getting her ready and teaching her how to function on little to no sleep before she has the added stress of a crying baby.

She is not amused with my philosophies. Her ruling? “Nature sucks ass.”

No baby yet, obviously. She wants to go fishing with us, too. I told her she better not tip the boat over swinging her ginormous belly around.

Let’s see.

Um.. I’m horny.

Frustrating that Master is sleeping and isn’t willing to “service” me. Stingy bastard. I even woke him up and announced my plight. He shooed me away.

I’m gonna try that next time the tables are turned. I’m gonna shoo HIM away.

Yeah right! I don’t have a death wish!

Oh! Did I tell you that I went to the doc and she prescribed me Prozac for my pms?

Well, actually she said I have pmdd and not pms but, pffft, I dunno what I think about buzzwords like that.

Anyway, she gave me this prescription to take only during the two weeks before my cycle (and she gave me the go ahead on birth control pills to skip my period in August) so I call Master up after the appointment and I tell him about the prescription for the pms and you know what he says??

“Thank GOD!”

*insert hurt feelings here*

Seriously? Was I THAT bad?

*sniffle*

I mean, he used to tell me I wasn’t that bad. After it was over and I’d be sniveling into his shirt apologizing for being an ass, he’d pat me on the head and say “You aren’t that bad, snooks. It’s okay.”

Hmmph. Liar.

He could have just TOLD me to go get treatment. In fact he used to tell me not to worry about, that he didn’t want me on medication and that *it isn’t that bad*!!

Truth be told, one of the side effects of prozac is sexual dysfunction (loss of interest, inability to orgasm) and should those be the side effects I end up with, he’ll probably dump the pills down the toilet anyway. I think he’d rather deal with pms than have a non-sexual sex slave.

Although… hmmm… taking it when I don’t wanna can be fun, too.

Besides, if I don’t have pms, what the hell am I going to rant about here?!?!?

Well that’s all I got. This may be the most boringest entry evah.

Logic and Reason

There is logic and reason to the bedtime.

As I said yesterday, bedtime is not a new thing. It’s been standard operating procedure since we’ve been together. When he goes to bed, I go to bed. And it has a purpose even.

Bedtime, the time when HE goes to bed, is when he is most likely to require service. From foot rubs to back massages to sucking dick to fucking to being the go-n-gimme-cunt. (As in “Go and gimme a glass of water, cunt” or “Go and gimme something to eat, cunt.”)

So it’s not purposeless, not “for my health”, not “because he can” (entirely anyway). It’s because 99% of the time, he has a use for me.

And 99% of the time, I don’t even hesitate, or think anything of it. I just follow him to the bedroom.

He’s also not mean or unreasonable about it. Sometimes he’s really tired and wants to crawl into bed at Early o’clock, at which point I still follow him to the bedroom and wait around long enough for him to decide if he wants or needs anything and then he’ll dismiss me back to my other duties.

Other times, if he’s feeling generous and there’s a tv show on that I like to watch that runs late, he’ll tell me I can stay up and finish watching it. Other times, he tells me to DVR it and get my ass to bed.

It’s never been a problem before. Ever. Like.. ever.

Sometimes I’ll drag my feet a little bit and whine that I’m not tired but he simply tells me to shut up and read a book then.

It’s seriously just not been anything that’s gotten under my skin to the point that it did the other day. It’s never been anything that’s made me feel like an incompetent child.

I am going to chalk it up to a combination of hormones, stress and the fact that there hasn’t been hands on control and I just reacted to the order. Intellectual whiplash sounds good. *nods*

So last night, he goes to the bedroom and I follow him and he turns around and nonchalantly says “You don’t have to go to bed if you don’t want to.”

And I damn near start to cry. I know what he’s doing. Reverse psychology is the oldest trick in the book!

Because it works.

Of course I want him to want me in bed with him. I want him to need me, to use me.

How does it feel to think I’m NOT needed for service?

Sucks, dude. Sucks rotten eggs.

So I sucked his dick extra special good to make up for being a stoopid brat.

I’m no less… confuzzled on the whole child vs. slave conundrum. But maybe it’s just going to be that if I’m in a relationship that involves rules and punishment and not just service or expectations, then at times I’m going to feel like a child.

Because it does mimic parenting. But that does not make me a child. I’m gonna have to rectify this in my head.

It’s weird though, to be out in the living room being the parent and enforcing rules to the kids and then stepping into that other world where I have to check the authority figure at the door because *my* authority figure is sitting on the bed, tapping his foot, ready to lay down HIS rules on my ass.

Anyway. Enough about that for now.

This week is *crazy* for appointments. Yesterday, Master had an eye doctor appt. Today, Am has a doctors appt. this morning and The Boy has a dentist appt. this afternoon. I have a doctors appt. tomorrow, Jes had a doctor’s appt. on Friday and I *think* Am has an orthodontist appt. sometime this week, too. I should go look that up before I miss it.

So. Yeah. Thank the powers that be for decent health insurance. Jeebus.

Am’s teeth are really looking good. None of us have perfectly straight teeth but Am’s were truly bad. She had one of those smiles where it was the first thing you noticed and the first thing you thought was “Wow. She should get those fixed.” So, even though it’s been uber-expensive (and ask me sometime about the incompetent dentist in Wis. who bilked us out of a thousand dollars. Grr!) I don’t regret a penny of it. (Except for that grand! Grrs!)

I fully expect that she’ll get them taken off soon. Her top teeth are nice and straight and there’s just the tiniest little gap left to close from where they had to pull a tooth on the bottom. So worth it for her self-esteem. I wish I’d have gotten braces when I was kid. It’s not anything I’d ever do now, as an adult, and my smile is always something I’m self-conscious about because of a crooked tooth. So, yeah, I’m glad for her. She needed it so bad.

~~*~~

No baby yet, obviously. I keep telling Jes to do jumping jacks or something so we can get the show on the road, but she’s not listening. *shrug*

And, don’t tell anyone I told you this, but Master is getting excited/giddy. I knew he would. He is so going to fall hard for this kid.

~~*~~

I am so not amused by the Michael Jackson jokes.

Unfortunately, Master and the kids are hella amused so I’m subjected to them several times a day.

I loved him. He was my first (and only!) celebrity crush.

I wonder if my Thriller album will be worth anything now? It’s the original album, bought when it was first released, when I was but a wee teenager and it’s in mint condition!

Offers?

Kidding. Y’all ain’t getting it. I spent too much time kissing that middle fold out pic.

~~*~~

I’m off to get chores done before the running starts.

I wonder, since we’re going with the whole parent/child thing, if I can put in for getting an allowance for doing chores.

Oh hai!

So kaya! Whatcha been up to lately?

Oh I am so glad you asked! *grins* I’ve been busy busy busy! Let me tell you all about it.

We’ve been creating an oasis on our back deck. The mosquitoes are terrible. Like.. terrible. There was no way to enjoy sitting outside without a screened in area. (And that 10′x12′ piece of carpet is in there!)

As it is, I look like a spotted cow from going fishing the other day but at least now we can sit out there, have a beer, watch the birds (the hummingbirds come right up. They don’t even care. It’s SO cool). Now I just need a laptop so I can keep up with all of you while I’m drinking coffee and watching the birds. Ah. The tragic life of a slave!

From the back- Look at the purty flower boxes Master bought me!

We’ve decided that we’re not going to get a garden in this year. (Boo! Hiss!) We just weren’t ready for the weird, inhuman weather up here. By the time it warmed up enough that we could get started on the beds, the growing season was in full swing already. We’d only gotten as far as nailing a few boards together when most people had planted, and we still have to finish building the beds, haul in dirt, get it fertilized- and then plant.

I didn’t want to rush it, half-assed putting up the raised beds and not have good dirt just so I could get seeds in the ground. So! We’ve decided to take the summer and take our time. We can build beds to our heart’s content, make them look really nice, probably haul in good dirt at half the price at the end of the season and then have the fall/winter to let the fertilizer get in good and by next spring, I will be ready.

In the meantime, I now have a use for those dozens of empty cat litter buckets that Master, for whatever reason, won’t let me throw in the garbage. (Hoarder tendencies. He haz them.)

I’m going to drill some holes in the bottoms, fill them up with potting soil, and have a ‘bucket garden’. A couple of tomato plants, maybe a cucumber if it’ll grow in a bucket.. and I don’t know what else. Whatever else I can make grow in an old cat litter container. Peppers probably. I’d love zuchinni but I tried that in a big pot last year and it didn’t grow for crap, so we’ll see.

So, I’m pretty disappointed to not have my garden this year, but I’m kinda stoked to see if I can make a go of it with plastic buckets. It’s all kinds of recycle and reuse and money saving and just tickles my domestic little soul. AND I expect to have some uber-neato raised beds by next summer!

I’ve scratched my gardening itch a tiny bit anyway by working outside with flowers and stuff. I’m not real knowledgable of flowers/flower beds, nor do I care enough to learn, but the front of the house desperately needed something done to it.

I went with white marble chips with potted flowers over trying to make it a full flower bed because of that aforementioned ignorance, and it turned out pretty decent. I didn’t think to take before pictures, but there was nothing but grass all the way up to the house.

I need Master to cut the edging so I can finish it. He seems to think I’m too uncoordinated to use the saw. He’s probably right. Anyway, so there are two of those beds in the front of the house and maybe, when/if that marble goes on sale toward the end of the season, I’ll swing it all the way around the side of the house too.

(Just an added note: Those bags of marble chips are fookin’ heavy. I had to two-hand drag them across the grass so I could dump them out. But when we bought them, Master was just tossing them in the back of the truck like they were nothing.

It solved the mystery of “why does it hurt so much when he smacks me on the ass?” Fucking powerhouse.)

I’m going to check into making my own compost bin. Every time I throw food scraps in the garbage I think about what a waste it is. I could so use it in the garden!

I don’t know what Master’s decided on regarding the chickens. I think he’s just not had the time or energy to build a coop. We’ve got all the wood, well, most of it anyway, now it’s getting it done. I really want them but I’m not gonna nag him about it. He’s a busy boy.

Course if he’d let me use the saw, I’d try building it myself. (hint hint)

I had kind of a moment of enjoyable, uber-service that pushed my boundaries a little bit the other day.

We’d gone fishing, and this time we took the boat. He doesn’t have a big boat by any means, just a small fishing boat, but it’s still a boat which means it has to actually get IN the water and leave the dry ground to be of any use.

I have this silly little water phobia where taking a shower is plenty enough water for me, tyvm.

I’d been doing good just getting close to the water’s edge when we went fishing before. It’s been nothing but his desire to get out into the middle of the lake that’s forced me to work through this phobia.

So, we went. And I got in the boat and he started away from shore and I was white-knuckle-gripping the seat and the farther away from shore we got the more panicky I felt. And angry. Angry panic. Angry at myself for being such a tool and for potentially ruining his enjoyment. Angry at him for just not letting me be with my stupid irrational fear of sharks and piranhas and alligators and drowning. And panic because.. fuck if I know why. Because I was going to DIE! Because there was a tiny bit of leftover rain water in the bottom of the boat and I was convinced there was a hole and we were sinking and I wouldn’t be able to swim and I would die.

Then he stopped, really not too far away from shore- maybe 20 feet if that. May as well have been 20 miles, though. He asked me if I was okay and I said yes. He asked me if I was crying and I lied and said no and then angrily fisted the tears off my face.

He asked me if I wanted to go back.

Every single fiber of my being screamed YES. Fucking christ YES.

And I said no.

Because… fishing was what he wanted to do. Being out there in the boat was what he wanted to do. Being a slave, to me, is about more than beatings and blow jobs. It’s more than fetching water when I’m tired. It IS doing what I don’t want to do just because he wants to do it. No matter what that thing is.

It’s not that I was then cured of my water fears. Just, at that moment, pleasing him took precedence over panic.

Once I’d calmed myself down enough to peer over the side, I realize that not only could I see the bottom (the lake is crystal clear. It’s *gorgeous*), we were in probably about 5 feet of water- at most. I may not be able to swim back should we sink- but I could certainly walk back, ffs.

Silly girl.

That “uber-service moment” I mentioned? Master hadn’t put the motor on the boat. So I rowed him around the edge of the lake while he lounged back in his chair and fished. He’d look over at me and grin, relaxed, comfortable, make some comment about his “rowing cunt” or whatever and direct me where to go. “Left paddle, cunt. Now, right. No, no, left. More left. Both together, cunt. Good. Stop here a minute.”

Way cool.

Also? Rowing a fishing boat is hard work.

Also? I caught a fish. And he didn’t. He was pwned.

Hee!

What else.

Jes is doing good. Pregnancy wise anyway. She’s dropped so… anytime now I guess. I told her she’d better get her room clean and start getting things ready, bag packed, bottles washed, clothes and diapers set up and ready. She’s only just over two weeks from her due date.

I can’t wait. We’ve had an explosion of pink in the house. Every baby item we have is pink. The clothes are pink. The blankets are pink. We live pink.

Master is understandably disturbed.

She rearended somebody over the weekend. Grrs. Not a major accident, slight damage to the front of her car, and who knows how much to their car. She says none but I wasn’t there and I don’t know if I can believe her.

And who knows if they’ll start crying whiplash or whatever.

I just can’t wait to see what the fall out from that is going to be. I’m sure it’ll raise our rates and then with adding Am on? I may have to get a job just to pay the new insurance premiums.

When she called to tell us what had happened, Master got on the phone and told her to calm down, everything was fine, what mattered was that nobody was hurt and that we love her. Which, yanno, how sweet is that? He’s a doll.

A big pink doll.

I bet he falls hopelessly in love with this baby.

*squee!*

Okay. I gotta go run errands. Y’all try not to have nightmares about forks. *snicker*

Comfort Zone

Moms will get this:

You know when your sweet little one is nagging at you? Like, they’re standing there tugging at your sleeve or tapping your arm and going “Mom? Mom? Mom? Mom. Mom. Mom? Mom. MOM!”

And you don’t hear them? Or feel them.

It’s like we become immune to interference when we’re trying to do something. It’s a survival skill! A finely honed talent. An admirable ability.

But. If I could offer a little tidbit of advice from the kaya files?

Don’t do that to The Boss Man.

Not a good idea.

I was engrossed in *cough*Fetlife*cough* and didn’t hear him or feel the glass that he was tapping on my elbow.

A biff upside the head though? That’s an attention-getter, let me tell ya!

Master was home sick the last two days so now the house is a mess.

What? That doesn’t make sense? Sure it does!

I don’t clean when he’s home. I can’t.

I follow him around like a needy puppy. I’ll wander away from him for a minute or two but eventually I just kind of.. drift back to him. If he would only walk with me as I clean, I’d not have this mess!

Completely his fault.

The first day that he stayed home, I’d made prior plans to go help a friend (The Squirter) with some stuff. He would have let me go, but… it just doesn’t feel right. I should be here to fetch kleenex and stuff, right?

Maybe I’m too clingy. I…. hover.

He says it’s just the way he wants it though. It’s one thing for him to say “cunt, you’re staying right here by my side.” and have me obey.

It’s another thing entirely to have me to the point where there is nowhere else I can comfortably be. Nowhere else that feels right. When we’re in separate rooms there’s a nagging sense of something missing. I get nervous, edgy. That same feeling you get when you leave for vacation and you can’t remember if you shut the iron off.

That feeling goes away the second he’s back in sight, within touch.

I don’t feel that way when he goes to work and I’m at home. I know I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

That feeling is multiplied by a million if I leave the house without him. Getting groceries when he elects to stay home is a nightmare. My stomach churns, my hands tremble, I can’t think. Without a list, I’d stand in the aisles like a dumbass. I’ve done it before.

The longer it takes me to get the errands run, the worse I get. I’m practically pissing my pants in angst by the time I get in the door.

Some of it is fear, too. I know that. He can be strict, you know? He’s been known to get on my case if I’ve been gone longer than he thinks it should have taken, or gone somewhere that wasn’t where he thought I should go.

So, yeah. Right by his side is my comfort zone.

Now if only I could keep my attention in the same place my body is at, eh? There’d be a lot less head biffing going on.

~cunt

P.S. I have to send a huge Thank You! to luna for the new layout. It’s gorgeous, isn’t it? Now I just need a new header. I wanna lose the quote and just have Under His Hand, and lose my ugly mug. I told Master we’ll have to mess around with taking some pictures.

Anyway, thank you so much Luna!

[Insert Title Here]

Cuz I can’t think of one.

Today, I have all the classic symptoms of pms. Headache, fatigue, can’t think (the grocery list is far too complicated today), bloated, sore boobs.

At least I’m sticking with the classics and not veering off into “Die, Motherfucker, DIE!” territory.

Yet.

I make no promises though.

We had such a great weekend, too, that it’s just a bummer to be pms’ing right now.

Friday night, two of the three rugrats were gone so Master and I and the remaining child went out for dinner. We had the “almost” world famous ribs and they were HUGE and yummy.

Then he tossed me under the desk and had his way with me. I swear I came *this* close to taking a book under there with me.

It just gets so boring under there. It’s the lack of interaction that makes it boring. We spend longer times fucking in the bed and I’m not bored, far from it. I dunno though. I mean, get down on your knees and elbows and stare at the dust on your baseboards for an hour or two.

Repeatedly.

Boring, right? I can’t seem to stop myself from thinking about all the things I could be doing. And I know it’s just something I’ve got to turn my thinking around on, but I’m very very stuck right here in “this is boring and I hate it”.

Then I was getting MAD at him because he kept trying to shove me headfirst through the fucking wall and my arms were trembling they were so tired and I was just getting pissed. PMS and under the desk do not a good combo make.

Plus, my pocket rocket is dying. That sucks. It had a good run though. This one lasted me a long time. So I’m in the market for a new one.

Saturday, we met with some friends and went treasure hunting (rummage sales). Master and the other Dom (I need names, guys!)- like kids in a candy store, I swear. Heads together, holding things up, whispering. God. If there is any possible way to pervert an item, they found it every time. Too funny.

Master is such a butthead though. He takes delicious pleasure in making me blush. At one point, he was talking to the other Dom about the under-the-desk thang, and I hear “… so fucking wet, her juices were dripping off my balls…”

I just wanted to disappear into my chair. There is such a thing as TMI!

Of course, I was later talking about being able to braid my ass hair cuz he won’t let me shave, so.. meh.. I think we’ve lost our Inner Censor. Like on the South Park episode where Cartman pretends he has Tourettes? Hee.

Anyway, then we stopped at a little greasy spoon for breakfast. Good company, good food, good times. Way fun.

Sunday, we worked a little bit outside. We’re going with raised beds for the garden because there is shit for soil up here and we’re going to have to haul in topsoil anyway. So we started on the frames for those. That means I’ll probably have a smaller garden than I’d like for this year, but I’ve also got several pots I’m going to put up on the deck. Hopefully, I can at least get in everything that we eat, even if there isn’t going to be enough to can.

Now today I feel like dogshit. Meh.

This coming weekend we’re going to a play party. I’m uber excited about that. I just love the group of people we found up here. Who’d a thunk, that way up here in Bumfuck, Mi. is a hotbed of perverts.

Regarding the moving dilemma: They’re going to talk with him more about it this afternoon, give some more info on what’s on the table and such. For now though, and until he decides what he wants to do, I’m going on as if we aren’t going to move. It drives me crazy to be unsettled, to have things up in the air or on hold, so I’m just gonna do my thing and plant my garden and whatever.

Last year we moved just as the garden was producing so, yanno, I’m used to that anyway. Grrs.

~cunt

Home Sweet Home

I’m home. I got in late Monday evening and, in keeping with the God-Hates-Me theme of my life, Master had to leave early Tuesday morning for 3 days. So we fucked and he left.

C’est la vie.

The trip was a great success though. The ex and his family were there (I half hoped they wouldn’t come) and I was so sweet and sugary that had it rained, I’d have melted.

There was one moment where I damn near bit my tongue in half. B-man was opening cards and reading the names of who they were from and two times right in row, he opened cards from members of his dad’s family who hadn’t come and asked “Who are they?”

Of course, his Aunt on that side retorted rather snottily, “Your mom should bring you around more often and you’d know these people.” and I almost, ALMOST said “Well now. Isn’t THAT a two-way street, you fat fucking bitch.”

But I didn’t. I opened my mouth, closed it, and just smiled. Told B-man to open the next card.

Other than that, I had an enjoyable visit with my family.

Am got her tongue pierced. Now she wants to get a tattoo. Oy. Piercings I don’t really care about. Tattoos? I dunno. I told her I’d think about it.

I have another pic of Jes’s tummy. She’s huge. I’m wondering if there might be more than one child in there.

So that’s the update on the fam.

I’m including this next picture just because it shows a pretty little snippet of my parent’s yard. I wished I’d have taken more pictures of it, it’s so beautiful. That pond in the picture flows down into a little stream under the bridge and empties into another bigger pond. I think they have more flower beds, fountains and other yard things than grass.

Anyway, I’m working on another post in my noggin. I might be back yet today.

~cunt

ps. All of you wimmin-folk leaving those sweet little messages of torture ideas on that last post? I’m watching you. Oh yes. I know where you live!

Well. Okay. I don’t know where you live. But I have your email addresses!

Be afraid. Be very afraid.

Last night…

…we had phenomenal sex.

Like, eye-crossing kind of phenomenal.

Having awesome sex isn’t the newsworthy part because we always have awesome sex. But this time was omfg-fantastic. What makes it newsworthy (to me) is that, like, neither one of us really even moved.

It has to qualify for Laziest Sex Ever, if there is a competition for these things, and if there isn’t, then I’m starting it and we just won.

It was the strangest thing really. He shoved it in and did this little how-deep-can-I-get-it kind of lunge that he does where he just keeps pushing and pushing like he’s drilling for oil up in there and I was sliding off the edge of the bed until my head was hanging off the side and it just felt so fucking good that I started coming and coming around his cock while he just held it there and then he’s like “Jesus that feels good, cunt. God. Jesus. Holy- I’m gonna come. Now.”

And boom.

Done.

Weird!

But Oh. So. GOOD.

So then he lays back and says, “See. I told you I wasn’t going to do all the work.” Like he planned it that way or summin’.

Smug bastard, idn’t he?

I told him I make it way too easy for him.

We had a bet one time (or maybe it was a challenge) where I said that there was NO way he could make me come if I didn’t want to- without stooping to cheating by using the hitachi- but just by fucking, if I didn’t wanna orgasm, I wouldn’t.

See how I try and snatch control wherever I can? I’m such a dork.

Anyway, we had a terrific time proving me wrong. Over and over and over again. The fact is, I am a prisoner inside my own orgasmic needs because, try as I might to think of my mother naked and to count ceiling tiles, I lost.

So the next challenge was that if I wanted to come, he couldn’t stop me from it.

Again, HE had a terrific time proving me wrong. Me? Not so much. That sucked ass. He came and came and came and fucked me and fucked me and fucked me and knew *exactly* when to pull out or stop or move so that I’d only hover right there on the edge and not once fall over it.

Smug bastard! I told you!

Personally, I’m just glad that he’s not the kind of dom that restricts orgasms or doles them out like candy treats cuz there is nothing I like better than coming until my ears bleed. I used to think he was “doing it wrong!” because he didn’t make those orgasm rules like others do.

Now I think that if it’s wrong, by God, I don’t wanna be right!

Orgasms are fun.

~cunt

p.s. This will probably be my last post until sometime next week. I’ll be in Illinois being nice to my ex (puke) and visiting my family (squee!). I’m looking forward to seeing them for a change. I haven’t seen them for a long time and I kinda miss them. It should be a fun time (minus the ex).

Master can’t come all the way with me because I won’t be back before he has to go back to work. He’s coming halfway and then spending the day with his family before heading home again. I was going to try and arrange a slut-visit for him while I was gone because I didn’t figure it was fair that he have to go without having his cock serviced just because I was going to be gone, but, alas, he’d rather enjoy his time alone.

I can’t blame him. He never ever has time away from everyone all at once. But to turn down a slut-visit? That’s some serious jonesin for peace and quiet.

Enjoy it, Master.