Under His Hand

The journal of a slave

Jump

(This entry is partially in response to what an incredibly tough and profound weekend I had with Master and partially in response to the anonymous person who posted the ever-dreaded “WHY???” question. It’s disjointed, jumbled and all over the board because quite simply, that’s how I feel. Nobody ever said this was easy.)

“Jump” my friend says to me. She’s right. I’m clinging by my fingernails to the last of my self.

I can’t jump. I’m too afraid of not being caught. Of bouncing off the floor in a thousand shattered pieces. Is this what I asked for? Honestly?

“Bite your fucking tongue girl!”

The pictures start off so innocently… at some point, the camera is set aside and forgotten. The world is set aside and forgotten.

Pain.
Humiliation.

That’s my world.

Fear.
Despair.

What happened to the hot, horny, writhing mass of hormonal masochistic need? Where did the girl who used to race to the toy box, all giggles and un-ending sexual desire go?

What the fuck did You do with her?

What the fuck did You do to me?

Where did this sobbing, messy, whining, begging, slobbering bundle of fear come from? Was it in there, this whole time… and You’ve opened it up and let it out? Or have You taken that simple and easy pain-slut and twisted and warped it into this monstrosity?

And this appeals to You? Snot dripping off my chin, urine squirting down my leg, drool dribbling between my breasts… so buried in pathetic emotional garbage that I can’t even breathe…this makes Your cock hard?

No, not the physical sight. I don’t believe that. That’s hard to look at, and impossible to be aroused by. So what is it then? The naked fear in my eyes? The raw need in my voice? Does the power rush come during the swing or after my cry?

You are such a fucking sadist. Push and push and push. Relentless. Untouchable. Grab ahold of my fear and squeeze it… drain it of it’s juices… hold the mutilated mess of myself in front of my eyes, make me see it… feel it… rub my nose in it… and then slam it back down my throat.

I don’t understand what makes You tick. But worse than that, I no longer understand what makes ME tick.

What makes me follow You into the room, with fear so hot and heavy in my gut I can feel it trying to escape through my crotch? Have I ever told You how my heart stops for a split second when You click the lock shut on the door? What makes me willingly hold my wrists out to be cuffed while tears begin to pool in my eyes… why do I arch my back and thrust my breasts out when You stand there with clamps in Your hand? Why do I lovingly pull Your cock in between my teeth and caress it with my tongue, open my throat for You to impale and balance on the edge of suffocation while You swing over and over again at my back and ass, slap my face and rip at my hair? How am I able to lay back and spread my legs for You… and feel like I am drowning in painful need and simultaneously soaring above any feeling or thought? Why does my cunt clench and drip around Your cock as You whisper what a filthy whore I am in my ear? Where does the whisper of Your breath, the slippery velvet of Your cock, the race of gooseflesh across my skin start and end?

Excitement.
Titillation.

That’s my world.

Intoxicating.
Stimulating.

I don’t understand it and someone wants me to explain it? That’s almost laughable. Every day is a struggle, every day is a triumph.

The goal… cunt-in-a-cage. No thoughts, no emotions, no nothing. Nothing more than available.

I am His. His object, His toy. His it. We’re almost there and it scares the fucking hell out of me.

Jump

Crossing the Line

I was reading about crossing lines on Patty’s blog this morning. Have you yet been thinking or vaguely feeling something… and then read it on someone else’s site? It’s nice, I think, when that happens. You feel a little less alone in this big old world. (Getting past the ol’ “now I cant write it or I’ll be a copycat!” feeling…hehe) It’s also valuable to see how it gets played out in someone else’s life.

Anyway, so I was thinking about crossing lines and limits. It’s edgy and extreme to say “I am a slave with no limits”. And I do believe that gets said alot.. and misinterpreted alot. Mostly that concept applies to widely known BDSM practices… there are checklists galore if you don’t know what I mean… and I get irritated when someone pipes up with some ‘off the wall but don’t they feel oh so clever’ line like “so it’s ok if your Dom cuts yer tits off? Or throws ya off a building? Or wants to kill ya?” They laugh and nudge the one next to them and then throw in the real kicker “what if he/she wants to molest your child? or wants you to?”

All of those questions are only said to belittle someone. It’s a catch22 and the questioner knows it. The slave in question cannot say “Oh I would let my Dom kill my child since I have no limits” without sounding insane which negates their value in this world anyway… and if they say “well of course I wouldn’t let anyone cut off my balls!” then they have to backtrack to admitting that they do indeed have limits and suddenly they are not so special, not so extreme.. and just the same as every other submissive who hasn’t yet reached the depths of a relationship where one can comfortable say “i have no limits”. The questioner is secure in knowing that they themselves aren’t missing anything.

All of that being said, I recognize that some people DO mutilate, some people DO molest children, etc etc… but I don’t see that as BDSM… and therefore I refuse to accept that it should be discussed in a BDSM setting.

So, thats my long winded take on BDSM limits.

But then I get into lines. Personal lines. Personal boundaries. In the BDSM sense I think those change and fluctuate as you learn and grow. At one time, I liked a little spanking and thought I would maybe like a little bondage. (I’m a long way from those days.) I’ve backed up my line as I’ve delved deeper into myself, and as I’ve found someone worthy of exploring that with. Which brings up another point.

Submitting to someone to that degree is very powerful. The Dom in question perhaps begins to feel God-like… like they need not be held accountable for mistakes… IF they can even admit to making mistakes. They are invincible. Having a no-limits slave at one’s disposal would be, I suspect, a very heady realization. Maybe so much so, that they lose sight of lines and boundaries. And perhaps, when suddenly confronted with a brick wall, they’ve forgotten, in all of their narcissitic and hedonistic attributes, that a boundary was ever there to begin with. And I also think they would have forgotten how to climb.

Imagine if you will… a man (and I only use man here because my own personal experiences are with Dominant men. Insert girl/dog/fish or whatever floats your boat. Also, please don’t assume that I am talking about my Master.. sometimes I do just ramble pointlessly.. and I say we or I because its my damn journal. Thank You.) who has gotten spoiled beyond belief with a no-limits slave. He can beat her.. use her.. fuck her.. starve her.. humiliate her.. He’s waited on, served, massages.. hell He even gets His ass wiped if He wants.. she bathes Him, dresses Him, ties His shoes… and she shows no sign of tiring from this… she LIKES it.. she thrives on it. She kisses his feet with passion.. she offers her body with no inhibitions to be used and hurt…24 hours a day, 7 days a week… complete and total submission.. and then… WHAM!

The brick wall could be anything… pick something… I believe everyone has something that they won’t budge on. Not a sexual practice, but something outside of that. Something that threatens your sense of self, you moral make-up.. something that is more important to you than anything else in the world, including BDSM and the M/s concept.

The slave would struggle mightily I think.. not to keep her Master out, but to work around the brick wall. Slaves have a never-ending desire to please, placate, keep peace..make Master happy. That’s what drives them, motivates them.. it’s ingrained. Of course they would want to make this brick wall a non-issue! But Master has become spoiled and pouty. Petulant and stubborn. How dare HIS slave deny Him anything! The nerve of the girl! Without thought really, He battles her… for possession of the gate key. Attacking… hurting… seeing only the end.. wanting only the thrill of victory.. and completely forgetting that walls, especially brick ones, need to be climbed and not beaten down.

The slave would be frightened.. panicky.. and work tirelessly at buidling a higher wall, a thicker wall… more defenses, more hiding places… still trying to entice the Master to different scenery…with one foot poised to run should He come barrelling through that wall.

Walls.. and lines.. and boundaries aren’t made to frustrate or challenge a Master. They aren’t there for His battering ram practice. Brick isn’t negotiable. If He wants to see what’s on the other side, don’t chip away at it for she’ll patch the holes thicker and faster than He could see anything anyway.

Back up.. get comfortable with the view.. *ask* what’s on the other side. Ask if You can peek. Build a ladder together and ask her to hold the legs should it get wobbly. And if it gets wobbly, back down a few steps.. and let the slave reset the footing.

Thats important, don’t you think?

And on a side note:
I’ve put the website on hold for now. All this buzz about FBI raids and porn sites getting closed down.. better safe than sorry right? I mean, I appreciate all you people for visiting and it gave me a thrill to watch the counter jump and I’ll even admit to beginning to fall in love with voyeurism but I ain’t having the FBI knocking on my door for you folk. Sorry. ;P

Conquered

I had this long running psycho-babble post in my head all day. Psychological torture. Any difference between that and slave training?

Torture techniques designed to break down will. To obliterate a persons sense of self. Every reference I found refers to victims and perpetrators. Is consent the only difference between Master/slave and Perpetrator/victim?

Is it still consent when the consent was a blank note given to cover any and all things? Consensual non-consent? Is there even such a thing?

I strongly wish to be an idiot some days. So much for “do” and not think.

Why do I think it all needs to make sense to me? Whats the point now? There is no going back. It’s past the point of no return.

Is there a plan? Is it flying by the seat of His pants? Is He getting lucky with my reactions? Is He smarter and more devious than I have given Him credit for? And if so…. what does that mean for the future?

I prided myself, seriously, on being one step ahead. On knowing what was coming. On manipulating the process.

Fuck me.

Where did I lose that? I don’t even know. I had thought.. in all seriousness.. that this trip into cunt-in-a-cage… would be somewhat controlled by me. Don’t laugh. I had it cleverly disguised as submission.
I am not in the drivers seat anymore. I don’t even think I am in the car. Maybe tied to the bumper?

I am terrified.
I AM terrified. And I am still submitting. No choice.
Does that say anything about my character? Or about His?

I read alot of romanticized blogs. I really do. And I envy those people! Accepting everything with joy and smiles. No struggles.??? I wonder if they are real.

But mostly I want to be them.

I love my Master. With every piece of my soul, with every beat of my heart. I started to LIVE the day we met. I gave myself to Him with absolute trust and certainty. He is my first thought upon waking, my last thought before sleeping and occupies my mind in some shape or form all day. My struggles, my hesitations, my questions in no way lessen my devotion to Him or to being His.

I don’t doubt Him. I doubt me.

I want a Get Out of Jail Free card.

I want to know that I can slam it in reverse.

I want a guarantee.

Tonight’s task isn’t hard. Wax from tit to puss. But, I’m tired. And I’m cranky. And wax is messy. And I’ll have to take a shower afterward. And I have a nice nasty nest of pubic hair that He specifically said to make sure got covered. The reasons don’t matter really. The simple fact is, I don’t want to.

I don’t want to.

I told Him I didn’t want to. “Too bad. No excuse. Do it.”.

I planned on not doing it. Weighing the consequences against not having to deal with it right now.

And even as I type that.. even as I say “I am not doing it”… I know I will. As soon as I get done with this I will go do it. My resistance is……… futile.

I cannot win. I’m conquered. He did it quietly, with my complete cooperation, and I didn’t even know it.

His possibilities are endless.
The possession is complete.
Take me where You will, Master.
I am Yours.
~cunt~

Add on:
Pic of the Day

Internal

Seems the week is getting away from me. Wednesday already and only one post in. I wonder, sometimes, if I would post more or less than three a week if I wasn’t under a requirement. Probably vary I suppose, depending on what was on my mind.

Night before last, I fell asleep right away, and snapped wide awake about 20 minutes later. I couldn’t get back to sleep for nothing. That 20 minute power nap. I wasn’t chained to the bed for a change (chain problems lately..lol) though I had my collar on of course. I lay there, thinking about my options for this not sleeping dilemma. It briefly entered my mind to just get up… to actually sneak out.. of the room. It flitted through my brain and I immediately discarded it. Well almost immediately. I examined it, because I found it rather fascinating that I *had* immediately dismissed that as an option. Wild horses could not have drug me out of that bed without getting His permission first. I have.. finally.. accepted His control. Internalized it.

I did consider waking Him and asking to be allowed to go do something. Anything. I so hate laying in the dark with nothing to do. And He probably would have let me, He can be mean but He’s not an Ogre. (Not always anyway…;)). Yet, I didn’t want to wake Him up. He’s been so incredibly stressed at work lately.. and not sleeping the best anyway.. I didn’t want to disturb Him. He was snoring so peacefully. And I know how He sleeps if I am not there with Him.. He’d be up checking on me and not getting rest at all…just so I could read a book or watch some mind numbing TV show to alleviate my own boredom. Still.. spoiled little slave girl almost won out… she fought hard. Boy howdy, I came very close to poking Him.

And then, just one simple thought… to myself.. “you are the slave.. and sometimes slaves suffer for Master’s comfort”… it wasn’t an epiphany. It wasn’t a lightbulb. It wasn’t even an “ahha!” moment. It was just… there… making sense.. comforting… and Right. Now, being bored isn’t exactly a huge sacrifice to make, I know this. But that thought did make laying there, quietly, waiting for morning or sleep a heck of a lot easier.

I think … before… before the Mother’s Day incident.. before Master starting *talking*.. and not just saying words to make noise..(You know what I mean, Sir)…. I would have woken Him up, with little second thought to it. I would have justified that my comfort is just as important as His. When the facts are, it isn’t. Or maybe it is… but is approached in a different light.

Anyway.. thinking things like that, while probably seeming like kindergarten stuff to others, is quite the big step for me. Accepting, without argument or reasons, believing in who and what I am, who and what He is… and letting it just be.. what it is going to be.

I’ve been looking for that knowledge for a long time. Thank You Master.

kaya

Self Needling

Needles-s (get it? needles..hehe) to say, I was mega-bored last night. And yes, they are pretty superficially stuck in there but they *are* quilters needles after all. I’m gonna go shopping for the right kind this week. I miss needle play. I’ve never been able to take it in the puss though, breasts and ass… no prob. Head for my puss and ya better have me tied down or I’ll kick ya. Yeah, right.

I was bored though and wanting to play but Master was tired or busy or whatever and didn’t want to. So instead of whining or pouting or trying to goad him into a punishment, I decided to play with myself. But self-infliction just really isn’t as much fun and I got bored with that pretty quickly (while Master watched with an odd amused grin on his face). So I vibrated for awhile. That was mildly entertaining but the TV was on and I kept getting sidetracked by Ellen D. I was just at the point of giving up when Master decided he wanted to fuck. The needles stayed in and the bobbing and bouncing was just painful enough to feel really good, til he poked and wiggled a few. That sharp flash of pain sent me over to orgasm-land and I stayed there until Master pulled me back. God I love breast pain…:)

I was proud of myself in that I handled the rejection, or lack of interest, fairly constructively, when I had not done that before. And also that watching me play made him want to, at least a little bit. It made him horny anyway. I’ll have to expore this more… could be interesting.

I’ve been thinking alot about the phrase “Not submissive enough” and how that applies to me. It’s easy for me to point and accuse and shout “Not dominate enough”, not quite as easy to look back at myself. I can sit on my high horse and name time after time where I felt a good dominate opportunity had been ignored or wasted by Master… But I’ll easily over look the times I failed as a submissive. I can excuse myself with a number of excuses. Yet, I’m the first one to whine about something being unfair. I don’t even know what’s making me go this path, self examination, facing unpleasant truths and the notion that I am not even close to perfect, yet I hold Others to it. Sad, kaya. Very sad.