Vanilla…

…with sprinkles.

We had a really pleasant weekend. It was busy, but nice. It was rushed, but relaxing. And it was vanilla, right up to the end.

This has to have been the very first time since we have known each other that we weren’t stripped and fucking like bunnies on crack within the first 5 or 6 hours of seeing each other. Friday, we went out for dinner, we watched movies, we tried to drink beer but I got halfway through the second bottle and had just had enough.

Then we got tired and went to sleep.

Saturday we spent way too many hours working in the basement and outside and in the shed, we watched more movies, minus the beer. Got tired and went to sleep.

Normally, that would have sent me on a long and emotional journey of doubt and question and worry. No s&m at all. No sex at all. Obviously He hates me and can’t wait to be rid of me, right??

But it didn’t. I wasn’t worried at all. In fact, the noticeable lack of angst was very comforting. I’m not concerned about anything. I’d much rather He use me/hurt me when it feels like the right thing to be doing and not because we’re on some limited time table and it *has* to be done. Lots of times I work myself into a panic (no, really.) if the weekend is winding down and He’s not made me cry yet.

He had to leave early on Sunday, flying off to North Dakota this time. I felt cheated out of time together, they don’t usually schedule flights on His weekends off.

We had sex this morning. Twice in fact. The usual way we do it, with lots of nipple pinching and hair pulling. Grunts and whimpers and lots of orgasms. Then He rolled me over for a nice spanking. One of those that could lull me back to sleep if I had the guts to actually fall asleep on Him. Just stingy enough to make me bounce but leaving a deep, tingling warmth behind.

Several times during the spanking, He’d pause and pull my cheeks apart, peering down at my lewdly exposed asshole. This embarrassed me to no end because fresh from the shower I wasn’t. Hardly retaining freshness from yesterday’s shower and after being fucked twice, my prudishness kicked in. Each time He did it, I’d squeeze my cheeks together as hard as I could and chastise Him, ordering Him to “git outta there!”

Of course He ignored me and though I like to think I could keep Him out of there by squeezing my cheeks together, buns of steel I do not have. So peer and examine He did, and desire to be swallowed up by the mattress *I* did. But inbetween embarrassing asshole-exams, He did deliver a lovely spanking, even pulling His belt from His jeans (and how enticing is that swish of leather through belt loops?) and cracking me several times with that. It was a new belt though, stiff and hard and soon enough I was bouncing and rolling from side to side until He quit.

As I was lying there though, submitting to those periodic moments of spread-n-peek, I started trying to think of the meanest thing He’s ever done to me. There are many. Many many many..lol. Hard to choose really, as most of them fall under the meanest in certain categories. Meanest most painful and meanest most humiliating and meanest most isolating. But meanest mean?

I had almost decided that it would have to have been the day He chained me naked to the rafter in the freezing cold basement and made me sweep. But then I thought of something else and decided this was it.

It was several months ago, back when Dusty was just a kitten. He’d had me lying naked on my stomach on the floor in front of Him. He had been caning me, and quite ruthlessly too. I was stinging and sore and already sniffling. And mad. (I do that. I get mad. I’m still struggling with that reaction. But that’s another post.)

All of sudden, little kitty Dusty expresses an interest in the tip of the cane, batting at it as He waved it through the air. He begins sliding the cane tip up and down my body, slowly, from my feet, up the backs of my legs, over my striped and stinging thighs and ass cheeks, following my spine to the top of my head and then all the way back down again. Following in hot pursuit, with 20 tiny needle-sharp kitten claws was Dusty, determined to kill the cane tip.

I don’t know how long He ran the cane up and down, leading the kitten on a mission to claw my entire back side. I only remember that it hurt. The kitten’s claws were unforgiving as he made pounce after pounce at the cane, never catching the wood, but only snagging my skin. And I remember Master laughing. He was simply amused by the pouncing kitty, and that I was under it, and had broken down into absolute hysterical sobbing, went unnoticed.

I’m not entirely sure why that time stands out as incredibly mean to me. It wasn’t the pain, He’s certainly had me in more pain than that lots of times. Yet, there it is. That’s what stands out in my mind. Weird huh?

~cunt

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A lot about nothing.

Though I’m not going to post about poop. How disappointing huh? :-)

I could talk a little bit about enemas though. I haven’t done that for ages. The short version is; there is nothing to say about them. That’s how it goes though. You think something looks enticing so you try it and find out, meh, nothing so alluring about it.

It turns out Master’s interest in my ass and what goes in or out of it is limited to His cock or the butt plug. The enema kit will still be used at times. He’ll tell me to go get clean if He has an assventure on the assgenda (*snicker*) but as far as enema play itself, I don’t think that’s going to be a particular kink of ours.

Except for piss enemas. But that’s not so much about the enema effect as it is about the human-toilet angle. He’s quite interested in the human-toilet degradation stuff.

Since I’m blogging about poop anyway, I was asked a while ago if Master would ever poop on me. So, yeah, *gag*, right? That’s what I thought too. I am not in to scat and more importantly, HE is not in to scat. As far as getting off on that alone, no. No way. Never in a million years.

I can’t even stomach watching a scat video. It makes me heave. And it’s not that I care if anyone else does it because I really don’t. I read blogs of some who do scat. That’s their thing. And that’s fine with me.

But here is where I am wrong in my assumption that Master would never poop on me. Because He certainly would. Not because He’d get off on the act itself, and certainly not because I would get off on it. But because it would be just one more way He could completely shatter me.

God does He like to do that.

He likes it enough that I am quite confident that He’d use whatever tool He had at His disposal (*snicker*) to get me into that mindset, including shitting on me. Just to make me sit there with it touching me, or laying on me… to watch me cry.

But I stand firm in saying He’d never make me *eat* it. Oh.. *gag gag gag*… ok… I’m going to make myself vomit. Let’s leave this topic shall we?

Suddenly I don’t like my icon anymore..lol

Moving on, moving on.

The kids are home. They’re on “fall break” from school. What the fuck is fall break?? We never had fall break. I don’t recall approving a fall break. Isn’t that what Thanksgiving break and Christmas break and Spring break is for? Christ, they’ve only been in school for less than two months. Fall break. Shit. Needless to say, there will be little to no vulgar-kaya-porn. Though I do still have some pictures from the weekend to yap about. :D

I’ve decided I want to get drunk and have a scene. I know I know, don’t lecture me. Master won’t be drunk. But I want to be. I’ve never been and I’m curious about how the pain feels. I used to like getting drunk on occasion and I haven’t been drunk for… I can’t remember. Two years Master? I’ve tried a time or two, but it seems like I can barely get through one drink. It just tastes bad and makes me shudder and feel sick. lol.. such a masochist I am that I’m going to keep drinking dammit. Drink it when I don’t even want it! And then it will probably backfire and everything will hurt more and I’ll cry and have a drunken emotional breakdown. Then have a hangover the next day.

Why yes I am a pessimist.

I spent most of the day today rearranging the living room. That included pulling cable through the floor and re-routing it in the basement, moving all the surround sound speakers, heaving the entertainment center across the floor and sorting and boxing up all those VHS movies that we never watch. I got it all done and… I don’t like it.

Master pointed out that I have pms already. LOL.. no? really? Seriously though, I didn’t know. It’s too soon! I just got DONE with pms. If it’s going to start coming right on top of the last one, one of us is going to have to get medicated. I’d hate to have kill Him when I *just* married Him. ;-)

So how is married life? *beams* So far so good. Though His family is still pretty clingy, I’m hoping that will fade soon. I had a few moments of worry when He almost mowed the lawn this last weekend. I couldn’t get the mower started last week so when He was home, He went out and got it started for me. He was acting like He was going to make a few swipes but He must have seen the stricken look on my face. He stopped and kinda hollered to me over the motor.

“Did you want to do this?”

I just nodded, all sad and pathetic like. He shut the mower off.

“That’s my job.” I pouted, giving the mower a little kick with my toe.

And it is my job. This is what I *do*. Don’t start treating me like a.. a… a wife. *spit* I’m not a wife. I’m a cunt and a slave and an object and I mow the darn yard!

He just laughed at me. Patted me on the head. He was never going to mow the lawn, He just likes to fuck with me.

Well! From poop to yardwork, I guess I covered everything huh? :D

Goodnight, sweetheart
Well, it’s time to go
I hate to leave you, but I really must say
Goodnight, sweetheart, goodnight





~cunt

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Force Fetish

I don’t always want to be the willing partner in this. A lot of the attraction to this type of relationship is being overpowered, mentally or physically. Or both. Preferably both. I like doing something because I know it pleases Him and because that’s my role as a slave too, but sometimes I want to resist… and then I want to be forced.

Maybe it’s a tiny resistance. A simple request to not have to do something. Maybe I’ll whine a little, give the sad eyes and plead. I can take it as far as crossing my arms and narrowing my eyes and planting my feet, with my chin cocked up. Sometimes, I’ll even fall to my knees and cry… genuine tears.. and beg.

And all the while I’m positively quivering inside with the need to be forced. Behind the tears and the cockiness burns a desire… take me, own me, make me, force me…..play with me…

Sometimes I even really honestly don’t want to do whatever it is that He’s wanting me to do. The game of resistance isn’t a game then. I’m sincere in trying to beg out of it.

Of course when He forces me then, I’m convinced He’s a mean old bastard. When He forces me when I’m playing, I’m convinced He’s the most amazing man on earth. When I’m playing and He doesn’t force me, I wander away, confused and questioning.

But when I’m sincere and He relents…… sweet heaven. The planets aligned and the heavens opened and bliss came to me on Master’s words….

Yeah that’s corny but it’s true nonetheless.

I wasn’t supposed to eat and I was absolutely *starving*. It has to be the hardest thing in the world to swallow pride on an empty stomach and sincerely beg for a bite of food. He almost didn’t give in either…. taunting me with things like “but you’ll accuse Me of being too lenient if I let you eat” and “I really shouldn’t go soft on you”… forcing me to agree that I probably will accuse Him of being lenient but I was soooooo hungry… and please please please Master, please?

And He did.

Apples are so good when you are starving, aren’t they?

:)

Oh… almost forgot.

Tack bras are as evil

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Getting back on track.

A couple of posts ago I stated that I don’t self-dominate. How absurd is that? I self-dominate all day long! But it’s always at His direction. If I don’t feel His interest, I begin to lose sight of the goal. I can quite happily spank myself, carve myself, bind myself, clamp myself *as long as* He shows interest in it.

It’s not easy doing these things to myself all the time. It’s not exactly what I had in mind when I envisioned my days living as a slave. But reality and fantasy are often two very different things, right? I get frustrated and irritated and even though I know it’s not His fault, that circumstances of finances and responsibility are governing us right now. But because He’s become the embodiment of all things powerful in my life, who else can I turn that frustration on?

I want Him here. I want Him home. I want Him to do the things to me that I’m doing to myself. I want, I want, I want.

When He’s home for those weekends.. once every two weeks.. we’re usually so bogged down in every day crap, all of the crap that piles up while He’s gone, that we can’t expend alot of energy on the bdsm. He’s tired, He wants to do the things that relax Him, the things that He can’t do while He’s gone. He wants to lay on His couch in His living room and watch His movies in His house. He wants to spend time with the kids (while quite frankly I’m ready to give the kids away to someone for the weekend, He’s missed them for two weeks and they missed Him and they just want to BE together and I sit on the sidelines, quietly stewing.) He wants to love me and hold me and hug me and fuck me and let me suck His cock. He wants me to cook because He’s been eating fast food for two weeks. He wants me to give Him massages because He’s starved for human touch. He wants me to not be needy and clingy because He’s been the supervisor at work for two weeks.

His wants vs. my wants. Who do you think wins out?

I understand the reasons that bdsm takes a back seat when He’s home. I don’t expect Him to have a magic answer. This is simply what we have to deal with. Both of us. The kids are here and other things need to get done, things that I can’t do alone. There are alot of things I CAN do while He’s gone and more things that I can’t. He does try very hard to work in something, some bdsm something to feed my soul. He knows I’m starving, aching for it, for Him. But He’s only one man. And a tired man at that. And the very nature of what we have, of how it’s not about what I want or need kind of pushes me off to the side a little bit anyway.

I can’t have it all. And He can’t be everything. That’s a damn bitter pill to swallow.

He asks me every single day if I’ve done my chores, if I completed my tasks. He reads the journal faithfully. He talks to me about it, some days in depth, other days a simple “good post, cunt”. He looks at the pictures, talks about them, tells me He’s proud of me. Every day. Without fail. And yet, inevitably, I’ll begin to think He’s losing interest. There is nothing more He could be doing to alleviate these fears.. it’s not Him. It’s me.

And if I don’t tell Him that I’m starting to slide, how can He know? When He says, “did you wear your plug today?” and I say “yes Sir”… and don’t follow it up with;

“but do you know how much it hurt today? do you know how much of my will power it took to push that big thing in there and keep it in for the full hour? do you know that I cried in frustration of never feeling like I’m going to conquer this whole ass thing?”

How can He know?

He asks, “did you take the dog for his walk today?” and I say “yes Sir” and don’t say;

“it was so cold today and so windy that my eyes watered for the entire walk. The plug makes me feel like I’m two minutes away from crapping myself so I’m too afraid to walk too far from home and I circle the block, with my eyes watering, trying almost-unsuccessfully to control the dog, looking longingly at the house each time I pass it, sure the neighbors must think I’m insane, checking my watch every few minutes and then hurrying inside, wiping my tears away.”

And the list goes on… of how I want to fill in these details and instead I get petrified of not sounding like I’m succeeding in these tasks, of making it too much pressure on Him, of how He’ll simply get tired of hearing me complain and He’ll take all the tasks away and how He doesn’t WANT to hear the bad things, only the good things and so I only say “yes Sir.”

And I’ll start to think His interest is waning because *I’M* not sharing everything. The conversation ends after the final “yes Sir” and we move on to other things and I’m screaming inside “no no no, there’s MORE. Ask me more!” and soon enough, I’ve started to lose my drive to be the best that I can be. I talk myself into cutting corners, twisting rules. Of course He fails to notice this because I’m not telling Him and He can’t see it and it all just feeds the doubt that’s growing in me.

I’ll start to cheat on the diet.. and I may or may not hint at it to Him and He may or may not pick up on it… but either way, it’s pretty well glossed over. So I had a bite of something I wasn’t supposed to. Not a big deal to the man who’s weighing that against the fact that I’m 100% on board with the rest of the chores and tasks and rules.

Then I’ll fudge a little on the walking time. 25 minutes instead of 30. Maybe I’ll tell Him ‘it was really windy so I came home a little early’ or ‘I had to use the bathroom so I cut it short’ and again, weigh that against everything else I’m doing properly and He lets it slide.

And the whole time I’m silently begging “Don’t let it slide. Don’t get soft and lenient and easy on me. I can’t handle that, I don’t like that, I don’t WANT that.” and He does anyway and I properly say “thank You Master” and simply die a little bit inside. And if He doesn’t care that it was 25 minutes instead of 30, then He won’t care if it’s 20 minutes, or 15 minutes, and pretty soon I’m skipping the walk altogether. Convinced that He doesn’t care. Or eating a cheeseburger instead of a salad.

Then I might combine doing my own journal post with reading blogs because I don’t have to sit on the bitch bench when I’m doing my own journal… but I don’t even tell Him that. That one would not slide and I know it. But I’m not really breaking a rule you see.. I AM doing my journal.

But each transgression fuels my belief that He’s lost interest. That me and my neediness had become too much and He’s cut me loose. I’m twisting out in the wind and He doesn’t care.

My thoughts are the biggest betrayal. The constant questioning and doubting and I KNOW how hurtful that would be to Him so I don’t tell Him that either. I swallow it and try my hardest to fix it on my own, to present Him a smiling loving devoted face.

And then He says things about rewards… about being such a good girl… and I know just how badly I’ve deceived Him into believing I’m so good and I’m just not. I’m not.

We went through all this last night.. and I tried to show Him what a bad girl I am. While He went over with me again how I’m to follow the rules and the tasks and the chores to the letter and He expressed much disappointment over following my well-known path of self-destruction, He wasn’t blown away by anything. He never is.

He said He knows I’m “rough around the edges”. He knows I need more training. He knows I’m not perfect. He knows I have a propensity to letting fear and doubt become my new masters.

And He made me repeat that I am, basically, a good girl.

The worst part of the conversation was when it got around to self-punishing. And I said no. No no no. That I wasn’t doing that anymore. I can’t do that anymore. I won’t. I refused. No. No. No.

He hung up the phone then. Gave Himself time to calm down and gave me time to realize that I had just told Him no. He called back and it was the dead calm in His voice.. the absolute certainty that I would do exactly what He said, without question and that I would do it soon…. and I did. Of course I did.

I’m the one who begged and begged for things to ramp up, to push me harder. He’s the one who said over and over ‘you aren’t ready’. And I cried and pouted and stomped my feet and haughtily said ‘I AM TOO READY!’. And it’s so much harder than I thought it would be. So incredibly more difficult internally than I expected it to be. I do feel like I’m failing. Miserably failing. Master doesn’t though. For what He anticipated, He thinks I’m doing great. He won’t let me fail. I keep forgetting that.

He’s going to keep pushing and keep pushing until I break. Then He’s going to pick me back up, dust me off, and push me again.

But Master, please… stop with the leniency. That’s the part I can’t handle.

I love You. And thank You for putting up with me.

Your cunt

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Shopping!

Thanks to the wonderful suggestions from you all, Master sent me out on a perverted shopping spree today. Unfortunately, I didn’t get home soon enough to be able to do anything with my purchases other than hide them from the kids. But come Monday morning… I should be able to do some new stuff.

I have everything I need to make the dreaded tack bra and a fresh supply of needles so it looks like my poor boobers are going to be poked and scratched alot. I even got some condoms and marbles so we’ll see how that goes kethry…lol. I got two large ginger root pieces, I’m going to experiment more with the ginger on my clit but definitely enough for ass plugs.. just for You, Mr. morningstar’s Sir…:)

I got other stuff too… new sandpaper, some stuff to make paddles. Possibly even a tack paddle! Ack!

Should be fun times.

You all came up with some great ideas! Bunch a perverts…lol Some of them are impossible, like the outside stuff… but dang. I’m glad you are all my friends and not my enemies!

I did not get any tails to attach to my butt plugs. Nor did I buy a small broom to go sweeping around without using my hands, tia. And I’m only going to paint a picture with a paintbrush stuffed in my orifices if I can send it to you, lizzy..lol Honestly girls… I’m beginning to think you aren’t on my side at all… piss pops? piss tea??? wtf??!

The orgasmathon though.. that’s a keeper. Master, let’s do that one right away, k?

Have a great weekend, everyone.

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Take your potty break now…

(just cuz I don’t have enough chores and tasks to do, I’m back to entertain you with another long rambling no end in sight post..:)

I was thinking about different types of BDSM relationships. You have your domestic discipline type where the power exchange seems to be limited to discipline/punishment over broken rules but is otherwise equally shared. The spankos, I believe, they like to be called. There is the Sadist/masochist where beatings are “just cuz” and discipline/punishment isn’t really a factor.

I’ve seen, read, comments from the DD types about how they could not handle being beaten ‘for no reason’. I’ve heard opposite comments from the Sado-maso’s about how they could not handle being ‘beaten because of a mistake’. One relationship embraces the concept of emotions like disappointment, anger, frustration, and irritation governing the type and time of being spanked and the other relationship rejects having anything other than a pure, sadistic desire to inflict pain and suffering being that governing body.

I’ve flipped back and forth trying to fit into either of those two examples. And I don’t. I fit into parts of both. I think we are a blend of the heavy end of each one.

Master is a disciplinarian, through and through. He’d make an excellent dictator. He’s strict, firm, and anal to His core. He doesn’t make rules lightly. He doesn’t take transgressions lightly. He’s highly structured and organized, rigid. Everything has a place and by God, it better stay there. I, on the other hand, am flighty. Scatter-brained. I drift and lose focus. He lectures like a drill sergeant, accepts nothing less than the truth and has no qualms whatsoever about punishing me for a mistake. He holds me to His standard and will not hesitate to swat me when I fail.

And He notices everything. EVERYthing. I was used to men who could go an entire week without noticing a hair cut, Master walks into a room and can sniff out something having been moved, or changed. He can open a drawer that hasn’t been opened in weeks and say “where is that “thing” that was in here?” And I won’t even remember that thing being in that drawer, or even remember that we had that thing to begin with. He will remember word for word a conversation from weeks ago when I would vehemently deny ever having had that conversation. I do not try to hide, deny, cover up or excuse anything anymore. He knows. Period. And it’s always better to fess up than to wait for Him to find it. Because He will. Undoubtedly.

In some respects He treats me as a parent would treat a child. Very specific chore lists and rules. He questions everything down to the smallest detail. He watches me like a hawk. He knows all of my acquaintances, He knows who I might come into contact with during the day, He knows *exactly* where I am and about what I am doing 24 hours a day… even from two states away.

I absolutely *thrive* in that environment. It’s controlling, it’s stifling, it’s strict. And I love it. I do sometimes get very flustered, like when He’s grilling me about something that I really honestly don’t remember (my short term memory is horrid, for a reason actually but anyway), or trying to get me to explain something that I had no control over. And while that all sounds unfair and unreasonable, it’s not.. and it’s Him.. and it’s ok.

He does not hesitate to march me over to the corner when I’m getting irritable. He does not hesitate to bend me over the bed and remove His belt with all the same weary determination that any father would have. He does not hesitate to smack my face, grab my chin, or snatch a nipple to get my attention. He’s not swayed by tears or sniveling, apologies don’t count for much, repentant contrite pleas are largely ignored. Punishments are for a reason. I’m not coddled and hugged, kissed or loved. He’s not horny from them and neither am I. Reconnection comes much later… when I’ve really honestly understood my mistake.

He works very hard to get me to learn from my mistakes… so I wont repeat them. And I am.

On the flip side of all of that, He’s a Sadist. A high-end inarguable sadist. He likes to hurt me. He likes to make me cry. He likes making me suffer, knowing that in the strange way that masochists work, I’m liking it too. He walks through store aisles picking up objects that might could possibly cause me great agony with sparks in His eyes… and waves them at me.. just to watch me pale. He has big plans for dungeons and cages and rooms in the basement, for turning me into a toy, for whittling me down to nothing but holes to fuck and skin to welt. He looks at pictures and gets ideas, shows them to me with an excited “lets do THAT!” to which I always say “no way!” and run because we both know I ain’t going far and if He wants it, it will happen.

He has a gentle side too but no one wants to hear about THAT.

He’s also hell bent on doing “this” in exactly the style He wants to, on exactly the time frame He wants to, according to the mood He’s in. He’s got me on a training program of sorts… things that I do everyday above and beyond the household slave chores, things to make my body respond to Him in the way that He wants. From ben-wa balls to butt plugs, to self-torture to increase my pain tolerance. To isolation/meditation times to become acclimated to extended periods of being ignored. And even now, this new 200 clothespins while chanting Master-ly words… associating and accepting pain (even by my own hand) at His will. My diet, body shape and size is being molded and controlled. I’m learning other, more valuable, internal things. Controlling my temper. Watching my mouth. Even how to give a good blow job when I’d quite happily bite the fucker off. (if I wasn’t a slave of course)

The kicker in all this is initially, this was all my idea.. I’m the one who had the romantic ideas of cunt in a cage… of being dehumanized and objectified… of being owned by a maniac. Or I should say that Master wanted it.. but didn’t believe it possible. It was His pipe dream. And now… oh now I have no say in a god damn thing and that just kinda sucks you know? I keep coming back to, hey, I started this why can’t I call it quits? And I don’t want to really but I had no CLUE how hard this would be. He knew. He was hesitant. I bulldozed right on up, hopping up and down and begging, can we, can we, huh huh can we?? Now that its in motion.. there is no going back. He’s gotten a big taste of it and He’s committed to finishing it. Quite honestly, that scares me.

It’s one thing to say “yes Master, I want You to whip me as long and as hard as You want to and ignore me when I beg you to stop” and it’s another to actually be on the receiving end of that whip, in agony and begging with every fiber of your being and He is not stopping. Who knew that the dream and the reality would be so vastly different??

So that’s Him in a nutshell. I’m just a lowly light-weight masochist.

I feel light weight because He routinely drops me to my knees in pain, makes me sob and beg and crave a cage or a closet to take refuge in. Other people try to convince me I’m a “heavy player” and maybe I would be.. with a lighter Sadist. They say those things because of the pictures I post I guess. But that’s not a testament to my masochism levels. It’s a testament to my submissive levels. Trust me when I say that other than getting off on pleasing Him.. most of those pictures hurt like a motherfucker. In comparison to what Master *wants* to do.. I’m a baby. A pussy. A wimp. And I know He’s letting me off lightly. I know He’s going easy on me. I’ve gotten tastes of what lurks in Him and I know it’s 100x worse than what I’ve got. I also know that someday soon… He won’t be holding back. And I’ll be fucked.

That realization makes me feel a bit like a deer in headlights.

And also makes me want to kick my kids out and get the party started.

Master comes at me hot and heavy most of the time. Strict, firm, consistent, relentless. And when He has a day or a few days in a row where He’s otherwise occupied, or simply feeling loving and gentle… I am as lost as any little puppy could be. It’s such an extreme difference when ‘normalcy’ takes over this household. I do come to irrational conclusions. I make up elaborate and false reasons for the sudden shift in atmosphere. My foundation crumbles very very quickly because I am holding onto the path He’s leading me on with a pinky tip. But.. I’m learning that these times aren’t the proverbial brick walls that I make them out to be.. and I’m working on halting those feelings before they grab ahold of me.. and I’m finding out that by relinquishing my Nazi hold on the bdsm watchtower, Master is letting those times happen less and less.. and He’s getting more strict… more determined.. more sadistic.. and it’s working out the best for the both of us.

But back to the punishment vs. sadism thing. When Master is in control and He’s beating me because He wants to.. I am perfectly 100% fine with that whole concept. When He’s punishing me because I’ve failed Him somehow, I am also, 100% fine with that. What I am not fine with is when I WANT to be beaten.. when I want to be humiliated and degraded and used and abused… when I’m feeling that under-the-skin, un-scratchable itch to be hurt badly…. and have no clue how to communicate that to Master. I cannot walk up and request to be beaten or used to that extent.. I cannot process the emotions, the unnatural and *wrong* desires I have to be knocked down that low.. to be used harshly… I haven’t yet accepted that about myself. So to get what I need and still be able to save face, I disobey.. I push… I have temper tantrums and press His buttons. I’m poking a hornets nest with a stick waiting to be stung.

And if I poke long enough and hard enough.. He’ll sting me alright. Hard. And I’ve gotten that itch scratched, deep and hard, just as I needed without having to face the fact that I am one fucked up little cunt. I got beat because I broke a rule. Because I toed the line. Not because I’m twisted.

It’s an entirely dishonest approach to accepting what I am. One that I’m able to at least voice right now, but maybe not fix. The one unalterable truth that covers everything though is that at the end of the line… I’ll be living in a cage. In a closet. As His toy, His object. And I think I’ll like it. When I think about those things, my propensity to break rules and try to “make” Him beat me simply pales in comparison. I won’t need to worry about those things.. so maybe I should just enjoy this while I can.

You know we’ve only lived together for a year and a half? A year and a half! That’s a drop in the bucket compared to most of the journals I read.. where 15 and 20 year anniversaries are coming up,, and those people are still working on the same issues that Master and I are on. And on top of the whole speedway to object-land, He’s moved into the step-father role to three spoiled brats (4 if you count me). I think we’ve come a LONG LONG way in a year and a half.

I’m making newbie mistakes because I AM a newbie…lol. I’ve played with other Doms… but never ever on this level..not by a long shot. It’s overwhelmingly…. overwhelming..lol. And this isn’t play.. it’s life. But its a scary life.. and a shocking life.. and at times I’m consumed with doubt and insecurity. So I ask and test and push and cry and back track and freak out.. but I also always come right back to Him and to His control. I’m also trying to shed 14 years of being a single parent to three kids, from being completely independent, from being strong-willed and doing whatever I wanted, from financial matters to what color paint was on the walls, from being “a little kinky in the bedroom” ..all the way over to realizing and accepting that He can and will control my everything.

I guess I don’t really have a point or plot here. I’m lonely… :( I miss my Man. Thanks for sticking with me though…:)

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