“It is the little bits of things that fret and worry us. We can dodge an elephant, but we can’t a fly”

Last night I had an attack of no-fair-itis. Over the dog.

 See, the weather is getting crappy, as it’s prone to do this time of year in Wisconsin. It’s cold and windy, damp, gray. Cold. Did I mention cold already?

Taking the dog out falls on me 99% of the time. It’s not as simple as just opening the door and letting him out. I have to go out with him. And stand there while he sniffs every inch of the yard to find the perfect spot to do his business.

I’ve tried putting him on a chain, but he just stands there with his head down like I’ve tethered him two inches from the dirt. I’ve tried leaving him there, going back inside, trying to let him “get a feel” for the chain. I mean, heck fire, I’m chained sometimes! It’s not that difficult! But this dog… is dumb. I leave him, I come back to check, and he’s exactly where I left him with his head down and his bladder full.

It’s like he can’t go potty without an audience. So, whoever takes him out has to stand there and watch. Which is me, most of the time.

It’s not that Master never takes the dog out, he does. Sometimes. It’s just that the responsibility of the job is mine. Master will do it if he wants to, if he feels like it. Last night, Master went to bed. I was puttering around doing some last minute chores, and there sits the dog, doing the pee-pee dance at the door.

It’s cold outside, did I say? I didn’t WANT to go outside. Apparently neither did Master. So he didn’t have to. I did.

And that is just No Fair!

I was outside, shivering and sulking, glaring daggers at the bedroom window.

You know, when I was way back in the beginning stages of discovering BDSM, there were a LOT of fantasies. A lot of desires and dreams and wishes. I read a lot, watched a lot of porn (A LOT of porn), created my perfect slave life in my head.

I have most of that now. Or am well on the way to it anyway. But I never factored in the incredible amount of other stuff that would accompany getting that. Oh I am now. I do pretty well with accepting that no, I really can’t be in a cage all day and he really can’t beat me every hour on the hour and I really can’t be naked on a leash out in public.

But you just never are prepared for what it is that’s going to come along and trip you up. What is going to be the hardest pill to swallow. You think it’s going to be standing up for the whip, or sitting still when he picks up a hammer and takes aim at your tit. Or even the constant sex and blow jobs. You think it should be one of those things, but even the thought of that challenge kinda makes you tingly in the nether regions.

I never thought my personal difficult spot would be standing outside in the cold watching the dog poop. Among other things. Little things. The things nobody wants to consider when it comes to an M/s relationship.

The sex, the scenes, the sadism… that all carries it’s challenges. But they’re predictable challenges. If I struggle with a scene, nobody is surprised, least of all me. It hurts! I’m in pain, whatever the reason. But I stand outside sulking over having to take the dog out and I’m a little surprised.

Whether it’s your “fair share” of the apple cider, the tv remote, taking the dog out, or painting clothespins… it’s just not what you expected it to be. You know what’s funny about it, too? People seem less able to accept these small things. The beatings, the sexual escapades, that’s all par for the course. But you start talking about how being a slave includes these completely non-erotic aspects of daily life, and some people… I don’t know… it’s just too much.

Which is understandable, I guess. I mean, I’m IN the M/s relationship and I know that it means more than being a fucktoy and a painslut. I know it, and I still struggle over the small things, so it’s no surprise that  other people are completely thrown over them.

Being a slave is whole lot more vanilla than not. That’s the real struggle, don’t you think? Getting to be kinky is the easy stuff. Ain’t nothing kinky about watching the dog take a shit, believe you me. But it’s a part of the big picture. Maybe even a more important part of it. 

Which is a more forceful reminder of place? A hard and heavy spanking before bed, or watching as he gets all snuggly and comfy in bed, without a thought of you still up, still working and standing outside in the cold? A non-verbal, non-physical, non-erotic application of power.

I think it’s safe to say that I feel more satisfaction by overcoming no-fair-itis, and quietly and obediently doing these things, than I feel after a scene. Scenes are easy. I want scenes. Painful, yes. Difficult sometimes, yes. But this other process is… fascinating in it’s own way. Gratifying. I finally feel like we’re getting down into the meat of the matter.

Ah well. I had no real point I guess. Dog and poop. The glamour is overwhelming, eh? :D

 ~cunt

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Poop Cake. Or… Something deeper.

My eyes haven’t forgiven me yet. I’ve still not recovered from the chocolate-poop association. I could be traumatized forever!

I saw a poop cake in the bakery section of our local Piggly Wiggly. I’ve never considered myself to be prudish… but I gotta tell ya. Seeing a poop cake has had me gobsmacked ever since.

It was large, tall and fat, all swirled up tubes of chocolate frosting, with big plastic flies stuck on it. And peanuts scattered here and there. And corn kernels.

*blink blink blink*

I was torn between wanting to buy it (it was chocolate after all) and knowing that if I did, I’d not be able to eat it anyway. I may *know* it’s not poop, but it looked like poop. Scat is not my thing. No how no way. Not even pretend.

I’ve seen boob cakes and dick cakes and pussy cakes (in adult settings!) but never shit cakes. It seems wrong somehow to have a poop cake in a Piggly Wiggly.

(I found a picture of a similar cake here. Apparently, I had missed the entire poop cake phenomena until now.)

But that’s not really what I wanted to post about. I just had to get it out though because… gobsmacked I tell ya.

I wanted to talk about a comment that I got that really made a LOT of sense to me. Something that has put my mind at ease in a big way. From l{Fh}:

Part of surviving intact as ‘differently minded’ (IE not vanilla mentality) requires a certain degree of stubbornness. [...] That takes someone who isn’t going to compromise on life. [...]So why is it surprising that this fine honed survival skill has side effects and drifts into our slave life? It’s the natural residue, if you like, of getting this far intact as WHO YOU ARE. If we were all that submissive we would have given in to the social status quo years ago and not said boo to M/s.

I think that is the most profound thing I’ve heard in quite some time. It’s absolutely correct. The determination to get the life that I want is how I got here. What sense does it make that I would then roll over and play dead just because I’m (almost) here? I’m *still* fighting, determined to get what I came for.

If it weren’t important enough to me to fight for, to work for, I’d have given up a LONG time ago. Being different, in any capacity that goes against the grain of society, isn’t an easy road. Not for anyone. No matter what it is that makes one stand out against the crowd, the pressure to give in, to go with the flow, to be a sheeple is *huge*.

I don’t think that that drive is simply going to disappear, be nonexistent just because I’ve come this far. And she’s right. If I were THAT submissive, I’d have “submitted” to society long ago. I’d be one more closet submissive, masturbating to BDSM porn and fantasies or carrying on a hidden relationship.

But I’m not. I took chances and made things happen because I want what I want. I work for what I want. I’m not submissive. I’m determined.

‘Submissive’ would have led me to settling. Settling for those previous doms, those who may have been close to what I wanted… but not close enough. It’s not easy to end a relationship, especially when that relationship gives you some of what you’ve been looking for. When you don’t know if you’ll ever have anything even close to that again, when you’re facing being alone, again, and starting over, again.

So no. Being strong and driven and competent and determined does not mean that I can’t also be a slave. At least, not in my, or Master’s, opinion.

I do try to top from the bottom (try being the operative word here), and I try, I think, because I think I’m a smart girl. I think I know what’s good for me and I think I know what I want. But, I’m a slave because my topping from the bottom is thwarted consistently and constantly and in that process, I obey.

I talk about being in trouble and I discuss my punishments, but even in those instances, we’re talking about a flash of temper where I neglected to say ‘Sir’, or I got stubborn and took too long to serve him something. I’m not stomping around all day breaking rules and being a bitch. I’m not busting out of the cage (snicker) or chopping my hair off or chatting up other men or spending his money on a new wardrobe.

My basic approach is obedience because I do try and I know that obedience is the very foundation of being a slave… but none of that also requires that I forget, or ignore, the principle motivating factor that I came with. The determination to not let this path that we are on slip off into nowhere.

I don’t think it’s just Master’s responsibility to keep things moving forward and on the up and up. It’s both of ours. It’s his prerogative to steer it, but I’ll be god damned if that means I can’t speak up and say “where in Sam’s hill are you going???” and point out that a wrong turn seems to have been taken. We both know where we want to go. Sometimes He gets sidetracked or pulled away. Sometimes I do. It’s because we’re both wanting the same thing that we both get to yank the other one by the bootstraps.

Because I sure as fuck ain’t going to have made it this far to sit back and quietly and submissively watch it be ran into the ground.

I may not be as easily malleable as some. But you know, we’ve only been at this for a bit over 3 years. In 3 years, he’s changed me in some deeply profound ways. There are other people who have been at this for much longer than we have and who aren’t half as far along. So I don’t at all consider myself, or our relationship, a failure. It’s two steps forward, one step back, and anything easier would probably only be a surface change. I think we are doing it right, doing it in exactly the manner that we need to to satisfy ourselves. Y’all may not agree, but you’re also only getting snippets of the big picture. It’s impossible for me to accurately relay every little detail. I would if I could! But I can’t. Unless you want to move in? ;-)

As it stands right now, somewhere along the way in the not-so-distant past, a wrong turn was made. There is no fault or blame being assigned because it doesn’t matter a bit who detoured. Him or me? Who cares. What matters is that we are able to recognize it and work to fix it. Fixing a wrong turn requires backing up, finding where we deviated from the path and moving forward again. So that’s what we’re doing. We’re reversing until we identify the error.

“There are always two choices. Two paths to take. One is easy. And its only reward is that it’s easy.”

“There’s no thrill in easy sailing when the skies are clear and blue, there’s no joy in merely doing things which any one can do. But there is some satisfaction that is mighty sweet to take, when you reach a destination that you never thought you’d make.”

I could give up on my dreams. I could hush, keep my worries and thoughts to myself. I could… but what would he end up with? A lesser version of me.

He could bowl over my dreams. Ignore them, no longer make them a priority. At what cost though? A “nicer” journal? One of those perfect, fluffy ones? And still, a lesser version of me.

He wants to own me, to possess me. He doesn’t only want a robotic, yes-girl. Those are a dime a dozen. He’s going to take my dreams and he’s going to meld them with his own, until someday, there is no discernible difference. How’s he going to get there if I roll over and play dead??

~cunt

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Enjoy

Stripped bare, through tears and pain and hurt. Down to the roots, where new beginnings can be found. All that is left, all of the covers and protection ripped away, only truth stares back at you. With that truth, one starts anew.

Since Master is leaving tomorrow, I’m doing nothing more than basking in his presence.

I’ll be back soon.

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My Way or the Highway.

That’s been my attitude lately. I’ve been in a very egoistic, self-righteous place.

In some ways I think Master and my personality types are closely aligned. I’m not a weak person. I may be in physical ways, but not in personality, in expression, presentation. I don’t easily “just take it”, nor do I take it quietly if I am taking it.

I seem to be, often times, at odds with what would be considered a submissive demeanor. It is not at all unusual for me to be standing with my hands on my hips, glaring at him, and demanding that something be done, or undone as the case may be.

No matter how often that approach is squashed – and it is – I still do it.

Because I continue to see myself as a person. A person with my very own set of wants and needs, with my own ideas on how things should be. A strong-willed person who will jump to stand up for myself at the very moment of suspicion that I’m being treated in a manner less than what I deserve.

Taking on the title of slave, does not, in my opinion, mean that I am thusly freed of thoughts and opinions. And sometimes, those thoughts and opinions and wants and needs run amok and wreak havoc upon the calm household Master desires to live in.

If I’ve heard it once, I’ve heard it a thousand times from him. “We’re going to do this MY way, cunt.” I’ve heard it so often that it’s become background noise. I’ve heard it so often that it’s meaningless, ignored, bowled over. Because not only am I strong-willed and forceful, I am also passive-aggressive.

In a most unattractive way. I will get what I want. Eventually. That’s always my approach to things. Manipulate, coerce, twist, push and pull until, somehow, someway, I’ve made it happen.

And then hate it. Hate myself for it. Hate him for it. Hate the world and everything in it.

Master generally meets me head-on when I begin my little power play games. His will is stronger than mine, obviously, and most of the time, He’ll right my path. But not always. Sometimes I get going with all the force and determination of a steam engine, and if it happens to be a time when he’s distracted, or too tired to battle me, he lets me carry on with my bad self. It’s easier, in much the same way that giving in to a screaming 2 yr old is easier. And with much of the same results.

The good thing, the very, very good thing is that in time I’ll despise how I ended up getting what I wanted so much, because it’s at such odds with who I want to be, with the slave that I pride myself in being, that the “victory” is bittersweet. And so I’ll sit there with whatever it may be that I “won”, whatever action or privilege or object, swarming with guilt and misplaced anger.

So if I’m so aware of these doings, why don’t I just stop? Just.. stop it. (Did you all see that youtube clip of Mad TV, with Bob Newhart playing a therapist? Stop it. )

Well, because I haven’t quite let go of all of those previously mentioned wants and needs and thoughts and opinions. I haven’t given up thinking that I know how it should be done. I haven’t embraced and internalized the mantra of “We’re going to do this MY way, cunt.”

I don’t really know how. I can’t isolate what it is that’s keeping me from getting there. I tell myself that nobody knows me better than me, so when it comes to a point where Master is attempting something that I KNOW is not going to work, I speak up and say so. I will tell him, look, this isn’t working… but THIS will. I direct and dictate. All under the guise of “helping” him.

But the thing is, all of that makes whatever I have just dictated not work either. Because once I sense that he’s simply catering to me, the whole house of cards comes tumbling down.

When I really do let it go, let him run the show and let it be HIS way? I can see the contentment and happiness that he feels. All in his world is smooth.

My world on the other hand? Shambles. Chaos. Resentment. Because I still have those needs, needs that aren’t being met. It seems a catch 22.

There have been times when I’ve sat back in such misery that I’ve thought that perhaps we just aren’t suited for each other. He’s much more laid-back, easy, he sees excusing my faults and being lenient with the rules as a gift, an expression of love, something I should be grateful for.

And I don’t. I can’t express how much I see those things as the very opposite of what he intends them to be. They are not gifts, they are not expressions of love, they do NOT make me feel grateful. At all.

They foster resentment, and anger, and a deep burning desire to break every rule made, to throw things, to just… quit. Quit M/s altogether.

Then I think back to how incredibly far we have come as Master and slave, and I tell myself that this is just one more stumbling block on the path. That if we can get this solved, it’s easy street. I’m grateful for being here, for being far enough along that I can recognize and pinpoint these behaviors of mine and strive to fix them.

He is not going to change, I know that already. I can bounce around him and pester him until doomsday and he’s not ever going to accept my “how to Dom kaya” manual.

So why do I keep writing it?

~cunt

ps. I don’t think there will be a daily picture today. I just ain’t feeling it. Sorry.

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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

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