He is Master, and i am slave.
He is owner, and i am owned.
He commands, and i obey.
He is to be pleased, and i am to please.
Why is This?
Because he is Master and i am slave
He is Master, and i am slave.
He is owner, and i am owned.
He commands, and i obey.
He is to be pleased, and i am to please.
Why is This?
Because he is Master and i am slave
The last couple of days have been pneumatic blur. A flurry of sights and sounds punctuated by stabs of clarity that seem to move in slow motion. I guess the pivotal moment was pressing the enter key after composing the letter. My heart was pounding as I knew that I had pushed off from the edge and was free-falling without any form of safety net. And I’m still falling two days later…but it’s not the plummeting spiral I had been in, it’s more a gentle float as I take in the scenery and decide where I’m going to land.
Afterwards I had a cry, did my enema and got ready to bed down for the night on my mat. Although I was in a place I hadn’t been before, I found doing what I had always done very comforting. I found a quiet joy that I hadn’t experienced for quite some time.
You and I have talked and I’ve purged. And I’m now in this hard headspace that allows me to say what I need to. I’ve shored up my mind with mortar of my own making and it’s going to require some pretty serious chipping before anyone can get back inside.
But it’s the steel that I need to stop the grief of losing my collar from overwhelming me.
Without my collar I feel like a part of me has died. I’m not special anymore, I’m not owned, I’m not yours.
I think that asking you to take the collar off has been one of the hardest things I’ve done. Leaving my family crying at the airport after every trip back home, leaving my friends, Japan and my ex-husband, they were all hard things. I’ve left so many people in my wake and it’s probably my fate to keep doing so.
I had to make myself believe that asking you to remove my collar was something that had to be done. It would of been easy not to, but I wanted to show you just how serious I was and not goad you into making the decision.
But also without the collar I feel as though a weight has lifted from me. There is no pressure to be ‘switched’ on all the time. I do what I want when I want. There is no expectation of being required to do anything or questions from myself about ‘why aren’t we doing anything?’ so much so that for now I am finding it refreshing. It’s really quite bittersweet.
It’s funny, when I think back through all we’ve talked about-things we’ve done wrong, things that should have been done, things that shouldn’t have been done, a minefield of misdirected intentions- a lot of it I can’t remember. It’s things that I wanted to hear, and they satiated my need and then were absorbed and gone.
I feel sad. It’s not a deep, wallowing, intense sadness, it’s a quiet, gentle, whimsical sadness that washes over me. Certain words and thoughts bring tears to my eyes and I can’t control them or hold them back. But a part of me also thinks that I need to get them out, flush them out of my system, so I let them flow.
I feel lonely. I’m craving comfort and the human touch. When you offered me a hug the other morning, I was so tempted to roll over and let you hold me in your arms. But I couldn’t. I still haven’t forgiven you and I didn’t want you to think that everything was ok, that I was ok.
I think the reason that I get so emotional at some times is because I think there is a very real possibility that I will choose to end it, that I will not be able to get back into my headspace, that I will not be able to believe again. I just don’t know. I know what I would like to have happen and that is the easy path, but I don’t know if I can do it again. Trust and belief are so hard to rebuild once they have crumbled.
Feb. 25th, 2006 | 01:21 pm
Master, I’ll begin with a question…
What is it that you want?
In April when we first met, you said to me that you had waited 18 months and were finally ready for another relationship. You’d looked for a slave, but they were so very rare and then finally you uncovered the slave in me. A slave, not a submissive, someone attuned to you, someone to serve you, to be with you 24/7. And with acceptance of the service came a responsibility to me as your slave to train, encourage, praise, provide direction. A commitment deeper than many vows.
I know what I want and I believe you know what I want…but do you really know what you want? Were you really ready for that commitment?
Three basic slave needs: direction, discipline, service. Without these I am hollow.
• DIRECTION, which encompasses leadership, purpose, goals, values — all that is entailed by allowing another person to control how you live and move and have your being. It is impossible to give up that kind of control to someone who has no plan for your life but simply issues orders at random. If a slave is to blindly follow a Master, the Master must know where He is going and how to get there. To be collared and leashed implies that you are being led somewhere.
• DISCIPLINE, which encompasses not merely punishment, if needed, but rules, standards, judgments, evaluation, oversight, and training. Being disciplined, following rules, being held to standards, being supervised and corrected — all these are ways that a slave feels connected to the Master’s will and held within His plan. A lack of discipline is immediately, and rightly, felt as a lack of interest or attention, and if slackness persists, a slave will feel alienated from his role and his Master.
• SERVICE, which encompasses not only working for the Master’s benefit, or as He directs, and being used sexually for the Master’s pleasure, but also all other ways in which the slave shows respect for the Master’s position and honors Him as Owner, Mentor, Guide, Elder (not necessarily in years), Authority, and even avatar of Divinity. The slave who is not allowed to serve, who is not used to the best and fullest extent of his capabilities, is like a believer who is denied the opportunity to worship his god
We pass each other like ships in the night at work and at home you are there but not there for me. Locked in your world of computer games, I feel ignored. You won’t do things with me, talk to me, I feel my very existence is insignificant to you.
I tell you of my need for boundaries and rituals…these are the most basic slave needs. You act as though everything is a burden for you. Unlocking my chains is too much for you..coming in to take off my leash is too much for you…giving me an enema is too much for you…checking my tasks, praising my tasks…it is all too much for you. No, I don’t require micro-management, but I do require some attention and appreciation.
I tell you that my mind and body are out of sync-that I need more mental training- instead of talking to me, helping me work through my problems, giving me the mental mastery I crave, you send me a paragraph from a book to recite.
As I go over this in my mind more and more I become convinced that what you want is not a slave- you want a submissive that will cook and clean for you and take part in the occasional play session. And I feel this because I don’t think you have the commitment or the inclination to make the effort to be as a master should.
Keeping a slave and being a slave are both hard work. Yes, we both have jobs and have limited time but all it requires is a little effort and I really do think that the little effort required is not something that you are willing to do.
I am switched on every second of the day. There is very little other than slavery, D/s, M/s, bdsm that I think about. I breathe it and crave it through my pores.
What is coincidental about my ‘meltdowns’ is not translation work. It’s usually a ‘largish’ play session. During that hour or so I get the interaction that I crave and then the ‘nothingness’ I have afterwards sends me spiralling down deeper into the abyss.
And the catalyst for my current feelings is this whole task to call you ‘Master’. It feels so wrong to me at this point in time. I really don’t think you have earned the title and I have lost my respect for you. I don’t feel your dominance, all I feel is my struggle to be submissive when I feel so hurt.
I feel abused. I feel wasted.
I don’t want more pain, I want interaction.
Never, ever did I think that I would be so lonely as your slave.
And I just can’t do it anymore. If you are not confident in being my master and all it in entails, release me.
I’m sure it would make us both happier.
I await your reply.
I woke up stiff and cramped the morning (just for something completely new!..lol)..let me rephrase that…more stiff and cramped than usual. No matter how many hours I spend chained or tied with my knees bent up so I can’t straighten my legs it doesn’t get any easier. But I suppose it would take out half the fun if it was easy..*wink*
Last night Master handcuffed me to the head of the board, tied my legs spread out to the sides and blindfolded me.I also still had the chains running up between my legs and wrapped around my breasts and torso. I sooooo loved it! There was absolutely no way that I could of escaped and with the chains cutting into my pussy I could hardly move an inch.
Now I have to say that I am the least flexible person in the world and have always been so. I even wake up mornings when I haven’t been bound in bed walking around on tippy-toes because my calf muscles are so short! So I immediately got this cramp in my leg and no matter how I tried to move it, it wasn’t going away.
As Master wrapped the rope around my legs and spread them wider He chuckled and said “A test for her flexibility” and my immediate response was “Red!” to which Master replied “Yes, the rope is red.” I just cracked up there and then. It was hilariously funny…if only I had safe words…not!
The after-effects of my time out that afternoon were still with me and I’d had a nice long shower before so I was feeling centred. Although I was not quite ready to take on the world, I was ‘prepared’.
I heard Master going out into the kitchen, going in and out of the room and some of the things I could guess were coming. But the first sensation I had was something with sides being pushed up into my pussy.It felt ‘square’ and smooth…I really couldn’t figure out what it was…so I just relaxed, trying not to tense myself up and make it hurt. I controlled my breathing and just let myself sink into it.
I always love the feeling of having things up there. I like the idea of being able to ‘take’ anything… to ‘give it a place in me’ so to speak.
Next came wax, which had me squirming every which way as it burned my pussy lips and my mound (did I mention how sensitive that area is????) and after that the ice was almost pleasant…almost. On the bits that were burning it was lovely, but everywhere else it was freezing!!! And when Master put some in my ass, the sudden cold ached through me.
Then from out of nowhere I felt the prick of a knife on my thigh (I really need to learn not to jump or I’m going to get myself stabbed one of these days!). As Master dragged it over my breasts and down my sides, it tickled more than hurt.
Did I mention the nipple clamps and pegs? Somewhere in there Master put them on me. And once the initial twinges are gone they are bearable..until it’s time to take them off. But I had plenty of other things going on to take my mind off the pain in my nipples.
I think I had an insight into what childbirth is like (although I secretly feel that it might feel better pushing things out than trying to put them in!) but I can’t imagine what that pain would be like hour after hour. Any woman who has had a child has to be a masochist!
I’m usually quite quiet and I try to bite my lip and keep back the little moans and gasps and things during play but I got really vocal-moaning and groaning and gasping everywhere. But somewhere amongst all the noise there was a little quiet place inside of me that was enjoying it all. I felt very empowered and very strong. Several times Master rubbed my clit and played with my ass and it was electrifying. The pleasure and the pain all mixed into one was stunning. My first immediate thought after Master finished was “Wow, I actually liked that.” During the actual pain I wanted nothing but for it to stop…but after it stopped, I wanted more.
Master uncuffed my hands and untied my legs and just when I thought everything was finished He climbed onto the bed and pulled me to Him to suck His cock.I’m always happy when Master Has me do this because I really do enjoy it, it is just such a direct way for me to please Him. Then when I was wondering whether He was going to cum in my mouth or not, He pulled out of mouth and flipped me onto my stomach. Master then climbed onto the bed and took His ass. Those deep, pounding thrusts that just reverberate through me are heavenly. And with His hands anchored firmly on my hips, pulling me back onto His cock He came.
(God I love it when He orders me like that! *melts*)
Then out of nowhere I feel the thwack of the cane on my ass. Now, it may just of been me, but I thought the strokes were painful. Master said afterwards that it wasn’t any harder than usual, but copious amounts of broken skin in just six strokes spells ‘painful’ to me! So when Master told me to “Cum” I so wanted to, to do what He had asked and because I was just so sloshy everywhere(thankgod for the towel on the bed!)but I couldn’t…there was just too much for me to process.
With my butt stinging like hell, Master took my leash off and I just lay there for a while, collecting my thoughts and coming back down. I’m beginning to connect having my leash on as ‘on’ time and when it is removed, as ‘off’ time. It’s kind of like a signal for the beginning and end.
I felt twitchy and shaky. Staring off into space I wasn’t seeing anything or thinking anything. I guess it was like I was overloaded. I can never manage to talk much when I am in that state. I’m sure that Master would like answers to His questions just to know that I am ok, but I really can’t summon my thoughts to voice anything. Well, actually, my thoughts are fine, they are coherant and organized, it’s just the physical forming of the words with my mouth and voice that I can’t seem to manage.
10mins or so later I was up and running again. Having coffee and chocolate definitely helped. And as I sat in front of the computer screen, I noticed Master humming and folding up sheets and things in the hallway and taking them into the bedroom.
The slavemat! OMG….it was all too much (but god how I love that ‘all too much feeling’…it’s actually the pushes and prods that get me out of my comfort zone.)
After spending time that afternoon dozing on the floor I knew how uncomfortable it was going to be. But Master wanted me to be there, it was His wish…and I was getting wet just thinking about being chained to the end of His bed and sleeping on the floor at His feet.
I woke up every hour or so, rolled and adjusted position and never really seemed to get comfortable for any more than 10 mins. But I am Master’s slave…comfort isn’t supposed to come into the equation and it made me happy to be doing so for Him. So I listened to the garbage truck come, watched as it grew lighter with the dawn and felt my place deep to my core.
Listening to the wind rustling the trees outside the window, hearing the birds twitter in the distance, I was calm, enjoying the nothingness and the chance to withdraw from the outside world and focus on the internal.
The chain rubbing my clit and biting into my breast, the cuffs that no matter which way I moved dug in, the wasabi with its burning sting, it was all lulling me into the zone.
When I am in bondage I revel in my tolerance, my patience, my endurance. The test, the challenge consumes me. I pull back inside myself, into my martyrdom and I bathe in what I am going through. As I tug on the leash and test the security of the chains, the waves of pleasure wash over me. The coolness of the chains (fresh from the freezer!) soothes the burning of my clit and I get wetter by the second. A little humping of the chain and I’m contemplating how good it would feel to cum. But I haven’t permission, so I endure. I doze. I stare at the toybox in the cupboard, at the canes and whips near my feet and I am happy because Master had put me there.
Lying on the carpet I listen to the sounds from the other room, wondering how long I had been there. Then the door opens and it is Master, “Drink time!” On my knees, in chains, naked, I take Master’s cock into my mouth and I drink and when He is finished, I lick the last few drops and He leaves my mouth and is gone. Tasting Him for the next half hour, lying on the carpet, feeling useful and more like an object than a person, I feel and smell my moistness.
Master and I had another little chat. I decided to just come out and ask Him exactly how much input He wanted from me instead of playing guessing games like I was last time I wrote in my journal. We discussed making a task list for me and enforcing my transgressions with punishment (the dreaded arm-binders!). It will give me the lines and boundaries that I need.
So leashed to the end of the bed I was, chained in cuffs with my bowl and a drink. In many ways it was like a time out, a time to ponder my slavery, my service and my lack of the right to say no. I like being put in some place or in some position for no other reason than because Master wants me to be there. What I am doing can be completely illogical or have absolutely no purpose whatsoever, but because Master wanted me to do it, nothing makes me happier. I like it when He exercises His right to use me in whatever manner He wishes, just because He can.
Most of my revelations or epiphanies tend to come about after I’ve been exposed to a particular catalyst. One of my most influential catalysts of late has been a journal of a slave named kaya. Her journal is raw, emotional, painful to read at times and I truly feel for her. I see so many of my thoughts echoed in her writing and I understand the excruciating journey that she is on.
Her Master is deeply sadistic and I am constantly amazed by the lengths that she goes to to please him. However, while a part of me says “OMG!” as I look at the pictures of her broken body there is also a part of me that is insanely jealous. I’m just not that strong.
As I read her words and get a glimpse of the turmoil inside her head as she is objectified, becoming nothing more than a ‘cunt in a cage’, I think about my mental state. How immersed in the mindset of slavery am I?
I’ve come to realise recently that I do need some form of punishment. Master and I have always been of the belief that pain should never be a punishment. But I am beginning to feel that it is possible to use pain for correction. So many of my feelings when Master marks me are a direct result of His feelings. When He is pleased with me and the pain is a reward I am pleased to receive it. And although He has never given me pain as a punishment, I have a distinct feeling that I would not feel pleasure in pain that was given as a direct result of my incorrect actions.
I am so lax in so many ways. I need to be corrected and to have things enforced. I get complacent and have entirely too much freedom in my mind.I need the threat of punishment hanging over me to motivate my butt into action.
So I told Master this last night. This week has been another one of those ‘I just want to curl up and die’ weeks. I’ve been sucked dry by the negativity around me and I need to be pulled back home, to my place at Master’s feet. I need structure, rules…a clear definition of this is what I must do and this is what will happen if I don’t do it.
Looking back over what I have just written I see so many “I want…”, “I need…”, so much demanding and foot-stamping. And this is always where I get so tangled up and confused- how much is too much? Does Master want me to tell Him what I want, tell Him what I would like Him to do to me, how I want to be treated? How much input from me does He want and how much can I give before I feel like I am the one in control?
Isn’t it always a case of Master knows best….or is it?
This is not exactly a wish list, but more of a list of my fantasies. I’ve thought a lot about things that I would like to have done to/with me but I always find it hard to verbalize exactly what it is that makes me moist.
I guess any sub worth their weight in chains is a big fan of __________(fill in blank space with any activity that involves being deliciously used).
For me my list of favourite activities would be:
1.Nice tight bondage in embarassing positions that make me feel helpless- wrists tied to ankles, spread-eagled face up or down, hands behind back, hogties
2. Butt plugs- hate to love them (why do they hurt so good???)
3. Being roughed up- gotta love a bit of dragging, slapping, pushing and pulling around (especially on my hair yummo!)
4. Scary stuff- sharp knives, brands, fire, and copious amounts of breathplay
Pain is not something that is on my list of favourites. I love bruises and welts, marks, scars, reminders of what I do, what I am prepared to do for Master, but I don’t crave the pain-in fact I’d probably try to avoid it like the plague if I could. I’m not a masochist and pain is simply a means to an end.
Humiliation and fear are the two states that I crave most in play. They equate to a total disregard for what I am feeling and give me a push out of my comfort zone. That thrill of not being really sure of how far things will go gives me a lovely feeling of teetering on the edge.
I’ve probably seen too much porn and read too much erotica, but I find that the simple fantasies are always the best-the kidnap, the rape and the harem/gangbang. The whole ‘forced’ idea is always a classic along with being ‘taken’ and ‘used’.
I find the idea of being a ‘fuckhole’ very delightful. Being tied in an ‘easily accessible’ position or locked in some snuggly tight compartment/cage/wardrobe with appropriate access holes or being pulled out just to be used and then put back in again are lovely bubbly images.
There is something about M/s relationships and the whole Master-slave dynamic that allows the slave to be totally ground down, used and abused but that loss of strength gives them strength back to give yet again. For a healthy sub, the more they are degraded and debased,spat on and thrown down in the dirt, the more they spring back fluffier than before.
I’m a Markslut and simply just a slut who has discovered an oasis in the desert.
These are two things that look indistinguishable on the surface, but when you peel back a few of the outer layers they really are quite different emotions.
Subs and slaves alike want a ‘kind’ Master or Sir, but we also want someone who is strong enough to not be lenient. We are here to be controlled, to be dominated, to do things they we may not ‘like’ or ‘want’ to do, it is in giving our Sirs and Masters the freedom to do what they wish, that we in turn are freed. Most of us don’t want autonomy or independence, we instead want to know that someone cares enough for us to hurt us. We don’t want responsibility or to feel pressured to make decisions, instead we want to cling to the backs of the Ones we are devoted to, while they shelter us from the storm of the outside world. No wonder so many fall in love with this life.
Being kind is aftercare, snuggles, the occasional treat of chocolate and ice cream, dinners for two and hotel suites. It is presents and treats, gifts of words and touch that no matter how hard we may try to convince ourselves that we don’t need and shouldn’t need because we are ‘slaves’, we feel an absence when it is not there.It feeds the romantic in us all.
But leniency affects us to the core. It undercuts everything we do and makes us ask ‘why bother?’Being shown kindness as a reward is wonderful, being shown leniency has the opposite effect. Submission is about obeying, doing what is asked of you, not having the right to say no. If we know that we can ‘wriggle’ out of something or ‘forget’ to do something without some form of punishment, it gives us back the choice, that is, we effectively regain the choice to say ‘no’. With that option to say ‘no’ available to us, all the other things that we have done without question seem fruitless and trite. We get into the mindset of ‘it really doesn’t matter if I do it or not’ and for subs and slaves that is a very dangerous place to be.
So the question arises of ‘well, whose fault is it? is it the sub’s for not obeying, not doing what they were told? or is it the dom’s for allowing their sub to stray?’ I like to think that keeping subs in line is one of the major dom jobs. We need to feel the leash tighten, to feel we are owned and that we are no longer our own person. Becoming a slave or a sub is not signing up for Domesticality 101 -it’s not lovie-dovie couple stuff, it’s dirty, hard, painful, humiliating, sweat, blood and tears. We live in fear of what we crave and we thrive on the edge. We feel the burn in our belly for the fire to sear away everything superfluous, everything but our ability to serve. And we ask the question “Are you strong enough to be my man?”
I asked Master the other night whether He though romance was more important than dominance. He responded by saying that both were important and because our roles are well-defined it’s ok to have snuggles (^V^). He then said that if He had to choose that He would choose dominance. I was surprised by His answer in many ways. He is a very loving person who I think can get deeply hurt and I thought that He would chose romance hands down! I subsist on passion and intensity but I wouldn’t say that I was a romantic.
I like to describe my journey to slavehood as being ‘moulded’. It’s not that I’m being ‘melted down’ and recast into something else-I’m being softened and reshaped, all the while losing nothing of who I am (but probably gaining more).
My image of this process is fairly well explained by the song “Falling into you”. I like the play on words of ‘falling’ in love and being ‘caught’ by someone acting as my safety net.And there is also that idea of falling into someone and becoming a part of them.
I always find interesting the changes that occur when an ‘I’ becomes a ‘we’. But for the woman, I think the process is fairly similar whether it is a vanilla or ‘D/s’ relationship. That is why certain aspects of being a slave are not such as issue for me. Thinking about what to have for dinner, making sure there is enough food/washing powder/toilet paper in the house, washing uniforms etc. There is always something going through my head about what needs to be done. And in some ways I have to do less now than I did before (at least I don’t have to lug shopping on the train during rush-hour or fiddle with fish-shaped squeeze bottles for soy sauce at 6am!)
One of my favourite episodes of Sex and the City was on. It’s the one where Carrie and Big break up. She calls their relationship ‘s&m’ because she consistently gets hurt, but keeps coming back for more and she asks “Is a relationship without pain a relationship a relationship worth living?” There is a certain sweetness to pain and like sugar it can become addictive, but I really don’t understand what makes me yearn for it.Our bodies are designed to crave what we require-we thirst for water and hunger for food-but what need of mine craves bruises and scars as trophies of my trials?
I’m liking this idea of a playtime timetable! First period: math, second period: English, third period:copious amounts of bruise-making playtime. Perhaps setting specific times for us to have fun is a good way to ensure regular play that often gets lost in the vanilla torrents of everyday life.
I always feel this incredible urge to pee whenever I get nervous. When Master gets that ‘look’ in His eyes and walks around with an air of deviousness, I need to be within 5 paces of a toilet.It’s not that I’m panicking about what He’s going to do, it’s that I’m panicking about whether I will be able to do what He wants me to do. It’s always a terrifying worry for me.
So there were ropes and handcuffs, blindfolds and butt plugs, lube and wax, ice and canes, whips and paddles, birches and crops, leashes and knives..oh, and fists…a virtual plethora of bdsm! And it hurt, really hurt…I’ve got bruises reminiscent of “O Day” and for the first time in ages, it hurt to sit down the next day.But I’m happy..oh so happy! If I smiled anymore my face would seriously fall off. I wrap myself up in a warm euphoria of images from the play, sensations that I felt not as me, but as the slave and slut that I am.
I get so wet just kneeling on the bed, in the blackness of the blindfold feeling the hemp tighten around my arms and legs and as the pain starts I just get hornier and hornier until I’m panting to be fucked. My ass moves of its own accord wanting to be penetrated deeper and deeper by fingers, plugs and especially Master’s cock… wanting anything and everything to fill and stretch my holes.
Master’s hand was mind-numbingly painful..but it was that oh-so-good kind of pain.I’ve got a few more centimeters to stretch but I can’t wait until I can take it all. I think something inside me might burst! My god, it is such a powerful action that makes me drip with anticipation