Where to begin?

Well, for starters, I am surprised that you read my journal. All through my time here I have been writing down the myriad of thoughts that goes through my brain in an attempt to clear away some of the clutter. My conflicting thoughts, my confusion, my lack of understanding and my epiphanies, they are all here in black and white. Although I originally started this journal for you, somewhere along the line it became so much more my journal. I would mention I’d written in it, I would tell you I’d written in it, I would ask you to read it, but you wouldn’t or you would and wouldn’t tell me that you had. You made few if no comments and because the journal was an outpouring of my feelings to you, a collection of things that I wanted you to know about me, I started to feel that you didn’t care-that you didn’t want to know me, didn’t want to know what I thought, what I wanted.

Like a well worn leather belt, like a broken-in pair of shoes that feel so comfy, people use what they love. There are also things that you put away, too good to be used, that are kept in their pristiline state. These things gather dust and fade and are eventually thrown away. Which feels more valued?

Although the decision to leave was mine and mine alone to make, in many ways I feel like I had no choice. I do feel like I have been lead down the garden path a little. Remember our chat sessions? You painted these glorious pictures in my head of how my life would be. Here I was buying whips and collars-‘only the best’ you said because they would ‘last longer’-softening balm for the rope, cleaning waxes for leather which lay in the cupboard untouched gathering dust.Candles, needles, piercing gear…boxes of things laying in the cupboard gathering dust. You told me how you liked entertaining at home, enjoyed being active, were fit, experienced in all things, you had a lot of friends, knew many things and had been many places. My dreams were puffed up until they were ready to burst. You had everything I wanted and although I was moving to a place I’d never been before and where I knew no-one, I thought you’d take me under your wing and show me things, introduce me to people. The only time we went anywhere was when I organized it-our trip to the rock. Kink and life….they both need to be in balance.I’m sure you can understand my frustration.

Now, I’m not saying that I’m perfect either-photos on low-resolution cameras can hide so much. I’m sure I was different in person to what you expected me to be. But I don’t think I had you believing anything about myself that wasn’t true.

I also can’t compete with computer games that whisk you away from reality for hours and hours. If you’re not at work, you’re gaming or sleeping. There is nothing else. Inside the game it’s a comfy space where there are no mediation sessions, no mounting debts and where you play out your time doing as you wish. I can understand why you enjoy being there so much, but I think you have a problem. Could you stay away from the computer entirely for a whole day? 24 hours? Could we have a conversation about something other than the game?The boys come over to see you, not to watch tv and play computer games. No wonder they have a hard time going home at the end because they probably feel like they haven’t really ‘seen’ you at all.

I was gravitating there for a while eventhough I had ‘made’ my decision -it’s only natural. As I’ve always said I wanted to give you as many chances as possible. It was a symbol of my committment and to show you how much I wanted things to work. Without my submission there is no ‘us’, but on the other side of the coin without your dominance there is no ‘us’ either. You were quite within your dominant rights to fight for me and I thought I was showing you how willing I was to be chased down and pulled back to cave by my hair. But you weren’t looking for the signs and I think that that is an indication that you really didn’t want to.

I’m reading back over this and it seems kind of harsh, but it’s things that I think you need to know. And I so wish that you would talk to me. I don’t care if you don’t have anything positive to say, at least I’d have something to bounce off and we’d have some interaction. You might feel better if you got some things off your chest too.

Healing can be found in a variety of things.


I often forget just how important they are. Everything else in my life comes and goes but thank god my family is always there. They are my rock, my grounding force and I love them to death. I really do take them for granted and am so crap at keeping in touch.

I wonder what they must think of me sometimes.I flit from place to place and relationship to relationship, never really holding down a job and never really getting anywhere. I wonder if they look at me in amusement wondering why I squander my education and my skills or if they just take it all in and love me regardless.

I’m nearly 30. When my mum was my age she already had 2 kids, a home and had set out on her path. I’m always trying to justify in my head that that is not what I want and I’m entitled to live life however I choose, but it is so hard to overcome the stereotypes and society’s expectations.

Speaking to my mum on the phone today she said “It’ll be good to have you home”. It felt so good to hear that. I was feeling that I really don’t have a home, a place I can call my ‘home’, but then I realised that home is wherever my family is.

The plunge

I’m wondering why it has taken me so long to finally make a decision and write that little piece of paper to hand in stating my last day of work. I suppose it’s more a reality check than anything. Doing something that involving dates or times or places makes it seem so final and set in concrete and I guess that I’m not really ready, emotionally, in many ways.

Lee gave me this little lecture the other night about how I needed to make decisions and move out and start doing things. It was probably a good push for me. I always need a good external push to get the ball rolling.

My boss was great about it. He always sings my praises and seems to know and understand a lot more about me than he lets on. Eventhough we spend so little time together outside of work or even at work for that matter, he gives me a smile that seems to speak volumes and that really looks down into my soul.

Two weeks from today will be my last day at work. I really think that I need to recharge and re-discover a little joy in living. I always used to tell myself that I need to be strong and independent because no-one will help and ultimately we are all alone. In this relationship I signed over my independence and was convinced that I wasn’t going to be alone again. But here I am all alone and I’m feeling it deep in my bones.

I’d like to go through a difficult emotional time in the rich colours of autumn or the gentle spring breezes. Every upheaval in my life tends to be in the dead of winter or in the blazing heat of summer. Extremes, extremes, and nothing but extremes. But then again, that’s me all over isn’t it?


I slept last night in cuffs. I’m not sure exactly what I was hoping to feel, if I wanted to be uncomfortable or feel the restriction or what, but I didn’t sleep very well regardless.

There is this mammoth difference between cuffing yourself when you’re owned and when you’re not owned. There was nothing there, no sense of comfort, no sense of fear or excitement, nothing. I’d cuffed myself a lot before but there was always the knowledge that I was doing it for somebody.The nothingness this time was very disturbing. I had wanted to experiment and just see how it made me feel and I suppose that I wanted to see his reaction too. I’m still trying to get around this whole embarassment thing of doing what I need to do in front of others. He noticed the rattle when he came home and made those infuriating comments that seem like he’s leaving 80% unsaid. Lots of ‘indeed’s and ‘hmmm’s and ‘haaaar’s.

I guess I’m not the same person that I used to be. I used to be able to satiate myself in that area.I’ve got such a short fuse at the moment. I don’t even think I’ve got a gauze-like cushion. Zero-tolerance and highly stressed does not a happy receptionist make. It’s been kind of funny, lots of people have come up to the desk, taken one look at my face and made their visit as brief as possible. Maybe it’s a really good tactic for daily life.

What I’m missing most in my life is joy. Happiness is warm fuzziness, joy is laughter of the soul.My soul is shadowed and dark at the moment. The hues of darkness are definitely leaving their mark.


I’ll confess.

I’m a binge drinker, a binge eater and a binge bondagee.

Like an alcoholic with a flask hidden in their drawer, like a bulimic counting their calories, I plan and calculate nasty things to do to my self.

I can go for days, weeks without the ‘need’ for bondage but when the binge hits, I’ll do anything to get my fix. In many ways it’s a stress release;I find some sort of release in the constriction.

I remember a funny couple of things I did when I was young. One was my ‘prisoner’ scene. Legs and wrists tied, gag in mouth, I’d ‘wake up’ from being drugged to find myself a prisoner, naked and completely subject to the whims of my jailer. I’d imagine him slapping me and grabbing me. Rich, colourful scenes would play out in my mind.I’d put some bread in the microwave to dry it out and leave some water out so it was tepid. It was ‘real’ prison food.
Another favourite was I had this cane chair that had a detachable seat. If you removed the cushion, turned the seat upside-down and tied it onto the base, voila! a cane cage. I’d hop inside there and eat my ‘prison food’ through the ‘bars’.

I’d spend hours thinking these things through, planning them, rolling them around in my head. I’d think about anchor points and d-clips, knots I could undo, ways that I could restict my movement as much as possible yet still be able to get out whenever the phone rang/ someone came home/ dog needed to be let out etc.!I’d often untie and retie myself when I found that it wasn’t uncomfortable enough or tight enough. I’d have gag marks and wrist marks for a few hours but after they’d gone, my surface would go back to its ripple-free, crystaline state.

I’d always wanted chains because they are the ultimate boondage tool. The sound, the feel, the weight…they are just so….binding! But I could never get them, never have a place to hide them. The belts and scarves and cords and things I used were everyday things that could be thrown in a drawer and never call suspicion. But there was no way I could explain metres of chain and padlocks amongst my underwear…. ‘Ummm, mum..they were on special.’

Now I have a nice little toybox at my disposal and I have the sore nipples to prove it! (The clamps wouldn’t screw on any tighter!)

It’s funny I can’t do anything while he is home. Eventhough this is a person who has done some pretty funky things to me-he’s whipped me ’til I’ve bled, choked me, bruised and beaten me, made me cry, made me gag, pissed on me, pissed down my throat, fucked all of my holes quite liberally, chained me up, tied me up, caned, paddled, cropped, birched, scarred me and probably done a few more things I’ve negelected to mention- I can’t bear to let him see me do stuff to myself. There’s something so utterly shameful in it.

These last few nights I’ve needed to do stuff. It gets to those quite hours at night when I’m cold and alone and I start reading blogs, then I start surfing for porn, then sooner or later I’m planning what I can do to myself that night.

So yes, I am a confessed binge bondagee. And that is something that probably won’t ever change.

One man’s treasure

One of the most interesting paradoxes about slavery is that although you are a slave without rights and without humanity in many ways, you are valued as property and are draped in the most exquisite chains that are invisible to the naked eye. Slaves are precious and of exceptional value-they don’t just come along everyday (or so I am told!)

This whole episode in my life has made me question my value- how much am I worth? Should I be valued? If I have a worth and a value and am that rare quintessence of slavery, why wasn’t my owner more interested in me, in keeping me, in using me. I can’t think of anything more glorious than to own something that would do anything for you, that you could do anything to, that loved you, worshipped the ground you walked on and called you master.


Why wouldn’t you want to fuck your pet, chain her up, play and tease her, beat her, grind her down, keep her on edge, instill in her fear, use her in anyway that you desired. This is not harm or abuse, it’s a consensual power exchange, a giving up of rights and limits.


Why would you just let her walk out the door?
I just really cannot understand it.

And the only reason that I can possibly fathom for this is that he either didn’t see me as his slave, or he didn’t acknowledge my worth and value.

So this leads me into this mindset of I’m this little wannabe slave without a master, who can’t find a job and really has nothing going for her. It’s a very sad and lonely place to be.
I don’t think there’s been a night for quite a while where I haven’t cried. I guess I’m just feeling so very lost and lonely.

They are tears of frustration and sadness. After so many years of hiding what I did and not knowing what I needed or wanted, after searching for something that seemed so elusive and then experiencing the joy when I thought that I had found it, I’m back to a place where people still don’t understand me. I thought that he understood who and what I was, understood what I needed, understood that quagmire inside my head. But obviously he didn’t, doesn’t.

If he doesn’t, nobody does.

In the name of….

Justifying, blame-putting, finding a scapegoat, call it what you will, we all have a habit of not taking responsibility. Compared to ‘Western’ cultures, Japanese society is very focused on taking responsibility. The news is littered with the resignations, public apologies and resulting suicides of people in authority. They take the blame, take their lives and then the problem is absolved.

I’m probably very guilty of it too-always thinking that I am little-miss-perfect who fixes up the mistakes of others around me- I don’t really like to take the blame for anything and will talk myself out of blame in whatever way I can.

But in this case, I know that it takes two to tango and so I’m racking my brain for things that I fucked up.

I was reading a journal the other day where there was a discussion about ‘sitting down’. It was a journal where the writer was having an epiphany about how important it was for her to ‘sit down’ and submit rather than be ‘knocked down’ and submit-that it needed to be from her own volition and not forced on her. But it is, afterall, so much easier when you have no choice than to make a conscious choice to submit.

So this got me wondering about whether I had sat down enough. Was there more that I could of done, was I active enough in my passiveness? The mind boggles.

So after all of this soul-searching I’m really beginning to doubt whether this sort of relationship is possible. How do those people that have been together for years and years make it work?

It’s definitely something that I need to explore.


God, I so want to be a slave and have a master who will hurt me, who will use me, make me his and never let me go.

Leave a light on for me

A funny thing happened in bed yesterday morning. I was snuggling up, as I so often do, and he said to me “You do confuse me.” (Somehow I really don’t think that would be too hard because I confuse the crap out of myself most of the time.) As I’d predicted, he was wondering why I was so touchy-feely and why I’d knelt on the ground and put my head on his knee the other night. I said to him that it’s because of who I am and because I really don’t have an issue with us on most levels.Then he said something that came straight out of left field, “You’re quite welcome to stay, you know.”

It’s good and bad. Part of me would love to see him fight to keep me and part of me just can’t cope with any more conflicting emotions. That little slave girl inside of me would love him to grab my hair, pull my head back and hear him tell me that I was his property and he wasn’t about to let me go. But that other part of me wants to leave quietly with as little resistance as possible. I tell you it’s getting noisy inside my head with all these voices.

A couple of weeks have passed with no luck on the job search scene. Maybe I need to show a bit of leg again (maybe I should go to gym before I do that…)And I really don’t feel comfortable going somewhere without a job awaiting me. Am I that unemployable??

I got an interesting email from me ex-hubby too. I’d written and told him that I was leaving. I think he’s under the impression that I’m going because of my job and only my job. My ex asked if he and the boys were going with me. I told him no and that we were splitting up. He then went down the path of asking what the fuck I was doing because I had left him to be with this guy so that I could be happy and if I was leaving this guy and unhappy, what the fuck had I left him for! I can understand where he is coming from. In many ways I suppose he rationalized my leaving as the ultimate sacrifice on his part-he knew I couldn’t be happy with him so he was letting me go to someone who could make me happy and if that person wasn’t making me happy, then what the fuck did he sacrifice our relationship for?

I ask myself that question on many occasions and I really don’t know the answer.

That question brings up many possibilites though…what if we weren’t here? what if I had a good job? what if we didn’t have the boys and it was just us? Would it work?

A good friend told me once that you’ve got to get your shit sorted out in your life before you become a slave or everything that is wrong in your life will be amplified. If you’re unhappy with your job or where you live, d/s won’t make up for it-happiness in the ‘you’ and the ‘we’ is vital for both to work. It’s true. I think you start to resent the person who is putting you through this ‘unhappiness’ and another one of those voices starts saying ‘why the fuck bother?’

I often come home from work in the evening to find that he has left the light on for me.It sometimes seems like a beacon of light that he’s left on for me to guide me home. Maybe it’s his way of trying to add a little illumination to my life…


One of the most prominent thoughts on my mind at the moment is ‘Will I ever find another?’ Several months ago when I had a discussion with a friend about the trial and things that were happening at the time, we talked about the chances of me finding someone compatible and who was into ‘stuff’ (as she loves to call anything kinky). It’s true that there’s not a great deal of people into stuff and who you click with. On certain levels, he is a wonderful match for me-he’s kind, sensitive (as sensitive as those boys from Mars can get)and can push my buttons when he chooses to.In some senses I’m wondering if this is as good as I can get.Am I ignoring what I have in my search for the ‘holy grail’, which may not exist anyway?

I’ve been sifting through these alternating emotions of “I can’t do this/ I could do this” but when I really consider what I have and I what I want, the negatives outway the positives. I guess more than anything, I can see the potential for us, elusively out of reach, and know that it could work between us, but won’t. It’s so frustrating and just so god damn sad.

I’m a very clingy person. I don’t like new things, I like routine and I like to be given things. I don’t like asking for things or being pushy-nothing makes me happier than receiving what I deserve and I work hard to make sure I am deserving. Unfortunately, I’m one of the people who is often ignored and gets trampled over, because I sit back and wait my turn. I miss out on a lot of things because I won’t jump up and seize the chance.

So doing this sort of thing is really damaging to me. Hurting someone and charging off into the sunset seems to suck up my lifeblood. I try to focus on the ‘bright future’ and how I imagine things to be through my rose-coloured glasses, but at the moment I’m more content to curl up on the lounge than to face reality.

I think that he is finding it amusing. He’s probably wondering why I am acting exactly like I was when I was his slave. The only answer I have for that is because I find great comfort in it. It’s familiar and deep down it does fulfill some sort of need in me. It puts me in that happy headspace where I don’t have to worry about jobs and moving and money and I’m happy to enjoy it while I still can.

On a side note…when we were down at ayer’s rock on Monday and Tuesday we got into an interesting discussion with the driver about dogs. I can’t quite remember how we got onto the topic, but he was saying how if you kick a dog everyday when you come home, over time the dog will want to be kicked and will pine if it is not kicked because it becomes a sign of affection. I was sitting there listening and nodding and thiking how true that was. In many ways that was how play was to me -being hurt and having bruises etc. were signs of affection that I lapped up. Take that away and I felt ignored and unloved. One of my biggest issues was our lack of play. Because we never kissed or hugged or did other ‘couple stuff’,play was a form of affection that I loved.I really did try to explain to him about how important it was-but I really don’t think he got it. There were perhaps a lot of things that he didn’t quite get about me and a lot of things I didn’t get about him either.

I suppose there really is no point in going back and analysing what went wrong, although I seem to spend an incredible amount of time doing just that.I really do wish sometimes that we could talk about it more. He said that there was nothing constructive that he could say to me. He gives me this look sometimes that seems to say ‘You silly,little girl. Wtf are you doing this time?’ as though he really does expect me to stay or to crumble and apologise and come crawling back (and there are moments when I really, really want to do that).

It’s so hard because it’s like trying to break an addiction. I’m going through withdrawal, gradually trying to wean myself off because I can’t go cold turkey. When your relationship is so intense and you are so dependant on the other, being on your own is like having a cold, cold shower every 10 minutes in the dead of winter. I’ve hardly been to gym at all since I decided to leave. Mostly it’s because I want to spend every possible moment together with him that I can – a bit like a druggie trying to get one last hit.

In the scheme of things I really am a newbie and I suppose my first d/s relationship was bound to have profound effects on me. I suppose it’s like your first love that leaves an indelible mark upon the rest of your life.Knowing all this doesn’t make it any easier though.

The end of an era

Although it seems like a lifetime ago, it’s been a week since we sat down and I told him of my decision. It was a gradual thing that I was playing with constantly at the back of my mind, and while it seemed to creep up on me in that I’d reflect within and the decision was there, already made inside, it also hit me like a crushing blow. Those inevitable things, decisions that must be made, just hurt so much.

I’d had the anger on slow burn all weekend. I’m usually in a bad mood of sorts on the weekends from noise and lack of uninterrupted sleep. I suppose there’s also an unhealthy dose of jealousy there-me being jealous of the boys as Mark answers their every whim. I never really dealt well with them and I began to resent their time here and the attention they received. Bizarre, I know, but being so emotionally needy and vulnerable all the time plays tricks on the mind. It’s so hard to see up from down.

Leaving your master and giving up your slavery really is like gnawing off a limb that’s stuck in a trap: it needs to be done and it hurts like hell, and there’s no guarantee that you’ll be better off in the end-you could die from the loss.

It’s such a step out of my comfort zone and I’m scared shitless of being on my own. Every time I’m alone I have a little cry. It doesn’t really make me feel better but I feel a bit of a release.

Last Friday when I came home after telling my boss of my decision to leave and look for another job and after I’d spoken to the gm of the Sofitel in the gold coast, I told him what I’d done and for the first time I really think he realised I was serious. That I really was going to leave, unlike the last few times, when I’d threatened but backed down. He cried and I cried because I knew I was hurting him. I was on the guilt trip of the century. I’d offered to give him a back rub because his shoulder and neck were playing up again. Just touching him, serving him made me lose it.

I’m still doing a lot of service. I’m finding great comfort in being able to serve and it’s helping me through. Although it’s bizarre, we snuggle, we touch, I do a lot of what I have always done. Because it is who I am. I don’t lose my need to serve just because I no longer have a master-the fire in my belly is still there. My service protects me from the outside world, at least for a while.

I’m not sure if this is the beginning of the end or the end of the beginning. I hope it’s both. The edges are too scary…safe in the middle is where I like to be.

Deja vu

While doing the washing up I was composing my journal entry as I do when I have those quiet moments-those times for reflection and copious amounts of muttered venting and fuming-and realising that after 9 months here, I’m almost back to where I started, in an unhappy vanilla relationship, sex and play-starved and with only a couple of thousand dollars in the bank. It’s really hugely ironic and in another reality it would be hilariously funny.

Maybe the whole thing about me not being able to find a man who can fulfill me sexually and otherwise is god’s way of punishing me for not having even a shred of maternity in me. It’s a fairly harsh punishment, is all I can say.

I was thinking about keeping up with everything that I am supposed to do, but then I thought “Why the fuck bother?” It’s meaningless now.Up until last night I was good. I suppose there was some part of me that was hoping for some play. I really am starting to go stir crazy from this lack of sensation. This nothingness grinds down on me until I feel so compacted that it’s difficult to breathe or think. If only I was strong enough to do it to myself. If I could hurt myself and make some sort of a chink in this void, I’d be ok.

What I find startling though is how he has not said one word to me about my mood or behaviour. I would much prefer some anger or some reaction than this ‘don’t give a fuck’ thing that he does. I suppose he thinks that leaving me be and letting me work through this myself is the best thing…in this case I think it’s very,very wrong. The way I am feeling now could have me waiting for a flight at the airport before he’d even know I was gone.

I’ve been scanning through job interviews and thinking things through. It’s all workable. I can be out of here without too much fuss. Gym membership is finishing, rental contract is nearly over (well, I never ended up signing the extension anyway!) I have some money and it should all be good. Smooth as silk.

God I just wish I could find someone who would take care of me. Just so I don’t have to be so strong all the time. I’m not asking for much- or so I thought- really, it’s the ideal situation. Girl who is willing and who will try to do anything, in exchange for some ownership and care. Won’t someone who will use but not abuse me, take up my leash? I”m wandering into traffic and it’s only a matter or time.


On a side note, having the Japanese groups at work was nice. It was very comforting to fall back into those patterns of communication and to know what to expect.Familar reactions, sounds, ways of interacting. Japanese can be so predictable and I used to find it tedious. But now after so long of not knowing what the fuck anyone will do at any given moment, it was….nice.