Learning for life

I’ve learned that you can keep going long after you can’t.

I’ve learned that you can do something in an instant that will give you heartache for life.

I’ve learned that we are responsible for what we do, no matter how we feel.

I’ve learned that sometimes when I’m angry I have the right to be angry, but that doesn’t give me the right to be cruel.

I’ve learned that just because someone doesn’t love you the way you want them to doesn’t mean they don’t love you with all they have.

I’ve learned that just because two people argue, it doesn’t mean they don’t love each other And just because they don’t argue, it doesn’t mean they do love each other.

I’ve learned that maturity has more to do with what types of experiences you’ve had and what you’ve learned from them, and less to do with how many years you have lived.

I’ve learned that no matter how bad your heart is broken the world doesn’t stop for your grief.

I’ve learned that our background and circumstances may have influenced who we are, but we are responsible for who we become.

I’ve learned that two people can look at the same thing and see something totally different.

I’ve learned that you should always leave loved ones with loving words. It may be the last time you see them.

I’ve learned that the people you care about most in life are sometimes taken from you too soon.

I’ve learned that it isn’t always enough to be forgiven by others. Sometimes you have to learn to forgive yourself.

I’ve learned that it’s taking me a long time to become the person I want to be.

Tapping away to the beat of my biorhythms

I have had the most startling moment of clarity…it all makes sense now! The answer to the question of the universe is not 42, it’s actually biorhythms!

Now I know why I get absolutely feral every 28 days, why I feel so unmotivated every other day and invincible on others. It’s all in these little lines that map out the highs and lows of my life. And in case you were wondering, yesterday was one of my worst possible emotional days. I now officially have an excuse to feel like crap and bitch and moan…lol. Yayyyyyyy!!

It’s not been one of my better weekends. Master has been very good about it. I don’t think I’d be so patient if our roles were reversed. He has hugged and kissed me and now knows what ‘spooning’ is (these grumpy old men not knowing the ways of the young ‘uns..sheesh!)

One thing that I have noticed about myself is that I’m a lot more emotional and a lot more intolerant these days. I used to be able to sniff things off and charge right on through, but something inside me seems to have snapped. I don’t know if this means that I’m a lot more dependent, or just simply a lot more connected to my emotions.

I was thinking about why things are starting to hit me now. I know I’m pretty dense and it takes a while for some concepts to sink in, re:“You’re my slave and saying to me, “What do I look like? Your fucking fetch and carry wench?” is not going to ingratiate your arse with my crop.”

Perhaps my walls are starting to come down. I feel very vulnerable and very soft and the security of my cage is looking more inviting by the second.

I’m a hard nut to crack, but I’m a gooey mess on the inside. Putting so much trust in this man not to harm me is hard-being burned again will destroy me. It’s hard to trust him to look after me, to look after my interests. I look after myself very well and it’s hard to accept that someone else can do that job.

You have no past. There is nothing in your life except your collar and what it represents. You are mine. My pleasure is what you focus on. There is nothing else.”

If only his words could magically make it all disappear…

Ups and downs and downs and downs…

Although some (not pointing a finger at all in the direction of the one holding the end of my leash..) suggest that my journal is a collection of girlie bitchings and moanings, I do try to keep it positive. I know how depressing it is to open a blog and see yet another out-pouring of angst and anguish, a collection of ‘woe-be-me’s’ which I’m not really sure are very therapeutic for either the writer or the reader. So, in keeping with that line of thinking, I try and fill my journal with the juice, the meat, the anecdotes which make everyone who reads adjust their tackle, spit in the dirt and get together a lynch mob to give that ‘son-of-a-bitch owner of hers a taste of his own education.’

But on this occasion I just need to have a bit of a bitch and moan. So for those of you who cannot stomach another wave of grief and indignation, you might find this funny.

And for those of you who are still with me, ok…let’s do it…

I’ve been in another one of those lovely feral moods. I really must go and map my bio-rhythms because I can’t take another one of these mood swings without laying in suitable stocks of chocolate, pringles and diet coke (a girl’s gotta be a bit healthy somewhere…lol)

I got an e-mail from my ex-hubby the other day.He hadn’t responded to a previous e-mail that I had sent and I thought that he wasn’t going to respond to this one at all…but he did. It’s his birthday tomorrow and I’d sent him a card. He was commenting on how he was turning 36 and was thinking about his life up until that point and had a lot of things that he regretted. I immediately thought that spending ten years of his life with me was probably one of his major regrets. Although he didn’t say it, I could hear what he was thinking as he wrote that from all the way down here in the southern hemisphere.

It makes me cry everytime I have anything to do with him-e-mails, talking about him, birthdays, anniversaries of things that should no longer be celebrated. His words just ache of loneliness and regret and he sounds just so lost and upset. He’s not over me by a long shot.

Something else that came up in my, shall we call it ‘panic grenade’ (*makes mental note to throw next grenade after removing the pin) was whether I still loved my ex-hubby or not. Master asked me if I did, which I responded to something along the lines of, “Of course!” Master then suggested that if was still in love with him I should try to make amends and ask him if he would take me back, because otherwise I would be living with ‘what-ifs’ that could fuck me up in a big way.

Now, I do love him as a person-he is a wonderfully, kind man. And I am still probably in love with the stability of life with him that I experienced. But he just didn’t do it for me in the sense that I’m a slave and I need to be dominated. To all intents and purposes, I did most of the dominating in our relationship and I was still tying myself up and playing out my little bdsm fantasies inside my head for most of the time we were together. But on the surface we were the most  ‘in-love’ vanilla couple ever to hit the planet and it used to amuse me that his dad and stepmom used to discuss looking after the family grave and other sticky stuff with us because they just knew that we were going to be ‘together forever’….

Last year it didn’t really bother me much at all. I suppose I was so removed from anything Japanese etc. that brought back memories. Living in the middle of no-where, being busy all the time and worrying so much about how my expected bdsm life was not coming to fruition kind of gave me a big buffer. My ex-hubby was not really ever brought up in conversation and I didn’t go out of my way to talk about him. But now things are very different and my re-connection with Japan has been a bit of a demon in disguise.

I lay there sometimes trying to imagine what he’d be thinking about me now or even trying to imagine him tying me up, locking me in a cage or beating me. It just wouldn’t happen. He just can’t make the transition into my bdsm world and that’s why I had to go.

He’s a pretty big demon in my closet and I have a really solid cry about it every now and then. I work through it a bit more. I know it’s not something that I’m going to get over in an instant-don’t they say it’s something like a thirdof the time you were together to get over someone?

But the reality of it is that I gave up something very good, for something much better.

The right to no choice

It’s a fundamental thing and something that we learn when we’re still in the womb “Am I going to give this cervix a right ol’ thumpin’ just cause I feel like it? Or am I going to abstain ’cause the one on the other end of this umbilical cord is sleeping? Nah…fuck it…THUMP!”

Thus we exercise choice.

After so many years of honing our abilities to make choices, it’s natural to understand how hard it is to give up our right to make those choices. We have the power and importance of choice spoon-fed into us from a very early age and it’s a hard habit to break.

“Take off your robe and display yourself”

Now if I had a choice I might be tempted to tell the domly one in question that there is more chance of my nipples enjoying one of his nice hard and often blood-inducing squeezy twiddley wrenches than there is of me stripping off simply because he told me to.

But being the good little slavegirl that I am, I immediately strip off and stand there while he checks over his property.

“Spread your legs wider so I can see My rings.”

Once again if I was a free woman and had choices I could possibly feel the urge to tell the domly one in question that the rings are visible whether my legs are open or not ’cause they are so fucking large!

But being the not-so-perfect-but-always-trying-hard little slavegirl that I am, I spread my legs in the quintessence of slut.

Hang on…thinking this through I have had one choice-Master has given me choice over when to complete my markings. It’s not a choice about whether I have them done or not, it’s just a sooner or later sort of thing. I have days when I think that it’s going to take me months to work myself up to it and days when I’d just like to say, “Take me now and let’s get those suckers over and done with.” It really is hanging over my head. I know that he desperately wants me to be completed and every second that goes by when I’m not as he envisions me to be, I feel is wasted.

My ‘journey into animal’ is still in the savannas- the grassy grazing lands where any danger can be spotted a mile away. It’s a slow journey now with most of the week taken up by work and my extra-curricular ‘keeping-the-slave girl-in-a-semi-decent-shape’ activities. I did enjoy my time at home before, being at the beck and call of the Masterful one. There was very little to distract me and in some ways I guess that is why I started to feel very over-whelmed near the end. I think it was a bit too intense. The fact that I am still the slave that I always was hasn’t changed and I am always conscious of the fact that I am ‘off-limits’, ‘taken’, and ‘belong to Master’. It’s a feeling of being special. Special enough to have been given a value in the eyes of my Owner.

Patience, my child

Some people describe me as a patient person and I suppose to a certain degree I need to be because of my current profession. I teach ESL and it can be quite challenging to teach someone English in English when they’re still at the level of, ‘This is not a book. This is a pen.’ I can be exceptionally patient when I’m in that ‘teaching mode’ but at any other time I’m an impatient hussy who needs what she wants, when she wants it and that ‘when’ is usually now.

I go through the comments that Master writes in response to my journal entries and there is one quality about them all-patience. Over and over again he tells me stuff that I’ve been told a million times before but that seems to evaporate from my mind whenever there is some activity going on up there.

I think that I think too much. Cogito ergo sum I think therefore I am, doesn’t seem to work for me ( I just had to go back and correct my spelling because I’d written cum there instead of sum…a Freudian slip???) my philosophical adage would seem to be Don’t think, it’s much fucking safer.

We came home from work together today as we usually do from Monday to Friday (It’s a prime 30mins of volkswagon bug and valiant ute spotting time) and I was getting ready to go to gym. I’d changed and was wolfing down a snack when Master decided that I had some ‘slavey’ time available before I needed to get going:

“Take off your clothes.”
“After I’ve just gotten dressed?”

I so regretted those words as soon as they’d left my mouth. He grabbed me by the collar and started yanking me towards the bedroom-his little ‘education chamber’.

‘Get up on the bed. …What are you?’
‘Your slave.’
‘Why are you here?’
‘My smart-ass comment.’
‘Very good.’

My tights and pants were pulled down and I started regretting my snappy comment even more.Surprisingly, there were a few swats but I got off very lightly. He was either feeling benevolent or didn’t want to encroach on his relaxation time-this girl is betting on the latter.

As he patiently drilled my education back into me, the whole time I was thinking, ‘It was only a question..sheesh!” It wasn’t like I wasn’t going to strip 5 seconds after I’d asked the question-he just didn’t give me a chance! Come to think of it, when education is involved, he seems to have zero tolerance and absolutely zip patience. He’s just looking for any excuse at all to work my ass over…lol


I’ve spent quite a few hours in my cage of late. Curled up with my pillow and doona, I nearly always manage to nod off not long after the door is shut. I sleep a peaceful sleep for a while then I wake up when I need to shift position because some part of my anatomy has refused to cooperate and fallen into a deeper sleep than the rest of me i.e no longer has blood circulating through it. I can’t quite put my finger on what I like about it-something about feeling protected and safe-but I do know that I love looking at Master through the bars. I like him to see me in there. I like to feel that he is watching me. I like it when he looks down at me from above, knowing that he really could lock me in and there wouldn’t be a thing in hell I could do about it.

It’s the thrill of a ‘safe ride’. I know that he won’t do anything to harm me. I know that he will control himself not to do anything that would push me over the edge. He is really pretty good actually- at restraining himself that is. There are occasions when I’m just in the right mood, in the right frame of mind and aroused enough where I really do feel like a good solid beating (just so I can have a bit of a release and a bit of a buffer  because somewhere inside I know that if he gives me a good doing over, I won’t have to have another one for a while…lol) but at any other time it’s a bit of a trial by fire.

I’ve been thinking some more about the panic attack I had. One of the things that had ‘pushed me over’ into my NCZ (non-comfort zone or as it’s more colloquially known, the No-fucking-way-are-you-messing-with-my-Cunt-anymore-jose Zone) was the issue of me being used by others. Yes, I do have a fantasy of being used as little more than a hole for whoever happens to come my way and sees me available for use-preferably with me tied to something and quite possibly blindfolded- but my fantasies don’t involve me being hurt. I know Master, I trust him, I know how he acts and thinks (to a very limited degree I might add though…lol) but someone else could hurt me either physically or emotionally.

Now, I know that Master intends to choose these people carefully and that he would keep me safe to the best of his ability, but there is still a fear-a fear of the unknown, of an ‘unsafe ride’. Things happen but I suppose that that is just a risk you have to take. Like anything else in this lifestyle, or life for that matter, you’ve got to laugh a little, cry a little, until the clouds roll by a little…


Master has a new addition to his toy box-a wicked-looking horse crop with a plaited leather shaft and a snappy little tongue. It’s a bit like a cane really because the tongue is so small and the shaft impacts on the bum before anything else does. I tried it out on my hand on the way home and already I was having bad thoughts about it.

The bruise on my left hip from a particularly intense cropping session the other night is just in a spot where I feel it when I lay down and where the waist bands of all my clothes sit. I wonder if that was positioned on purpose… just so I wouldn’t forget. The cropping/education session started when I snuck a look at the tv to check how much the yen exchage rate was these days. Apparently I shouldn’t have been looking at anything other than my Master and Owner:

“Right, that’s it! Crawl to my bed and present your bum.”

After a few minutes of particularly harsh strokes with Mr. Crop I was a bawling, snotty mess. It wasn’t his usual spreading of the strokes over my bum, it was a thump, thump, thump all in that same tender spot. I wasn’t in a particularly pain-tolerant state to begin with and it didn’t take long for me to crumble.

The other night when we went to the dungeon I watched one of the Dommely ones flog her subbie on the St. Andrews cross. She’d flog him a bit then rub her hands over his back then flog him some more then rub. She used 3 or 4 different floggers and while the sounds were impressive, I know from experience that it’s not particularly painful. After 20 minutes his back was a bit red and she took him down and did some major aftercare-tying him in a hogtie, covering him with a blanket and crooning to him for the next 20mins or so. This guy didn’t even have a welt, let alone something that would be bruise-inducing and yet he was floating off in subspace.

While it looked nice and loving and I thought, ‘Shit, no-one’s ever rubbed my bum before, except to put cream on broken skin’,  I couldn’t help thinking that it looked wussie. I’ve always found anything on the back to be more bearable than anything on the bum/thighs/soles of feet.  I could stand a bull whipping on my back, but I wouldn’t be so sure about one on my bum.

I’m always a bit envious of anyone in subspace-I’ve never been there. It seems to be a great place where the domly ones can go medieval on your ass and you don’t really feel a thing. I always have the fortune/misfortune to feel every single little bit of whatever Master chooses to inflict upon me.

I don’t like pain. 
Because it hurts.
But you must if you’re in that sort of relationship!
Yeah, I wish I did! Lol…

This sort of conversation gets played out everytime someone discovers what I’m in to.Lol.

It must be hard to be a domly one. Subbies bitch and moan when they don’t get what they want and bitch and moan some more when they do get it. I feel sick to the stomach and want to cry when I know something painful is on the menu. There’s a dread of the pain that seeps deep into my bones and festers there. But I feel cheated if I don’t get what I thought was forthcoming.

My remaining four piercings in my outer labia to complete my pussy jewellery are another contentious issue. I just can’t convey how miserable my present piercings make me feel sometimes and I’m mourning the loss of free and easy movement like nothing else. Having been through that and to be still going through it, it is going to take a mammoth emotional effort to go through with the remaining ones. I was thinking this morning that some nice deep fingering and twiddling of my clit would be great just before the needles go in. Just a bit of pleasure before the pain to get a girl through.

Recent words of an emerging sadist:

“I like it when you cry.”

That one statement chilled me to the bone.

I wish I was a pirate girl with flowers in my hair

Arrrrrr…..me mateys.

I be the wench of the boat and the capt’n be a hard man, none too afraid of pegging and flogging the wench for his amusement. Pirate Jacque is his accomplice in crime, licking the wench with his cold poodle tongue when her arms are tied and she be helpless. Pirate Jacque also keeps a firm eye on things when the capt’n is having his relaxation time. He meets me wenchful eyes and has a quick lick or a sniff of me bum. Torturous he is and a good friend of the capt’n.

Now the capt’n made his wench dance last night. Wrigglin’ and jumpin’ about the bed was I, and wantin’ to cry out, “Have mercy Capt’n!” The cruel capt’n was croppin’ the soles of me feet and lordy! if that didn’t hurt. I’ll be lucky if I can walk on the morrow.

This evening he filled me stomach with some other worldly food-little bits of rice and fish that be zippin’ by on plates of magical colours:

“That be a $4.20 plate ye wench. And put some more of that fiery green paste on it and be quick about it or I’ll keelhaul ye!”

The capt’n also likes to cage his wench. He strips off her wench rags and boots her legs so she can not run away. Curled up in the cage I be whiling away the hours and listenin’ as the capt’n threatens to ship me off to some foreign world:

“Arrr ye wench. Once I’ve had me way with ye, I’ll 4WD ye up a northern beach on Saturday.”

Awful hard and heartless he be-croppin’ me feet until I cried. Collared and marked he knows his wench cannot jump ship and he delights in usin’ her in cruel and unusual ways. He says:

“I not be a sadist.”

I think he be playin’ with me mind again…either that or he be doin’ a bloody damn good impression of one!

Lost in space

I think I may have given the wrong impression with my last post.

Somewhere in between corsets and mickey dee’s, I may have said things that would cause most readers to think that that I was being critical of Master-that I wasn’t happy about his decision not to display me at the dungeon party. On the contrary, it made me very happy that he cared and thought that I deserved better.

What constantly floors me about him is not the fact that he is bizarro (well, he is sometimes…especially when mars bars or valiant utes are involved), it’s the fact that he truly cares deeply for me.

He calls me slag, slut, whore, bitch and, depending on how stupid I’ve been, ‘you fucking moron’ and it’s really so sweet. He picks me up from the gym because he doesn’t want me walking around at night, indulges me with food and shopping expeditions and is generally an exceptionally nice guy, which makes me think the world of him.

There’s still a part of me that expects or is resigned to the fact that I should be treated like shit, or ignored or just used like a piece of meat. It used to worry me a lot and still causes me a bit of concern about just how nice he is to me, because I am just a slave-something that can be bought and sold, given away, used in any way and at any time.

I love being indulged and being treated like a lady. I love that he shows me such respect and kindness. But it still shocks me. I still do a double take every now and then and I have to remind myself how lucky I am. That’s something I hope that I never become blase about-how good he is to me. Because I know I need to be even more appreciative than the average jane doe girlie. I don’t have rights, I don’t own anything. What I have is what he’s given me and he gives me so much.

Thank you, Master. I can’t say enough how you make me smile (^v^)

Dungeons and the dragon

Last Saturday I got dressed in my gothic corset and lace-up pvc skirt, Master clipped on my leash and off we went to a dungeon.

I’ve really lived a fairly secluded bdsm existence and it’s only been these last couple of months that I’ve actually been able to meet with people and put some faces to the screen names I chat with. Naturally, I’d never been to a dungeon before and I’d never seen anyone playing either.

Master lead me into the super-sized tin shed/dungeon and when I saw the guy getting naked in front of the St. Andrews cross, I knew I wasn’t in Kansas anymore.

It really was a surreal space. In between scoffing slices of pizza and lemon meringue, people were being flogged, spanked, stretched out on the rack and there was even an attempt at a record of attaching 300 pegs to the body of an unsuspecting subby girl. The guy in the diapers had a very cute teddy bear and the other guy in a red dress and high heels had a lovely sparkly handbag. In my corset and skirt, I was feeling slightly underdressed…lol.

Master had been abstaining from cropping my ass for a week to let it heal up for ‘display purposes’ so I was expecting some pretty serious thwackety thwack action on my normally abused cheeks. I got the dungeon tour, positioned myself on some of the apparatus, watched the other domly ones do nasty things to their subs, got McDonalds and then came home.

Now there seems to be something very wrong with this story….I was in a dungeon and nothing happened to me? I was wearing a one-touch zip up corset and a quick lacing skirt with no underwear and I wasn’t exposed in the slightest?
I’d gotten myself worked up during the whole week about my ‘display’ and what was going to happen to my ass, and yet there I was munching on fries bought from drive thru and wondering what the hell happened.

I didn’t say anything to Master about it. Afterall, it is up to him whether I get used and in what way, but he must have picked up on my vibes of disappointment:

“I didn’t use you or display you because I didn’t think your audience was good enough- they weren’t worthy of seeing you. You’re very special and I think your first public experience should be equally as special.”

Sometimes he just really floors me. Everytime I think I’ve managed to fit another piece into the puzzle and have managed to work him out a bit more, I end up looking skyward with my hands in the air saying “What fucking part of the galaxy is he from?”

It’s life Jim, but not as we know it…

Letting the cat out of the bag

Please don’t do this yourself, don’t you have aspirations? Don’t you want to live a fullfilling life? To travel, taste all sorts of different foods, dressed as you wish, go to whereever you wish and simply, enjoy being your own master? Is this really what you want to be? Do you really want to give up free will?

Hmmmm….I just can’t help responding to this comment made about my last post.

Let’s see. I’ve lived in Japan for ten years, been married and divorced, visited almost all countries in South East Asia, eaten the most amazing variety of foods from raw horse to blowfish and chicken’s feet, I’m intending to do post-graduate studies at university next year after doing my four-year undergraduate degree in Japan, I speak and write Japanese fluently, I have a job, my own financial resources and after a little discussion with Master can basically go where I want, when I want. Master wants me to be happy, is encouraging me to get more education and doesn’t restrict my growth in any way shape or form.

Doesn’t really sound like I’m a slave at all does it? Lol…

I did the ‘being my own master’ thing for quite a while and found it exceptionally unfulfilling. I was married to a man who loved me, had my own apartment and career, was financially well-off and lead a completely vanilla life for a long time….but I wasn’t happy.

Funny that 🙂

So hard it hurts

One thing I said to Master during my recent panic attack was that I thought being pushed was good. In an ideal world I would submit without hesitation and offer my bum up for whatever pleasure Master had in mind. In reality, it often takes all my willpower just to stay in position. I generally count down the strokes and try to guess when he’s going to stop, anticipating a slowing down of the crop in multiples of ten…something along the lines of, “Oh, jesus…he’s gone past 30…oh, fuck..he’s gone past 50….holy fuck when is he going to stop????”

I’m the sort of person who needs a challenge (as long as I can do it and win that is….lol.) Given the choice, I’ll be a slack-ass bitch who has to endure no pain greater than a broken fingernail, but if I am presented with a challenge, I become a woman on a mission. A big part of my reason for becoming a slave is that I wanted to be looked after. It’s not because I can’t look after myself, I can and I know I can. It’s simply because I need the back up, the support, the push to keep on going.I don’t mean ‘look after’ in the sense that I need to be molly-coddled (although that is nice on occasion!) or financally supported, it simply means that I just need someone to watch over me, to keep me safe and secure. Master gives me that anchor and showers me with affection in between ploughing my ass with Mr. Purple and colouring it in several shades of the rainbow.

It’s hard to submit, to give up your choices and your freedoms. I asked for my collar back knowing full well that I really was going to be made to do things that scared the crap out of me and that made having a labotomy seem easy. Thinking about it afterwards I realised just how big a mindfuck I’d given myself- I’d gone from completely removing fear, the reason I’d wanted the collar removed in the first place, from my life to putting it back in and concreting it in place. I’d sealed my fate and placed the padlock on my cage with my own hand. How bizarro.

I had brazillian wax number two since having my pussy tampered with today. The girl had this hungry look on her face when I told her I had piercings and then the questions started:

” Is it asex thing?”
“Sort of.”
“If you’ve had this done then your partner must have had something done too.”
“You mean you’re the only one? Don’t you think that’s a bit unfair?”
“How much do you know about bdsm?”
“Ahhh…so is your partner sometimes the slave?”
“Do you get paid for it?”
“So what do you do? Are you a stripper or something?”
“So people actually do that stuff? Wow…I’ve read about it in magazines, but I’ve never met anyone who actually does it.”
“Well, there are.”
“Actually I’m into kinky stuff too…my boyfriend and I bought this swing that hooks into the ceiling. It’s great for the guys that don’t have rhythm and he doesn’t, so it’s really cool.”

And so on and so forth. See how hard my life is?!?!?


I’ve been well and truly sucked dry. Wrung through an emotional wringer that I thought was going to squeeze the life out of me and it very nearly did.

It was a normal weekend, spent zipping around the markets in town and doing some decluttering around the house. Sunday afternoon came and I wrote that previous journal entry and things were rosy. Now, I will admit that during sunday’s usage session I had been less than a willing participant. I was tired, had aching arms and an ulcer was forming on the inside of my lip from a little too much cock worship (If I remember correctly, Saturday involved 4 or 5 relaxation sessions!). I go through times when I am physicially at less than my peak and it makes me feel miserable. I suppose it’s a lingering feeling whereby I want to do stuff when I want to do it and when I’m feeling good.I find it hard to focus on Master’s pleasure when my discomfort is the only thing I can think about (and I know that it’s not very slavey of me at all…lol)

Master made a comment to my last post and he asked me what I thought. I said that I liked it, but that I didn’t think it addressed some of the issues I was raising. A short time later a bomb exploded in my world and everything I had built up, had been nuked.

I cant remember exactly what I said, something along the lines of that I wasn’t a slave, I missed Japan terribly, I needed balance in my life, there were things that I just couldn’t submit to and that I didn’t trust Master because I felt like he was ‘crying wolf’ all the time. I was a sobbing, hysterical mess. He listened to it all, hugged me for while, told me that I was a slave and that I ‘would do those things’ because I was a slave and had no choice.

Everything inside of me had just frozen. I’d seized up and a thought pattern of “I just can’t do this. I’m not a slave.” was circling through my brain. It would not have mattered what he had said to me at that point or what he did to soothe me and calm me down, my mind was stuck in that loop and wouldn’t budge. “I’m not a slave. I can’t do it.” I chanted my mantra again and again and I felt so inadequate-nothing more than a big, fat failure

So Master did the only thing he could do at the time that he thought would make me happy, he went and got the allen key to unlock the hinge on my collar and took it off. Master later explained to me that if I wasn’t a slave, I shouldn’t be treated as one and that a permanent collar is inapproriate.

I was absolutely stunned. He’d said to me that he would never take my collar off, that he would never release me because he knew how cruel it would be to set me free and how much I had been hurt by my previous ‘de-collaring’ episode with my former owner. But here it was happening again, the one thing in this world I was fearing most. I’d always assumed that it would be me who asked to have my collar removed, that if I had a real problem with my slavery there would be some discussion and thinking time and I would be the one to ask to have it removed.

I suppose Master thought that I was having a ‘real’ problem.

I’ve had panic attacks before. I had a couple before I left to come here and one of them had me in such a mess that I was almost unpacking my bags and ready to call the whole thing off. I don’t know what sets me off, but it seems to be when I’m just nudged slightly too far out of my comfort zone. I like to think of them as my allergic reactions to the unknown. When I’m like that I’m just completely over-whelmed and so very,very scared.

We spent the whole night and most of the next day being chillingly cold to each other. Master had emotionally closed up shop and I was so terribly empty and lost. I went to my first day back to work with my eyes puffed up like meringues from too much crying. I had fucked up things in a major way. By the next day, I’d realised what had happened-I knew I had over-reacted and that being unowned and un-collared was much worse than any ‘discomfort’ I had been experiencing. 

I was home early that day and even though we had now decided that Monday to Friday would be my new ‘submissive’ down-time and that I would only wear a collar in play sessions on the weekends, I got dressed for Master as I usually would- slut make-up, default slave outfit, Mr. Purple up my bum-and knelt waiting for him at the doorway. It was my way of saying sorry, of offering myself back to him. We had been chatting that afternoon and I’d tried to explain what had happened, but my mea culpa didn’t seem to be getting through, so I knew that this was the only thing I could do to try and make amends.

My heart was absolutely pounding as I heard him pull up. What was his reaction going to be? Was he going to tell me to stop being fucking stupid and get up off the floor? 

He walked through the door, saw me kneeling there and said, “Aren’t you supposed to be in down-time?” It was a harsh reaction but justified- I’d fucked him around and messed with his mind as much as anyone. He left me there on the floor for several agonizing minutes then disappeared and came back to stand in front ofme. Throwing my collar down on the ground in front of me he said:

“You know what that collar means. If you choose to put it back on, it means no limits, no choices, nothing. Do you choose to wear my collar again?”

I picked it up and ran my fingers lovingly over the metal. I looked at it in my hands and thought about how much I hated it and loved it at the same time. I’d said to Master yesterday that I’d loved my collar because it made me into a slave, but I’d also hated it because it reminded me that I wasn’t a slave. With that collar in my hands I thought no, I wasn’t that unattainable slave image that I had created in my mind, but I was the best slave that I could be. Instead of clawing my way up onto that pedastal, in that moment I decided to smash that pedastal right out from under its feet.

“Yes, Master I choose to wear your collar.”

Everything is right with the world once more.

Not in any particular order

This is a list of non-livejournal blogs that I frequently stop by. All livejournal blogs are in my friends list.

Alpha slave
slut on display
A view from the floor
Atlanta Bondage 
A Bad Man in a Bad Place
If the Collar Fits
Kinkerbelle – masochistically delicious 
Looking Glass 
magdala’s submission 
The Heron Clan 
The journey 
Twice As Bright 
Welcome to the Mad House 
trinity pup
Echoes of a heart
Kitten’s Pawprints in Slavery
Life of a Master
Letters from the seraglio

A Mars a day, helps you work, rest and play

“Rather than, say, “clench up” physically or psychologically or emotionally to try to just get through this you might try to approach the experience in a way that could be described with words like openness and surrender. Again, no need to make this a pass/fail exam. Just maybe try out this way of approaching things to see what it might offer you.

This moment between you two will be at least as real and potentially meaningful and valuable as any other. Be present for it in the richest way you can. Feel it. Feel the way it starts and the way it proceeds. Feel the depth of it and the way it might seem as though it won’t end. Feel yourself approach what seems to be the limit of your endurance, if this happens, and feel yourself transcend that imagined limitation if that should happen as well. And be sure to notice how good it feels when it stops!

Are you able to feel genuine gratitude before, during, and after? I’m not saying that you need to, or that you should even want to. Is that something you or he want you to aspire to? “

Keeping on my current theme, I saw this response posted on Collarme about how to approach a punishment. Wouldn’t it be good if you could embrace the pain and to feel thankful about being beaten?I’ll be danged if I can ’embrace’ or ‘feel’ it. I don’t wanna feel it- it goddamn hurts!

I often get to a point these days that Master calls ‘passive resistance’. It’s a point where I really stop giving a fuck about anything because I know that worrying about it, fearing it or even thinking about what is coming ain’t going to make a shred of difference. I really do get kind of emotionally numb. I just switch off. It’s probably not the best head-space to be in for a submissive because it’s a place where I find it hard not to make catty comments and the longer I’m in that place, the more I start thinking about whether I can keep doing this day in day out. It’s also a place where I feel that ability to free myself slip back within my reach.

I’m not even sure what turns me on anymore. I’ve lost that active feeling I had to fuck and be fucked. I’ve never had a great mental response to physical stimulation of any kind-I can watch porn or read a kinky story and have an overwhelming need to release, but I don’t generally get all hot and mentally turned on by anything anyone has done to me. The interesting thing is that my brain may be thinking ‘ho-hum’ but my cunt will be soaking wet. My little field of dreams seems to be disjointed from my conscious brain, but like Kevin Costner, if you crop it, it will cum.

These days I never know what’s going to happen from one minute to the next-whether I’m going to be cropped or whether a frozen Mars bar is going to be inserted in my pussy (and it was!!!) so I find it hard to look forward to anything. I mentioned before about how I needed to sift through what Master says to me to discover what he is being serious about and what he isn’t and now I don’t sift anymore-I just don’t believe a thing he says…lol. That’s gotten me in more trouble than I think I’d like to count.

I mentioned to him the other day that in many respects I have been ‘holding back’, just in case the bubble burst. I suppose I use ‘holding back’ in the sense that I can’t give my all to my slavery. There’s still a wall there and its solidity changes with my frame of mind. Some days it is flimsy, just a veneer of a partition, other days it is made from the strongest stone, strong and thick.  Like anyone, I change from day to day and my feelings ebb and flow. There are days I can’t bear to be separated from Master and other days I’d like to be alone. It’s all part and parcel of being human I guess, and it wouldn’t make such a difference if I wasn’t a slave. 

‘If I wasn’t a slave..’ what an interesting concept.

Crime and punishment

Master has bought a cage for me. A secure place to keep his animal. As it is now, he snaps his fingers, directs with commands like, “Down” ,”Stay”and “Heel” and leads me, his little slut puppy, around on a leash. The cage is another part of his plan to stomp out any notion of freedom that I may have.

I went to a job interview yesterday with my collar on. Not that there was any conscious choice about it on my side of things-the sucker ain’t coming off-but I thought about it afterwards. It’s not the first job interview that I’ve been to with a collar on, but it was my first one in a ‘respectable’ position…lol. Moi? Respectable? Never! I had a discussion a while back with another friend in the teaching profession who assured me that there are loads of kinky folk involved in the industry. He said that it was something about intelligence. Now, I’m not sure whether I agree or not, but there does seem to be a high ratio of professional people involved in the scene. Does it mean that those subbies with high IQs are too smart for their own good?

Master and I were talking last night about how I am as I am and can be no other way-that I was wired this way and want /need to be interacted with in a certain way. He asked me when my earliest memory of wanting to be used and abused by boys was. It was actually a very hard question to answer. I’ve had fantasies about and enjoyed anything to do with confinement since I was probably about ten or so. I can’t remember the first time I tied myself up or what made me do it, but I know that I’ve always enjoyed any story or movie involving kidnapping/ corporal punishment/imprisonment: Crime and Punishment, The Man in the Iron Mask, Flowers in the Attic were classics. Les Miserables with Jean’s number branded into his chest was yummy and movies like Fortress were only saved by the delectable Christopher Lambert and the whole ‘you’re-never-gonna-get-out-of-here’ imprisonment angle.

The sexual side of things is more difficult to explain. I suppose it grew as an extension of my bondage fantasies-not only did I want to be tied up, but I wanted to be fucked as well…lol. If you look a bit deeper, it’s just an extension of my want to give up control. I like to lose the physical freedom and lose the control over my body. I just love it when I’m sitting there and he gropes or fingers me. I enjoy the sudden sensation as he plunges deep inside and fiddles with what’s his.

Master’s meet and greet session yesterday started out badly. I’m still not in a very pain-tolerant state (am I ever? lol) and he was just letting fly with that crop of his. It’s become all ragged and tatty from the extensive use it’s getting. I really wish I was a lot more tolerant of pain and found it enjoyable. I wish I could zone out and he could go to town on my ass and I’d feel nothing but a light swatting. As it is, it’s a huge effort to control my wussiness. Mr. Purple madean appearance yesterday and after a few of those bitey thwacks, I lost grip on him. Without thinking, I put my hand out to put him back in:

DON’T YOU DARE (thwack)  COVER (thwack) YOUR (thwack) BUM (thwack, thwack). YOU WILL NEVER (thwack) DO THAT (thwack) AGAIN (thwack). DO (thwack) YOU (thwack) UNDERSTAND (thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack, thwack)? Now, get up on the bed!”

Sniffling and crying I climbed onto the bed. I won’t be trying that again in a hurry.

Master said I’m not very service-orientated and that’s true. I don’t get off on scrubbing floors with toothbrushes or polishing silver ’til it gleams. Many a time I have to bite back a,  ‘Are your legs part of another dimension?’ when I’m told to fetch something. I’m selfish in the sense that I like to get used in certain ways, but not in others..but does that make me a (*batting her eyelids innocently) bad girl?

Animal instincts

It was the long weekend and while we had some plans in the making, I woke up with a urinary tract infection from hell and wasn’t going anywhere. I felt nauseous, sore and so very tired. The whole thing was quite scary-hearing about how painful and uncomfortable they are is one thing, but actually peeing blood and cramping up is another.

It raised an interesting issue about ‘down time’. Slaves are supposed to be ready and willing 24/7, so what happens when they can’t perform? In my little slave fantasy, she’s still doing cock worship with her legs in plaster casts, but we know that ain’t really going to happen.

Master seemed intent on insuring that I had as little down time as possible. This fed my fantasy, but it wasn’t helping things on the physical side. He took me out for ice-cream, but that delight was largely tempered by his deafening spotting of our first-ever valiant ute on the way home:


I’d made a false spotting of a volkswagon bug earlier on, he’d spotted a red bug and then I made a comeback with one real bug spotting.Sixty points came by way of Mr. Crop, hard and fast on my butt. It really makes a girl not want to leave the house in a vehicle anymore.

Something has changed these last few days-it’s as if things have moved up a notch. Things are tighter, harder and I’m quite off balance. Everytime I do something without his permission there is a reprimand.There’s also a lot more force behind his strokes and where I used to not mind Mr.Crop so much, he’s now as ouchie as a light-ish Mr.Strap. I wear a leash most times around the house and he took me out to buy ice-cream wearing it:

(pointing to the leash with a pleading look)
“What? You’re not going inside with it on? (unhooking the leash) Believe me, there will come a day when you do.”

He’d already put me in the car, driven me through town, gone here there and everywhere with it on. I knew most people in passing cars wouldn’t notice, but we passed some groups of people that were staring at me like some strange alien lifeform as if to say, “My God, what is that thing?” We arrived back home and he got out of the car:


I watched him come around to my side of the car, open the door and take my leash:


I was busily scanning the neighbourhood to see if anyone was around and trying to keep up in the boots. Once inside, he promptly administered my valiant and bug points and reminded me again that I was his animal and that I should be treated as such.

To tell you the truth, I love just being  treated like a piece of meat. Collared and leashed, groped and fondled, sucking cock and being made to masturbate on command, it’s like my animal inside is being tamed and tempered. He had me on my leash the other day, crawling here, kneeling there, every command was followed by a sharp swat of Mr. Crop to emphasize just who was in charge.
It was electric.

Please release me…don’t let me go

 I’m a bit challenged on the mind-blowing orgasm side and always have been. Since I was a kiddie, I’ve been curling up on my left side and squeezing and releasing something ‘down there’ until there’s this big build up and then I reach a point and something gives.

I never really knew what I was doing-just that it felt good. I’d crave the feeling like a piece of chocolate, so I’d do my thing, get my fill and go on my merry way. Everything I’d seen or heard about masturbating involved insertion of fingers or dildos or vibrators or playing with your clit, so it didn’t even really dawn on me that that was what I was doing.

Orgasm control seems to be a thing high up on the list of most domly figures. Since some time midway through July, I’ve been on a no ‘personal playtime’ diet. Sometimes it has been so hard not to indulge. I’d think, “Just a little bit wouldn’t hurt, would it?” and before I knew it I’d be on my side. But I can proudly say that I haven’t gone down the path of playing without permission. This is probably due to the fact that Master promised me that if I even touched what is his, I’d rue the day I was born.

My ‘personal playtime’ has now been reborn into ‘release’. I have to do it right there with him watching me. He says “Release” and I drop into position and do it. Once I’m done I have to return straight to him-a lack of promptness is a punishable offence. I can’t lay there and enjoy the afterglow. It’s for his pleasure and not for mine.

I never, ever thought I’d be able to do it with someone watching. Not that it’s visually stimulating or anything, it’s just so can-I-curl-up-and-die-now embarassing. The first time he told me to release, I asked, ‘Why?’ You would think I would know better, but I still sometimes have delusions that I am free. A few hard whacks across my rumps then he grabbed my collar and wrenched me towards him:

“What is this?”
“My collar, Master.”
“Are you free?”
“No, Master”
“Then you’ll do as you’re told, won’t you?”

The other morning I was told to release four times. I don’t think I’d ever done so much in such a short time. Instead of the gentle nourishing rains falling on the desert, we went straight into flood season. It’s strange now, it’s just another command, like ‘kneel’ or ‘down’. I function so much better when there are just commands and actions-when there’s none of that nasty ‘thinking’, ‘pondering’  or ‘questioning’ going on.