If things were different…

If things were different,
I’d be a better slave. 

I’d wear boots and primp and preen. 
I’d kneel at his feet and preempt his slightest need.

“Would you like a coffee, a massage, some relaxation therapy perhaps?”
I’d serve his coffee with a smile, massage with finesse and never, ever get lock-jaw.

If things were different,
I’d be a better slave.

I’d be a morning, night, anytime at all kind of person.
“Wake me whenever you want me Master, I’ll shower you with kisses before heading down south where you like me the best.”

My ass would also be the perfect canvas, for him to pummel, beat and bruise.
“More please Master, work me over deep and hard. Shall I get Mr. Cane, Mr. Crop, Mr. Strap, Master? Or perhaps you’d like all three?”

If things were different,
I’d say, 

“Yes, Master.”

“Thank you, Master.”

“More please, Master.”

Instead what echoes around the house is,

“It’s 5am, you can’t expect me to suck cock!”

“Boots? Fuck, I’ve been standing all day in heels and now you want boots????”

And my personal favourite,

“Are you serious?”

So instead of the ‘better slave’ he’s stuck with me.
Thank god Master is my master or I’d be in serious trouble.

The day

She spent the night in her cage, balled up inside the bars. A chain snakes down through the top of the cage and is attached to her collar. Padlocks on both of the door latches remind her that for the next twenty four hours, she is living completely according to the whims of her Master.

No speaking except when instructed, naked, cuffed.  Her Master will toilet, feed and water her, if and when he wishes and on this day, she will not use her hands or feet. Her hood is going on as soon as her Master wakes, because on this day, she has no priveleges of person, no priviliges of humanity, she is his animal and nothing more.

He comes and lets her out to stretch. She crawls on her leash to do her ablutions then her Master sets a bowl of water on the ground for her to lap up. Be good, he says and I’ll feed you some treats later.

Now hooded and leashed, with hands cuffed to collar she sits at his feet while he has his breakfast. After breakfast, I think we should give you an exercise session, he says.  It is to be one of the many exercise sessions planned for her on this day.

Gag and spreader bar attached, he works over her ass with cane and crop. When the gag goes in, you know it’s going to be bad, don’t you? he asks. She nods and sniffs as the tears start flowing. She’s never been good with pain and the only way she seems to be able to deal with it is with tears. She can’t see them escape the confines of the hood and drip down onto the bed, but he can. The spreading patch of moisture on the sheets stirs him to hit her harder, faster. He knows that her cunt will be wetter the more he hurts her. She can’t control her dripping cunt anymore than she can control her life on this day.

He puts her back in the cage after her first exercise session. Her ass is raw with welts, criss-crossing stripes of red that look so delightful.

In her darkness, she adjusts and tries to take the pressure off her ass. It had been a thorough work-out and she was thankful for the gag. Working her aching jaw, she tries to get comfortable. Now there was just waiting…not knowing when, not knowing how. Maybe he’d feed her through the bars tiny morsels from his fingers, maybe he’d fill her holes with toys or fingers, he might even take her outside and flog her chained to the post. Or perhaps he would do nothing.


That was the only thing she prayed fervently that he wouldn’t do. Use defined what she was, for better or for worse and this was the day of use.Twenty four hours was an instant and an eternity.

Slave to the O Ring

I’ve had quite a few comments over the past two weeks during my prac teaching from inquisitive teenagers about the ‘thing’ I am wearing around my neck. Questions have ranged from, “Isn’t that heavy?” to “How come you wear it all the time?”. It’s quite funny considering that all the comments have come from girls (girlies are always interested in what other girlies are wearing) and considering that not one of the smart-assed boys has piped up with, “Is that a bdsm thing?” as some others, who shall remain nameless, have.

Master was completely uninterested in the idea of taking my collar off for these two weeks and since no mention of the ‘c’ word has been made, it seems like his decision was right. After all, what is more important, making sure that I know it’s not coming off no-matter what, or removing it on the off chance that a comment might be made.

This is what my collar looks like, just in case anyone forgot:

It’s big, thick, heavy, noisy and I’ve worn it 24/7 since August last year. Beach, gym, pool, shower, rain, hail or shine that lump of steel has sat around my throat.

Now, I’ll let you in on a little secret…sometimes it annoys the crap out of me, but at the end of the day, I really love it. I love it when Master attaches his leash to it, I love it when he slips a finger through it and leads me somewhere and I love the security of it. Because try as I might, the damn thing ain’t coming off.

One strong image in my fantasies is being chained up somewhere. Now I don’t mean just being in chains somewhere, I mean physically chained to something. A wall, a bed, a cage, a post…anything really, as long as I am chained to something. For some reason, and I can’t for the life of my figure out why, the idea of being chained to something is so god damn hot, I’m going to need a release session just writing about it.

The O ring on my collar is a perfect leash point and I’m hoping one day, once all the pussy piercing trauma (five months and counting on the latest rings) and the phantom pains go away, that I can be chained up at night. Nothing elaborate, just something that makes me feel slavey-a chain attached to an ankle/wrist cuff or my O ring would do. Just something to let me know that I’m there for a reason and that doesn’t let me forget it even in my dreams.


I think each and every one of us goes into a D/s relationship with some sort of preconception about what will happen and what our ‘new’ lives will be like. Most subbies probably imagine beatings and bondage and I imagine most domly ones imagine service and fuckfests. In this day and age where so many people meet online and discuss in length what will and won’t be before they even come face to face, what happens if what you get is not what you signed up for?

I’ve had quite a few of those ‘hang-on-this-ain’t-what-I-signed-up -for’ moments in both of the D/s relationships I’ve been involved in- some for the better and some for the worse. I mentioned this fact to Master the other night:

“So, you know how when we were chatting on-line and stuff, you said that you weren’t into causing pain?”


“Well, is there like some kind of money-back guarantee for when what you get is not what you paid for? I mean, you said that you weren’t into pain and I thought that would be perfect for me because I’m not really into it. That was a pretty big reason behind why I hauled my ass over here to the other side of the country, you know. And when I get here what do I get? Mr. Crop, Mr. Cane, Mr. Strap, Mr. Flogger, Mr. Paddle….”


“And when we were chatting you also made it seem like you were going to be really strict, like strapping me down to my bed at night and not being allowed to use any furniture and stuff.”

“And your point is?”

“Things are really different to how I thought they would be.”

I’m sure that these ‘differences’ are things that make and break a lot of relationships. In the world of the net and the telephone, “I’m gonnas” are great. They set the heart racing and the mind tumbling over itself. But in the real world, “I’m gonnas” are things that often never eventuate and they create feelings of frustration and rejection in the one who was expecting the promised treasures.

Subbies are excitable creatures. If there is a hint, even just a whiff in the breeze that something is going to be done to them, they grab and snatch and hug close to their breast that tantalizing idea they they will be used. Then they fear and dread the thing to come with half excitement and half terror, all the while creating bigger and more beautiful images of what will be in their mind. 

A crushing truth descends when the reality is less than what was expected and heaven forbid that the promised torture end up being a ‘no -show’. It doesn’t take much for a subbie to put two and two together as only subbies can…”He didn’t do it because he doesn’t really like me.”

Things for me are very, very different to what I expected- Master is a much nicer guy, he feeds me much more than gruel, he cares a lot more about my welfare and by far the biggest difference is his growing attraction to using implements on my ass.

“Here I was expecting some scary dude who was going to feed me gruel off the floor and keep me in chains but not beat me.”

“Well, I only said those things to get you over here, you know.”

He does make me smile.


The last few days have been an absolute shocker. And I have to say that the icing on the cake was today.

I was supposed to have an ultrasound on my pelvis in an attempt to ascertain what my phantom pain is. This involves drinking 1 1/2 litres of water in an hour and holding it for another hour and a half then having the ultrasound which takes about 30mins.  Let me just tell you something, they don’t call it the Chinese water torture for nothing. 

A litre and a half of water and one hour later I was grunting and moaning and tears were streaming down my face. I made it into the car and Master was asking me how my day was and stuff. All I could do was nod. I knew that if I breathed the wrong way, I’d be saying hello to ol’ yella. Fifteen minutes later we were on the way to the doctor’s when I just knew I couldn’t hold it any longer. I needed to go and I needed to go NOW! 

Crouched down next to the kerb on someone’s front lawn as cars raced past, my waters broke. It was the most pathetic sight. I just couldn’t stop crying.

So anyway, without the water in the bladder they can’t do the ultrasound and I can’t get an appointment to try it again for another week.

I suck at teaching, I just got my period, I pissed all over myself and I’ve got something in my abdomen, which could be cancer for all I know,

Things just keep getting better….at least this is my last enforced post….yay!

Oh, and I didn’t mean to put this at the end or anything, but Master has been so good. Thank you (^v^) Sorry I snotted on your hanky….


I’ve written a little bit before about my favourite words and the one that springs to mind at the moment is “yoyuu”. Loosely translated, it means ‘extra space’, i.e. that little bit of breathing room that allows you to pour your heart and soul into something.

You know when you have fingers in too many pies and you’re running around like a chook with it’s head cut off? It’s those times that you can only do the ‘broad and shallow’ approach to dealing with things. You can’t delve deep and spend as much time as you want to on something because you’ve got to spread yourself thin. I hate those times. Those times are when Ireally feel powerless.

I’m not a powerful person. I don’t strike fear into the hearts and minds of anyone. I don’t have one of those scary voices and intrinsically, I don’t like being yelled at or not doing what I’m told. In fact, I’m a big, fat softie, push over in real life and otherwise.

I often hear about subbies who are powerful managerial types in real life and just want to be dominated behind doors. Some subbies have so many decisions to make in the outside world that they just want to be told what to do for once in their lives in the comfort of their submissiveness. In my case, I just don’t want to make decisions or have responsibility at anytime. I’m the one who wants to be looked after. I’m the one that wants to have the right to no rights all the time!

When I have outside responsibilities, outside work or just something that keeps me focused outside the comfort of my slavery, I lose the yoyuu I need to put my all into my slavery. Little things start rearing their ugly head like, “I’ve been on my feet all day, I don’t wanna wear boots when I can finally sit down,” or “My day was so bad I just wanna curl up and die, this is not the #%!!& time to be asking for some relaxation therapy!” I know I shouldn’t be putting myself before Master, but I do. That lack of yoyuu takes everything out of perspective. My slavery starts to fade further and further into the background as everything else pushes further to the front.

Master said that he wants me to work for the simple fact that I would probably go crazy if I didn’t do something with my brain. I agree. My question though is, how much is too much? How can I do something that won’t detract me from my main purpose?


A sudden thought came to me the other night…

“What if I just didn’t obey?”

I was thinking that there are times that people just won’t do what you tell them to do and there is very little that you can do to make them. What if one day I woke up and just thought, “Nope, I’m not going to do what he wants me to. I’m just going to do completely what I want.”

That would be the end of it. The D/s relationship would end then and there. This is where I think the ‘consensual’ part really comes into it. It’s not really about consenting to be beaten or pierced or shared between whomever your domly one gives you to, it’s about consenting to your domly one’s authority, putting aside your will to carry out the will of another. Most people, whether they are sensation junkies, masochists or sluts (and I think 99.9% of the subby ones fit into a least one of these categories) get something out of what happens both physically and emotionally when you submit to tangible things, e.g piercings, beatings etc. Submitting to someone’s will, something as intangible as you can get, is something that you really don’t get anything out- you have to want to do it. And this brings me back to my original question, “What if you just don’t want to?”

What’s a domly one going to do? Yeah, they can educate you, but it’s not going to make you want to do things from the bottom of your heart. You’re only going to do what you have to do to avoid the ‘education’. It’s a bit like a confession made under torture- a girl is going to say anything to avoid a frozen Mars bar being shoved up her twat.

I process things a lot better when I understand them. That is, afterall, what separates me and single-celled organisms. I’d probably be able to cope with this slavery thing a lot better if I understood why I felt a need to be ‘compelled’ to do things rather than to simply be happy to do them. I’m envious of those people who revel in their slavery, who carry out their tasks with big fat grins on their faces and bathe in the light shinning from the ass of their domly one. That ain’t me, just ask Master. He’ll tell you I’m about as enthusiastic as Noah was about a sixty-day forecast of rain.

Interesting, isn’t it?


So I’m off to do prac teaching for two weeks at a secondary school tomorrow and at the moment, I’m praying that the kiddies don’t eat me alive. I suggested to Master that he take my collar off because the kids were bound to ask questions and that it mightn’t conform with the ‘dress standards’. His response?

“Fuck ’em”

So we shall see.

We had a quiet weekend that culminated in a trip to the beach for a swim and afterwards lunch and ice-cream. Master does know how to treat his slave well…lol. He often talks about how important it is to keep his slave happy and in that sense, he really does practice what he preaches. I’m sure there is a fine line there somewhere between placating and indulgence, but as long as the ice-cream keeps coming, I don’t give a fuck…lol.

The mask and cane didn’t make an appearance this weekend ( I think he was conscious of the fact that not being able to sit down at school might be an issue) but I’ve got some pictures of the hogtie session we had a few days ago. So without further adieu:

There’s a nice little glimpse of my cage in the background that takes pride of place in the living room. Lucky we have a big poodle pup or some questions would be asked.


Blissful ignorance

So this is post number three of my forced week of daily bloggings, thanks to my trade off of a cropping a few days ago. I also owe Master a pedicure in boots (no, he’s not going to be wearing boots for the pedicure, I am! Lol…) after losing a bet about how much it was going to cost to post apackage.

Master’s favourite phrase at the moment is, ” ____ or I willl cane you.” Insert  your favourite request in the blank space such as ‘get me the remote,’ ‘get me a coffee,’ or ‘come here bitch’ and you’ll get the idea. 

After my question yesterday of why he play games-or more importantly, why he seems to ‘de-value’ my submission to pain because he allows it to be traded off for something much less ‘valuable’, we had a chat. Well actually, when I pointed out what I had written on my blog, he responded with another one of his favourite phrases, ‘Get naked and go kneel on my bed!’ 

What then followed was a ‘practical demonstration’ session involving him punctuating his words with sharp cracks of the cane across my ass. I’d just like to point out here that it wasn’t an ‘educational session’, it was a ‘practical demonstration’ (this, by the way, was what he said it was after I pointed out that everytime I have an opinion about something, I end up getting ‘educated’.)

His take on it was that everything I do for him is service, regardless of how hard or easy it is for me. I view my different types of service as not being equal in the sense of how much each ‘costs’ me. Because I’m not into pain, it’s really, really hard for me to submit to the pain stuff. I see that as my ‘ultimate’ form of submission, i.e there ain’t nothing harder/better I can do to show my submission. I find it really sad and emotionally disturbing when something that I’ve worked myself up to accept or have offered, can be ‘traded off’ for something that’s not going to cause me any more grief than a broken fingernail.

I’ve said it time and time again that it’s so hard to put your bum on the line when you know how much it’s going to hurt. I think one of the reasons I’ve become a lot wussier is because I Master has shown me that there is ‘another way’. I used to think that D/s had to involve pain, that it had to be all crops and canes and isolation. I never once held hands or kissed my previous owner. I couldn’t even imagine going shopping with him, or him giving me any of that sort of attention. If you don’t know that there is anything else, you can accept the ‘pain’ a bit more stoically. Ignorance really can be bliss.

I am very, very inflexible when it comes to ideas about myself. I have rigid, fixed ideas about who I am and what I do and it’s been very hard to change. I think there comes a certain responsibility with knowledge. If you teach someone something, you have to be responsible for the consequences. 

Once you learn something, you can never go back to that same point of ‘innocent ignorance’. Once you’ve tasted the apple, you’re banished from the garden forever.

Tricks of the trade

Master likes playing games. His games revolve around ‘excuses’ to cane/crop/flog me and trade offs for nasty things. I don’t really get it. If he can do whatever he wants, whenever he wants to me, why is he ‘looking’ for excuses to do and not to do things to me?

Our famous vw bug, land rover and valiant ute game is one way he gets an excuse to crop me. His recent, “What are you willing to offer me in exchange for your caning?” proposal is another new game. I really don’t know what to say in these situations. If I know deep down that he’s going to do whatever he wants, when he wants, then how can I possibly ‘offer’ something that is going to sway him from his decision to do those things to me?

It makes me think that he doesn’t really want to do it to begin with, and if he really doesn’t want to do it, what the hell am I suffering through it for? The only way I manage to get through some of these things is the idea that it’s turning him on and he’s enjoying it. The remotest possibility that he isn’t fucks with my mind something fierce.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I also like playing games, but of a slightly different kind (see Master’s recent diatribe on World of Warcraft)

A lot of what drives me is the feeling of power that I have over Master. I don’t mean to toot my own horn or anything, but I know that sometimes I just drive him wild. I love it when he gets off on me, that I actually have the ability to make him cum. If he gets off on caning me or whatever, then I will suffer through it to get that ‘feeling of power’. But if I, for even one second, get a whiff of the idea that he’s just ‘going through the motions’ or doing what ‘should be done’ it just makes me angry, infuriatingly angry. It seems to cheapen the whole thing.

I’m not sure what his take on it is. Perhaps he feels the same about me when I’m not quite performing 100% or just going through the motions because he has woken me up at 5am for some relaxation therapy and I’m still half asleep. But from my point of view, it shouldn’t matter whether I’m really ‘into it’ or not. It shouldn’t matter, if I want to do it or not because I don’t have a choice and he can just take what he wants, when he wants and personally, I find the ‘non-compliant slave’ idea a lot hotter than the ‘compliant slave’.

I’ve asked Master before why he needs a ‘reason’ to cane/crop/flog me. He said he doesn’t. He said that the games are just something that he does for fun. I still don’t get it. Can someone please explain it to me?

Going, going, gone

Ever had the feeling that you’ve just got to cum or you’re going to die?

About 3 times a day actually…lol…

My brain relocates and takes up residence in my cunt on a regular basis and it just drives me insane. What drives me even more insane is the fact that I can’t bring myself to touch myself in those situations. Now, don’t get me wrong, I touch myself down there all the time-when I’m wiping, when I’m ring cleaning, when I’m scratching, when I’m applying cream. I have my hands down my pants so often I’m surprised they haven’t applied for citizenship in the nether region.

But there is something very different to putting your hands down there for innocent reasons to when you have a secret agenda. I just can’t bring myself to do it without permission. 

Yesterday I was horny. Incredibly horny. I also didn’t feel well and because a good ol’ orgasm is my cure-all treatment, I decided to bite the bullet and call Master at work for release permission. 

There is something so very humbling about calling an office in the middle of the day to ask if you can play with yourself. Master also had a very enigmatic tone in his voice.

‘So you called to ask me something about yourself. Just about you.’
‘I see.’
‘Well, of course, I did want to know how your day was going….and if I could have permission.’
‘I see.’

Boots and headmask was the payoff for the permission. I could cum as many times as I liked as long as I was wearing them. There was also a small detail about a caning that I really wasn’t focussing on at the time. I could cum! I could cum! Who gives a shit about what happens later!

Boots. Check. Headmask. Check. And we were off!!!!

Zero to orgasm in about 3 seconds is what happened. I was the Schumacher of ferrari-style masturbation. 3 more times and I was satiated. Now, what was that he said about an unlimited caning session in exchange for my release? Must of been a figment of my imagination….

The dark side of the mask

‘The Man in the Iron Mask’ and ‘The Phantom of the Opera’ are two of my favourite stories. They are classic tales of people locked away, their humanity denied and me being me, I find them really erotic.

Masks are hot-and I don’t just mean in the ‘Hey, it feels like a sauna in here!’ kind of way. Master tried out his new hood the evening he got it. At first it felt claustrophobic and as I mumbled with the gag in my mouth, the panic in me rose.

“I cmmnt bwwht”
“I cmmnt bwwwht!!”

Spitting out the gag and yanking the mouth covering to the side,

“I said I can’t breathe!”
“Yes, you can. It’s just ’cause you’re claustrophobic.”
“Not really. See? It’s got to be one or the other.There aren’t any nose holes and if you cover my mouth up, where am I going to get air from?”
“There’s enough air in there. What are you worried about?”

It just made me laugh. So I unlatched the mouth piece and everything was fine.

As Master laced up the hood and buckled the neck strap, it felt so final. I knew he wasn’t looking at me as a person or even as a slave. Without speech and without a face, I was nothing more than a thing. My humanity locked away while he used his piece of property.

He had me kneel, then he tried out his new cane on my cheeks. It bit and stung just as I remembered. Then he lead me to his bed. Holding the end of the cane that had just visited my ass, he pulled me along, directing me up stairs and through doorways.

Up on the bed I was thankful for the gag. Mr. Cane visited one side then the other.  I couldn’t anticipate where he was going to make an appearance next. Locked in my own little world there was no light or dark, no right and no wrong. 

I could just be.


Going back about a month now, was that lovely day for cupids and roses, St. Valentine’s Day. For one reason or another, I didn’t buy Master a Valentine’s Day present-it just didn’t seem the right thing to do. Afterall, this wasn’t a romance, this was slavery!

As far as I’m concerned, love is a bit of a taboo topic really. My ‘I-spy-with-my-little-eye-something-that-is-wrong!’ radar reacts vehemently to the idea that love even needs to exist for two people to have a healthy, happy relationship. My recent adventures into psychology also have shown me something that has come as no surprise…everything we do, every single thing we do, we do because we are yearning for our needs to be met and we don’t have a need for love, but a need for belonging.

Master often asks when I am at my most vulnerable, like gagged in a headmask and with a cane in his hand.

“Who do you love?”

It’s a question that often throws me and I search my brain frantically for an answer. 

“Ummm….the man who drives the ice-cream truck? The person who invented the hog-tie? Ah…wait, I know! You when you don’t have any implement of beating in your hand.”

Master wrote an entry in his blog the other day and signed it, “Love Master”. I didn’t notice it until he asked,

“Did you like the bit at the end?”
“The bit about how you might take me shopping?”
“The bit about my brazillian?”
“No! Shesh…have another look!”
“What? I don’t know what you mean.”
“Look how I finished it. The bit AT THE END!!”
“Oh, this! Awww..you’ve signed it ‘love Master’ ! How sweet.”
“Now you’ve just gone and ruined the moment.”

I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to react and I’m still not sure. As I said, it all feels a bit wrong- slaves and Masters doing the ‘lovie dovie’ thing…lol.

Anyways, it’s all a journey into uncharted territory. I’ve had to wrench “I love you”s out of some people and I’ve never, ever had them from others. There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to acknowledge it or express it because that will somehow make it real. So I’ll have to do a bit more pondering and see where it all goes.


I’ll spare you all the gory details of my ‘Is my appendix going to burst any second?’ week, which revolved around my appendix, my bowel, my cunt and last, but definitely not least, Master’s birthday, suffice to say that I have not been well.

However, just in case you do want some more details, here they are. I’ve had a pain like a stitch for the past week in my right abdomen and certain foods are not going down well. Off to the doctor I went and he’s not sure whether it’s appendicitis or a bowel infection. Results for some blood tests should be back on Monday. 

Then for Master’s birthday i decided that a clean waxed cunt would be nice, so off to the waxer I went. Three days later and I have layers of skin peeling off and what look like chemical burns everywhere. I’m slathered up with cream and stuff at the moment to try and stop the oh-my-god category incredible itchiness that has been waking me up at 1am, 3am and 5am without fail.. It seems me and wax sometimes don’t agree. (I should also state here that I ended up taking the wrong bus on the way to the waxer’s…well, it was the right bus, but the one going in the wrong direction. I ended up on the other side of town and had to call Master to come rescue me!)

The icing on the cake, or should I say, the meringue on the pie was my complete and utter failure at making lemon meringue pie for Master (because it’s his favourite thing in the world!) My shoulder feels like it’s going to fall off today after it took 3 batches of meringue before I finally got one that was semi-okay.

What do they say about things in threes? I hope that’s all my crapness used up for the next month or more.

Master’s birthday was quiet, but I think he enjoyed it. There are some fun things coming in the mail for him because I felt that a digital camera wasn’t quite ‘personal’ enough…lol. He said he wanted some more rope and a cane and a hood, so being a good little slave I purchased them for him. I hummed and haahed about buying the cane though, did I really want to buy something that was going to cause me grief for years to come? So just to balance out the joy and grief, I also purchased a lovely leather hogtie because I’m a bondage slut and you can never have too many restraints.

I’ll post some pics when the goodies arrive.


12 months ago I was in a very different situation. ‘Renunciation‘ was the title of an entry I made at that time and if you read it, you’ll see that I wasn’t in a very good headspace. At that time I was flagellating my previous owner’s ass all over this blog about his lack of  ‘domliness’. A few weeks before I had written him a letter asking the very pertinent  (well, at least I think so!) question, ‘Do you know what you want?’ to which he never replied and to this day I still don’t believe that he does know.

Knowing what you want and sometimes what you don’t want is part of the struggle of D/s relationships. I always felt that it was somehow wrong for me, as the submissive, to have strong, formulated ideas about what I wanted and how I should be treated. For a long time I was an aficionado of the ‘put up and shut up’ club because I felt that I didn’t have a ‘right’ to input things into the relationship or give prescriptions about what should be done.

As a result, I hung around in a doomed relationship for a long time. On reflection I probably even had that philosophy when I was married-I knew that what I had was not what I wanted, but I felt that it wasn’t my ‘place’ to say or do otherwise. I simply drew further and further away from my husband and into myself, satiating my needs and rejecting his ‘way’ until one day I up and left.

I have always had a pretty good idea of what I wanted. I know what turns me on and what I fantasize about. In my mind these things are self-directed fantasies that I keep control over and so they stay ‘safe’. When they are let out and are removed from my control, things really start to head into uncharted, and sometimes frightening territory.

But consider this:

Yes, I want to be objectified.
Yes, I want to be used.
Yes, I want to be kept in chains, confined and retained.

Why? Because it’s what I want. 

To put it another way:

Yes, I want to eat chocolate and ice-cream.
Yes, I want to stay up late and sleep in late.
Yes, I want to buy more clothes and shoes eventhough I still have a mountain of things that I’ve never worn.

Why? Because it’s what I want to do.

Being tied up and fucked gratuitously is fun. So is shopping. I don’t really differentiate between the two types of activities (except perhaps in terms of TPO…lol.) Whether I find both activities equally as fun at any given time really depends on my mood. Sometimes I don’t want to shop and sometimes, believe it or not, I don’t want to be tied up. That’s the ebb and flow of life, it comes and it goes. 

But when I think about what I like, the more important question is, ‘Can I live without it?’ Well, I’ve tried with D/s and it don’t work. So eventhough I may not ‘feel like it’ 100% of the time, the option of it not being in my life 100% of the time is even scarier. So I submit and sometimes it’s more fun that other times, but it’s all part and parcel of the ‘being a slave’ thing.


Q: When is a role not a role?

Something I’ve been pondering for a while is, am I a slave or is the role I play that of a slave? It’s something I think about often and I’m not sure that I’m any closer to having an answer to it than I was a year ago. 

I’ve mentioned before that I have issues when there are all sorts of different things demanded of me, in essence, when I am required to play different roles. These roles are often demanding to be played all at the same time. If we say that my main and basic role is that of a slave, and when I’m working or when I’m a student I play very different roles, then that assumes that my slavery is just another role I play.

If, on the other hand, you think that I am intrinsically a slave and that I play different roles of a teacher or a student every now and then, that assumes that my slavery is not a role, but actually what I am.

The biggest chunk of my day is spent doing non-slavey things, so I find it difficult to think of myself as nothing more than a slave. Master wrote in his recent blog that I am a slave first and foremost and anything else that I do is just a temporary pastime that doesn’t go any deeper than the epidermal level.  I’m sure he’d prefer me to be thinking that, but the reality is that I don’t. I think of things in almost the complete reverse-I play the role of a slave sometimes, but usually I live out my life in ways that are very far from leather and latex.

More and more I’m feeling that slavery is a game, a role-playing fantasy. You can’t take it too seriously or it will come up and bite you on the nose. A suspension of disbelief is required for the orchestrated events to be played out. It’s not real life and never will be. If it was real life, people would be getting hurt, people would be locked up and disappear forever and none of us would ever be able to function in the ‘real world’. I don’t think safe, sane and consensual would happen outside the confines of fantasy. Our fantasies need to be watered-down, honey-glazed and hammered into some rational, logical pattern even to be played-out in the real world, therefore there is no way that they could even exist by themselves uncensored and uncut in pure form outside of the fantasy world.

It’s looking like I’m becoming a bit of non-believer, isn’t it? Am I getting too cynical? Have I lost the romance and adventure involved somewhere along the line?

I read many blogs every day. Most of them are filled with messages of love for the ‘lifestyle’ and for their domly/subby ones. I look over my blogs and all I see are whinges, moanings and bitches about what Master did or didn’t do. I also received a comment on my blog yesterday suggesting that there had been a shift in our relationship and that perhaps we had fallen ‘in love with each other’. Well, all I can say to that is that there are many, many types of love and I would never let someone I loved in the ‘traditional sense’ within two yards of my ass with a big, hard bit of leather and neither would I sit myself on the piercer’s bench twice and let them poke big mother needles through my cunt.

The End.
Meet you all back here again, same bat time, same bat channel.

Ma and Pa Clamp it

Master and I had a long ‘banter session’ in bed last night. Some of our banter sessions involve talking about the past week, or the coming days, sharing hopes, fears and dreams and some of our banter sessions involve him mercilessly reiterating what I am until I think my ears will bleed. Last night we had one of those sessions and I woke up checking my pillow for stains…lol.

I sometimes think he would be a great script/speech writer. His ability to convey such complete thoughts is amazing. When I speak, I’m full of ‘umm’s and ‘ahhs’ and ‘you know, that stuff”s and my writing takes such a long time due to copious amounts of cutting, pasting and reviewing that I’m really quite envious.

Last night began with some cuffs and nipple clamps in front of the tv. We were watching “Miami Ink” because I’m just fascinated with their artistry and have a bit of an affinity for tatts these days when he suggested that I go and put on some cuffs. Back I came with wrist and ankle cuffs.

“How about I put some clamps on you? Would you like that?”

At this point I was all excited and giddy like a school girl in a candy shop and for some reason unbeknownst to me, I nodded. He re-emerged with the purple nipple clamps as well as some d-clips to lock my wrists and ankles together. The first ten minutes, and it’s always the first ten minutes, were super fun. After that, the pain started licking around my nipples and the fight was on. For the next ten minutes I tried various positions, rolled this way and that, tapped my fingers, tapped my toes, rocked forwards and backwards, did some breathing and just tried to stop focusing on my nipples that by this time were on fire! Nothing worked so I fell back on the slave classic approach…puppy-dog eyes.

Doing my cutest and best attempt hoping that he’d find me too cute and take those god-damn nipple clamps off, I gave it my all.


He was looking at me so amused, so clinically.

(some moans and whimpers from me)

“I’m dying here.”
“So the pain is starting to kick in is it? Good, you’ve only got 5 mins to go.”
“The pain kicked in 10mins ago!”
“I know.”

(more moaning and whimpering)

Then he attached my wrist cuffs to my collar and settled back to watch some more tv.

Breasting the waves

Master is a man fixated with titties. Now, I don’t mean to state the obvious, but I haven’t actually met a man who isn’t…lol.

He likes to feel them brushing up against him as he enjoys his relaxation therapy and he likes to fiddle with them whenever they are within arm’s reach. Today he did something different, he decided to crop them.

For everything else I’ve experienced, I’ve never had my tits cropped or caned or anything else except a bit of clamping and waxing. As expected, it wasn’t long before I was a snotty, crying mess. It just plain hurt and I know I’ve said this before, but I feel the need to say it again for those domly ones who are nearing the grand ol’ age of 49 and may have issues with hearing (not mentioning any names here..) I’M NOT INTO PAIN!!!

“You’re spoilt,”  he announced as he took stock of my sullen, silentness. “That was so gentle. I could have done it a lot harder.”
“Well, I hate to remind you, but there is something called a warm up.”

Master is not a great believer in easing gently into something. What comes my way, comes hard and fast, and there’s no time in between to recover. I’ve often looked in envy at gentle floggings and croppings, where the name of the game is ‘play’ and not ‘pain’. If I was a different soul, if I enjoyed the pain, things would be just fine and dandy. What usually happens though, is that I can’t stop the tide of hate rising. Those are the times that I find it so hard to kiss him, or look at him, or talk. I’m just angry, so angry that he causes me such pain. And I’m angry with myself for not being able to take it.

(Slave disclaimer: yeah, I know it’s not about what I want, yeah, I know I have no rights, yadda, yadda…lol.)

Week end

To borrow a line from the lovely fucktoy , today was “lock down” day…or perhaps I should call it “shut up and locked out” day. Settling down to watch a movie, Master decided to have a little fun:

Why aren’t you naked with boots on?”
(thinking ‘duh, ’cause you didn’t tell me!’ but answering with appropriate slavely-ness) “Would you like me in boots, Master?”
“Which ones?”
“The white ones.”

So off I toddled to strip and get booted. After I reappeared with a lot less on he still had an interesting glint in his eye:

“I think you need some handcuffs…oh, and bring me your padlocks.”

My fanny immediately started twitching as soon as I heard that. Ouch.

It had been a week of greetings and use. I enjoyed the greeting sessions immensely in that they sunk me in a head-space that I hadn’t properly been in for a while.There is something very calming about kneeling and waiting. Waiting for Master’s arrival. Waiting for use. I feel very peaceful, very ‘at home’ when there is me and him and nothing else.

That slave space is a pacifier to me. Being filled is also a pacifier. Mr. Purple up my ass, anything in my cunt, they all have a pacifying effect. Some people chew gum, others suck candy, me, I like things in me.

Finishing the week up with some cuffs and padlocks (yeah, it was ok…I guess…lol) rounded things off nicely. Taking them off though brought tears to my eyes. You remember how the top of a padlock springs up when you turn the key?? Well, all I can say is, don’t try it at home kids.