Say hello to the new proud recipient of a block of 25 NON-EXPIRING, HAVE-THEM-ANY-DAMN-WAY-YOU-LIKE-THEM-BABY RELEASES!!!!

Yes, I won the bet and now instead of 250 cane strokes, I’ll be scumming up Master’s sheets good and proper.

Six weeks of prac in a school surrounded by 1800 teenagers and 150 gossipy teachers and not one comment of substance was passed about my collar. So to all those folk who worry about wearing a permanent collar, I’ve just proven that they are doable and nothing to fear.

How I’m going to spend my next few days of total freedom:

– attending an anal fisting demonstration (yeah, this is how us slavegirls relax…lol)
– spending quality time with Master
– eating scrummy Indian food with my uber buddy girl literary_gypsy
– putting disprins on my cunt in an attempt to reduce the size of the scar tissue growing there
– sleeping
– watching copious amounts of tv
– pumice-stoning my feet after standing and pacing the classroom for six weeks- I need a boi that does pedicures!
– did I mention sleeping?
– having long, relaxing baths
– not sure if I’ve already said this, but sleeping!

Farewell for now- my bed awaits!

The end is nigh

Four lessons, marking seventy year nine students’ projects and some desk cleaning….that is all I have left to do on my prac and can I just say…


It’s been long and painful. I just want it to be O.V.E.R…and did I mention that I want it to be over N.O.W??

*takes a deep breath…Only two more days and three more nightmarish bus trips. I think I can, I think I can, I think I can…

So yes, I did have a very close call yesterday when one of the 12-year-old girls asked me some questions about my necklace that were getting very close to heading down the “Is that a collar?” path:

“How does it do up?”
 “Can you show me?”
 “Can you take it off now?”
 “What’s this bit at the front for?”

I felt a bead of sweat trickle down my face and tried so hard to keep a straight face. Needless to say, I answered the questions as briefly and quickly as I could and high-tailed it out of there before the “c” word could be mentioned. Two more days and 25 releases will be mine….


I asked Master for a release last night on the phone and he said that I could only if I put on the red outfit and red boots. It was well over 30 degrees and I was not moving my butt from its prime position in front of the tv. I had thought that a nice little quick release while I was watching tv there might have been great, but anything that required moving or changing clothes, simply required too much effort. My urge for a release can be insatiable on occasion, but generally my urge can also be erased by the slightest breeze. I’m a fickle slave girlie and if I can’t do it how and when I want, then quite often I really can’t be bothered…lol.

The last couple of releases I’ve had have involved the three essentials: porn, bondage and an appropriate amount of pain. I generally watch some clips, get juicy, tie myself up in some way, put on some form of nipple clamps and do my thing. The preparation takes about 10 times longer than the actual release itself, because (a) I’m generally quite worked up by that stage and (b) the quicker I release, the quicker the nipple clamps can come off…lol. 

Master doesn’t generally insist that I do anything when Irelease. Sometimes he asks for boots or cuffs or a hood, but generally I’m just left to my own devices. For some reason, I always have my releases in his bedroom on his bed but what I want to know is, is it like an animal needing the familiar scent of their Master to relax or is it just because I don’t want scum on my sheets? 

You decide. 


Friday afternoon. I was waiting for Master to come and pick me up and attempting to finish my worksheet making/ planning for next week. All the other teachers had disappeared from the school grounds as fast as their cars could carry them, except one who poked her head in and asked if I’d started a countdown yet for the end of prac. I didn’t think it would be wise to tell her that I’d had a countdown going on my msn since week one, so I just said that I was glad it was the last week. She then launched into an anecdote about her experience on prac and how she’d nearly failed because her mentor teacher was a complete and utter bastard to her and how much better it was once you had your own class:

“You can just put your mask on, go into the classroom and do your little performance.”

With that revelation she said bye and left. I, meanwhile was left sitting there thinking,

Yes, we all have a mask, but which one is really you and which one is the mask?

I’ve talked a little bit before about how apparently a lot of people involved in education are into bdsm. Her comment about the ‘mask’ made me wonder if that was the reason why. Masks let us be something we are not for a limited period of time. A teacher puts on the mask of ‘all-seeing, all-knowing wise one’ for the duration of the class and a slave or a dom puts on a mask whenever they play. It seemed natural to think that it would be easy for someone who was used to spending a great deal of their working lives behind a mask, to crave one in their private lives as well.

In many ways I see bdsm as ‘playing a role’. No matter how many times I read blogs saying otherwise, for 99.999% of us I believe it’s not possible to ‘be’ a sub or a dom 24/7. There’s that other big thing called life which doesn’t allow us to live out our lives in a cage -with removal only for periods of sexual service- or to while away the days being waited on hand and foot by a plethora of gorgeous naked women. The reality is that we put on our masks and perform our roles for the allotted time then put the mask away and go about the task of living life.

I’ve always enjoyed being something I’m not. I even went through that whole angsty teenager thing of wanting to be on the stage and did drama at school and became a member of of the local theatre group. It was probably during this time that I got a taste for the pleasure of putting on a mask and having the freedom to be something I wasn’t.

My little ‘breaking’ event which occurred several weeks ago, left me feeling very raw and vulnerable- as though everything had been stripped away, both literally and figuratively. The masks had been peeled from me like layers off an onion and there I was, nothing more and nothing less than what I really was. I keep harping on aboutit, but the whole experience really shook me to the core. Now I’m beginning to think that I even have different masks in my slavery and each one gives me a different set of attributes and strengths. The other night at the party, I probably had my ‘tough slut’ mask on instead of the ‘slightly wussie slut’ mask I’ve had on since then.

But I keep wondering so what is the real me? 

Was that the real me that night when I was broken, or are there still layers of masks that need to be removed? 

Only time will tell I guess.


I just wanted to share this little tidbit with you all before I headed off to sleep, being the old-fogey that I am and all and being that I have to wake up at 6am….

Master keeps making offers to cane me and beat me mercilessly and it seems that every entry he makes in his blog when he’s coming home revolves somehow about stripping me naked and caning my ass.

Since my ‘above average’ performance at the party the other week, he keeps wondering why I’m not very enthusiastic about planting my ass in the line of sight of his caning arm. He also keeps pointing out that I’m being wussie by dancing across the bed when hard cane meets soft ass:

‘You’re the new big pain slut. The other night it was like, ‘Ooh, give me more Master, give me more!’ Now look at you! Pathetic slut slave that you are.’

And what’s the only thing a girl in my position can say in response to that?

‘Well, I can’t help it….A GIRL NEEDS AN AUDIENCE!’

Bulbous bottom

“Bitch, come and take a look at this! It’s huge!”

WIth more than the usual excitement in his voice, Master called me over to his computer as he downloaded his latest pics. I have to agree with him, it’s absolutely huge….lol.

Of all the photos he has taken of my ass, this one I have to say takes the cake. From certain angles it looks a lot like Stewie’s head from Family Guy or even an obscure alien lifeform.

And just while we’re on the subject of photos…isn’t it strange how he can have a vase full of gorgeous roses waiting for me when I wake up:

…make me waffles for breakfast:

…and then give me marks like this:

It just blows my mind sometimes.

Throbbing Thursday

Seems like I’m only managing 2 posts a week or so lately….Sad, isn’t it? There once was a time when I posted daily, but that was before prac, before I needed to be in bed by 10pm and before I became a ‘home alone’ slave. Ahhhh….the good ol’ days.

11 days to go and still no collar comments. Things are looking good. Although Master has threatened to make an anonymous phone call to the school about that ‘teacher with the inappropriate neck jewellery’, I believe that he’ll stick by the rules. Afterall, what has he got to lose? 200 cane strokes you say? Well, you know he can just cane me 200 times, any god damn time he wants to without even a whiff of a reason, so he ain’t living in fear of losing nuffin. I, on the other hand, am so close to winning my releases that there is a distinct smell of pussy in the air.

I haven’t said much about my test last Friday. That’s probably because I think I failed again. What really annoys me about it though, is that there are three levels, para, professional and advanced translator. I was sitting the professional test, which is *supposed* to be non-specialist translation, that theoretically, you can do without any prior prep, research or special technical jargon. The minute I opened up the first page and saw the opening topic, I knew I was doomed. I mean, I don’t know about you, but I don’t know a lot about neo-natal intensive care units. I also don’t know a lot about different types of bacteria and the technical terms related to these topics. So it seems like I’m going to be destined to be doing the test again next year. Third time lucky perhaps?

Things are pretty quiet on the home front. I saw Master for a total of 2 hours on Wednesday night and that’s all we’ve been together for this week. He took some pictures of my fading bruises and a rather amusing photo of my ass from a particularly unflattering angle. It’s been nice this week to be sitting on the toilet and see the lash marks from the evil rubber flogger across my thigh. It also actually struck me to think that I’d been marked in a ‘public place’. I’ve never really sported marks anywhere that wouldn’t be covered with underwear (if I was wearing it…hehehe 😉 and when Master asked me if I wanted to go to the beach last Sunday, I thought “Yeah! But, oh, hang on, I’m covered with welts and bruises and stuff…” It kind of made me smile.

Master keeps saying “You really surprised me” in relation to the party last week and how solid a beating I took. He says it with a tone that is almost unbelieving and if it was anyone else, I’d say overwhelmed. It’s funny because it didn’t really surprise me.  I *know* I am not really a total wussie. Although I’m not up there amongst the pain-sluts of the world, I know that I can take a fair bit, because I have once and therefore I know I can again. I find it so incredibly frustrating when I’m not in a good headspace and everything just seems to hurt ten-times more. I *know* that it shouldn’t affect me so much, because I’ve been able to deal with it before and therefore I know I can again. It’s almost like I’m throwing down the gauntlet in front of me and daring myself to take the challenge,

‘You think you can’t take it? Huh, sweetie?? Huh??’

Suck it up bitch, just suck it up.


Last night we went to a local dungeon party and I got fried (aka had some electro play) and posted (aka put up on the St. Andrew’s Cross).

I have to say that I was right in the zone and it was great. That’s not to say that I got anywhere near that ‘floating, feeling no pain’ elusive subspace that everyone talks about, I felt every sting and wallop, but I sucked it up and it felt good.

After a very stressful week of prac and test and plague I was so tightly wound up. Master wouldn’t let me know what I was going to be wearing and then he suggested that we have a fashion parade while Mistress Blair was here for dinner. So then I was going to be eating dinner with Mistress B. and pup naked and that freaked me out. I suggested that tampon strings may not be the best accompaniment to dinner, being that I was still plaguing so then he decided that I should stay in my trackie dacks that I had been cleaning in which was almost as horrifying.

When the doorbell rang, I was running around like a headless chook and Master told me to go and kneel at the door to welcome Mistress Blair appropriately. She could hear me laughing through the door and said, “Stop laughing kitten!” so I shouted through the door, “But I’m still in my trackie dacks!” It was a priceless moment.

We went to the party about 9pm and  it wasn’t long before another of the doms there was allowing me to have my first electro play experience. I think the place it hurt most on was my arm! Lol…With pads on my boobs and cunt, a circle of people had formed around us to watch. I heard someone remark that they could see ‘the lips throbbing’ and I was definitely getting some resonance through my cunt rings. Master then decided that it was time for a good beating, so off came the skirt and onto the cross I went. 

Once again for some reason, it was an ‘open slave’ session and everyone we knew took up an instrument and dished out some pain. It totally cracks me up, but it is very interesting to feel the different styles and intensities that each person has.

To be honest, when they’d decided that I’d had enough I wasn’t quite finished. I was close to having enough but could of kept going and part of me just wanted to have all the crap that I’ve been lugging around beaten out of me once and for all in one go. It was strange because I really hadn’t been beaten for quite a while, in fact I couldn’t tell you the last time I was marked from a beating, but it didn’t seem to matter.

Anyways, a fun night was had by all and I’ve got some lovely marks (why the fuck did I ask Master for the rubber flogger?? what the hell was I thinking??)  which is always nice. Thanks to everyone who took part in turning my ass and boobs red. And carina, I seem to remember somewhere that you said that you’d never be able to hit a woman…hmm….interesting…very interestink.

Here’s some pics for those visual learners amongst us (^v^)


Just a quickie before I go and do a bit of last minute studying for my test today. I’m actually not too stressed about the test per se because (a) I’ve already failed it once and so things can’t get any worse and (b) it got me out of a day of prac!!!! Yay!!! I’ve never welcomed a test more in my life. 

Not a huge amount to report in my life at the moment. The highlight of my day is coming home and reducing my ‘Days of Prac Left’ counter by one. Seeing that number go down is hugely comforting, but it is going down waaaay too fucking slow. I finish prac on November 30th. Is it December yet? Please? Pretty please with sugar on top?

I had a massive case of pms this week and Master was the lucky one who bared the brunt of it (as kaya says, pms is a power that is ‘even greater than He’) I’ve been pissy, argumentative and uncannily similar to the thirteen year-old terrors I’ve been spending the last three weeks with. He even passed the comment that if I was ‘going to be like that’ he wouldn’t bother coming home during the week. Now that would be harsh. I didn’t mean to be crappy Master, it’s funk and pms all rolled into one.

During all the funk Master has been his usual fantastic self, showering me with hugs and comfort food. He is really very good at handling uber-funky women suffering from pms. He offers all the right things, going out for dinner, going somewhere for a drive, chocolate, chocolate and more chocolate, but I’m kind of in that state where I just want to curl up in my bed and die. (I will take a good side of chocolate to go with that death though please!) Thank you Master for your patience and squishy hugs (^v^)

No comments on the collar at the end of week three, so I have fifteen more days before I can claim the prize of 25 releases. Won’t that be sweet?  It’s not that long to go and I’m pretty confident of winning. I can almost smell the cunt juices that will be flowing. God, it’s nearly one a day for an entire month! Sweet bliss. I don’t think I’ve had more than a couple a month for the past few months. It’s not that Master wouldn’t have granted me more if I had asked, it’s just soooo hard to ask and often so inconvenient (do I go and wake him at 4am when I can’t sleep and a release would be the best tonic?)

Just on the topic of releases, I’ve got myself into this little pattern where I find it really hard to release now without some nipple pain (courtesy of clamps, clips etc.) Is that normal for a person who isn’t into pain? Maybe god fucked up and put my clit in my nipples instead of where it should be. That would answer a lot of questions, actually….lol.


Funny that

Last Thursday I was observed by my ‘university colleague’ (aka The Black Death) while I did a lesson as part of the teaching prac requirement. As well as being intimidated by the fact that there were three people watching my every move (my mentor, the Japanese language assistant and ‘The Black Death’) I could also see her out of the corner of my eye writing down pages of notes and talking in a low voice to my mentor for the entire lesson. After the lesson when it was time to have a ‘chat’, I was prepared for the worst. 

Funnily enough she was quite complimentary and while she had no problems with my teaching, on the behaviour management side of things, she said I needed to stop ‘seeking approval from the students for my actions’. I took in what she said and was thinking back over what happened in the lesson and could think of nothing that I did wrong. When I asked her to clarify, she pointed out that when I had asked a girl to take off her sunglasses I’d said, ‘Great glasses, but could you take them off for me please.’

Apparently the inclusion of ‘for me’ was an indication that I wasn’t being assertive and was hesitant to tell a student what to do.

Well, derrrrrrrr…..no shit sherlock, I’m a slave for pete’s sake! 

Now, if only I could say that and she’d be like “Oh, okay…not a problem!” Lol… in some alternative universe perhaps.

I’ve spent most of the last two weeks busting kids left right and centre, before, during and after school and even my Tuesday lunchtime is spent in the detention room with the ‘bad kiddies’. It’s been a very sharp learning curve in terms of yelling, hushing and throwing kids out of my classroom. Normally I’m a very softly spoken, meek and mild girlie. I don’t like to be yelled at and I don’t yell at others. As a result, my voice cracks and warbles and reaches very unstable levels of shrillness as I struggle to make myself heard over the thirty-odd bundles of smelly hormones in front of me (what is it with teenage boys and deodorant anyway?)

I think in some ways, it’s all contributing to my return to feralness. Not only am I getting more and more used to telling people what to do and putting on my ‘don’t mess the fuck with me’ face, but Master is also not here to rein me back in at night and slap me back down to where I should be. In some ways that is a good thing and in other ways it’s bad….very bad.

Now I said a while back that I’ve been broken. Broken, but not trained in the greatest James Bond sense, but I keep wondering when and if bouts of feralness are going to make me ‘whole’ again. 

I got angry today, really angry and spent most of Sunday pissy with Master. Why? Because he’d hurt me and made me cry. My weekend was really good until that moment – my Saturday was highly productive and my Sunday had started off with waffles, maple syrup, ice-cream and strawberries and then I was snotty, red-eyed and had a pounding headache and a throbbing bum and cunt. I got my pissyness under control later in the afternoon, but it took a significant period of time and a bowl of chocolate ice-cream to do it. But why should I be pissy at him for doing what he wants? And what right have I got to be pissy anyway? A month ago when I was freshly ‘broken’ I would have been able to keep my feelings under check and accept my role as his slave and target practice dummy, but now all I want to do is ask, “Why?”

I am definitely feeling twinges of feralness, or is that merely pms on the horizon.


Life vs Slavery

So it’s looking like Master will be doing his ‘two nights away, one night home’ thing at least for the rest of this year. This is not a prospect that sounds like fun or something that I will find even slightly enjoyable. And recently, to make things worse, I’ve been too busy for us to have any play even when he is home and this brings up an important question- if your slave is super busy, do you leave her alone to do her thing or do you do what you want, when you want regardless?

I remember having this ‘discussion’ once with my former owner. I was doing shit-long hours at work and then coming home to do translation work after work and on my days off. I was stressed and I wrote a slightly critical blog post about the fact that I wasn’t being used and he responded with “Well, you were busy, so I left you alone. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

In all honesty, then and now, I still don’t know what the answer to that question is. I swing violently from one extreme of  “Gotta get this done, not enough time, can’t stop”  to “Yeah, I’m busy, but he could still play with me!! Why isn’t he playing with me????” 

This week on two occasions, I asked Master for release privileges, which he graciously granted. I then got so caught up in trying to finish what I was doing that by the end of a long day I was too tired to get into the mood for a release so they expired. While talking to him on the phone I had been pulled back into that nice little ‘slave head-space’ that gives me twinges in my cunt and makes me horny as hell, prompting me to make a request for the releases, but once I’d hung up the phone and was ‘released back into the wild’ a nice juicy release was the last thing on my mind.

‘Out in the wild’, when I’m left to my own devices and slavery is pushed back into the depths of my mind, I can quite successfully fool myself into believing that I don’t really need any of it- the chains, the collar, the kneeling and grovelling. I can go for quite long periods of time without play and without a need for being put into my proper place. And that lets me get on with the job at hand and deal with the business of life. But if there is even the slightest hint of ‘slave stuff’ even at the periphery of my mind, that starts the wheels turning and the little voices beginning muttering and that’s what happens when I talk to Master on the phone or when he is here in person.

When I woke up this morning, my slave switch still hadn’t been flipped entirely to ‘on’. I unchained myself from the bed, made some coffee and toast and sat down to read blogs. If the switch had been fully on, I would have bounded into Master’s room, jumped on his bed will my tongue lolling out the side of my mouth in expectation that he was going to start his morning interrogation session and something would be shoved into my greedy hole.

I’d just finished my toast when he emerged with cane in hand, ‘My bed, NOW!’ Prodding me along with the cane in my lower back and swatting me playfully across the bum, he herded me onto his bed and into position.

A light caning that still had me squirming and sucking in air between my teeth followed and then the interrogation began. Amongst the words spoken to me and questions asked, Master commented,

 ‘I should just do what I want with you.  All you’re good for is to be caged and chained, beaten and used.’

Part of me was longing to hear that and another part of me groaned inside, “But when am I going to finish my worksheets?”

That damn slavery switch…it just complicates everything.