Something to have with your cornflakes and banana

So the Master and Lord of my domain called last night, as he does every night that we are apart to inform me that not only wouldn’t he be leaving work before about 10pm, but also that he had to be back there again the next morning by 5:30am. So I’ve decided to take it upon my slave ass to write him a blog (another blog!) to keep him amused.

And what is one to write about? Perhaps the fact that I had my first release in 15 days and only my fifth release for the entire year of 2008 tonight.  In fact, looking at my release chart on the fridge I’ve had precisely 11 releases since the 3rd of December last year. I’m not quite sure if that is a lot or surprising few. Master’s phone call actually came about 5 minutes after I’d staged my release, cleaned up the evidence and had started thinking about dinner. Very good timing if I may say so myself.

Perhaps I could write about the fact it was red plague arrival day today and in the space of about ten minutes I went from clean pussy to bloody pussy, or would that be too much information? (lol…) This also reminds of the times when Master asks, “How is your cunt? Wet and sloppy you little slut?” and my reply tends to be, “I’ve got no fucking idea, put something down there and find out!” I don’t get any sensation whatsoever when bodily fluids are dripping out of my nether regions- whether they be of the red variety or the white variety. It’s actually quite similar to the times when I’m not sure whether I’m going to pee or poo. Boys apparently don’t understand how girls can not know what is coming out of them and this seems to carry over from the bathroom to the bedroom too. So unless I have something dripping half way down my thigh, I don’t know about it and I either need a finger or a squelchy noise to tell me.

Perhaps then again I could write about why I’m actually sitting here at this time. I’m running the reticulation (garden watering) system manually as I blog because I’ve fucked up the programme and now it’s not running automatically. Tomorrow I’ll go out and read the instructions like the good little TC bitch that I am and fix it up, but for now I can’t be bothered to go out in the middle of the night and deal with spiders and all sorts of crawly things so I thought I’d do it this way instead. 

Just for something else I could also perhaps write about de-kinking the house the other day in order that a virtual army of tradesmen could tramp through the place giving me quotes on all manner of home renovations. Fetish boots went under the bed, the box of toys went into the wardrobe, canes, crops, floggers and the hitachi also went into the wardrobe and the butt plug went under the sink into the little box of goodies for my asshole. Then I remembered the leashes on the beds so I went and took those off andput them into the toybox. Then I remembered “kitten’s release chart” on the fridge and surreptitiously covered up the title with magnets. Aha! The perfect crime! De-kinking really takes brain power.

So while I’ve been writing this 35mins has passed and the watering is almost done. I’m not the fastest blogger in the world, in fact, a blog generally takes me an hour or so from initial writing to final check and proof-read. I suppose an hour a day is not a lot, but I find that I only want to write ‘good’ stuff and that doesn’t come along every day. Not good in that sense that I only want to write happy-happy-joy-joy-stuff because I don’t and Master will tell you that I get medieval on his ass in cyber blog land, but just in the sense that I want it to mean something. (*cough cough* you’ll just have to excuse my recent forays into movie quote game territory as red plague tension release or something.)

Just on that topic, I was reading a question in a forum the other day about whether people change what they say in their blog because of who reads it and whether they use it as a ‘sneaky’ way of discussing things with their owner. In my case my answers would be yes and yes. I’m sure I would write differently if I knew that people I know weren’t reading it. I’d probably be a bit more brutal and critical and it would be no-holds-barred, but as it is I just steer away from certain topics. I have to say though that I’m a lot better at discussing things with Master as opposed to burying them in a blog and then getting upset when nothing changed even though I’d “talked to him about it” like I used to do. I did that a lot with my previous owner and got absolutely nowhere with it so I decided that I’d make a conscious effort to talk about things in the future. 

So the last of the sprinklers has just shut off and it’s just past midnight. Time for this kitten to be in bed before she turns into a pumpkin. 

The nature of the beast

The nature of the beast is curious indeed. 

We lower ourselves, making them higher and higher above us, while they, looking down from their pedestal, wonder what the fuss is that we are making. Kicking off their shoes and settling back for another night of what they want to do, we stare in wonder as they burp, fart and scratch their nether regions. Being all the way up there, we somehow begin to think that they are above all that, but afterall, they’re just human too.

The nature of the beast is curious indeed.

We scratch around in the dirt at their feet, humbly and and seemingly befitting ‘our place’ and every now and then a tidbit comes tumbling down from the heavens. As we race over to grab the gift from above, jumping through all the necessary hoops on the way, we whip ourselves into a state of fervent expectations dreaming what that tidbit will be like to savour. Chomping it down in a gulp, we want more and more and more. It wasn’t enough, but how much will be enough? Upstairs they don’t seem to know and either do we- afterall, we’re just human too.

The nature of the beast, the beast that is D/s, is curious indeed.

We, at the beginning of the whole thing, decided that they were better than us. We decided that they could make all the decisions, they could (if they so chose to do so) control our every move. We somehow decided that we were no longer fit to run our lives and handed the reigns over to the ones upstairs. That act of faith and trust not only sealed our fates, but forever seared into our minds that they are the ‘supreme beings’ , the ones that don’t make mistakes and don’t fuck up. For the ones down below that would be a terrible expectation to live up to, but the ones up above should be able to take it in their stride. Afterall, they’re up there and we’re down here, so that makes them somehow different to us…doesn’t it?

Very curious methinks.

I have to take a step back and breathe in a big, deep breath every now and then to clear my head and look at the situation for what it is. And when I do I see that he is just him and I’m just me. Anything I thought I saw there before were just creations of my own little mind. I might be able to dress the characters of my dreams in whatever fancy costumes I wish, but they can’t exist anywhere but inside my head. 

Perceptions of people and how they exist to us through our eyes will vary wildly from person to person. Have you ever asked someone what sort of person they see you as? Ask ten people and you’ll get ten different answers and all will be different from the person that you perceive yourself to be.

Think about that next time you’re straining your neck up to the heavens looking for a sign from *your* God.

The movie quote game returns!

Let’s recap the rules:

– I post quotes from fifteen of my favourite movies
– when a person correctly guesses the movie I strike it through and credit the person
– NO googling etc.!

Let’s begin:

*Update- all done!*

1.  Sat in that jail, I sat in that jail til I felt like I’s bout to rot to death. I know what it like to wanna go somewhere and cain’t. I know what it like to wanna sing… and have it beat out ‘ya. I want to thank you, Miss Celie, fo evrything you done for me. I ‘members that day in the store with Miss Millie – I’s feelin’ real down. I’s feelin’ mighty low. And when I seed you – I knowd they is a God. I knowd they is a God. The Color Purple-killintheheart

2. You’ll conform to the identity we give you, eat where we tell you, live where we tell you. From now on you’ll have no identifying marks of any kind. You’ll not stand out in any way. Your entire image is crafted to leave no lasting memory with anyone you encounter. You’re a rumor, recognizable only as deja vu and dismissed just as quickly. You don’t exist; you were never even born. Anonymity is your name. Silence your native tongue. You’re no longer part of the System. You’re above the System. Over it. Beyond it. We’re “them.” We’re “they.” Men In Black – kavieshana

3. Mrs. Hammond told me that God made my hair red on purpose and I’ve never cared for Him since.  Anne of Green Gables- killintheheart

4. That’s right, bitch, don’t tell me about the alarm.  Burglar –

5. Ooh, I’m really scared. No! Don’t! There’s a- a peck here with an acorn pointed at me! Willow – aneyah

6. Don’t call me stupid! A Fish Called Wanda – aneyah

7. There’s a ninety-five pound Chinese man with a hundred sixty million dollars behind this door. Ocean’s Eleven – fyrehardt

8. Help also Mrs. Anna to keep awake for scientific sewing of dresses, even though she be only a woman and a Christian and therefore unworthy of your interest! The King and I – aneyah

9.Your aim’s as bad as your cooking sweetheart… and that’s saying something! Mr and Mrs Smith – ch_renee

10. I ain’t done nothin’ wrong by speaking to the gentleman. I’ve a right to sell flowers if I keep off the kerb. I’m a respectable girl: so help me, I never spoke to him ‘cept so far as to buy a flower off me.  My Fair Lady- kavieshana

11. Do you find me sadistic? You know, I bet I could fry an egg on your head right now, if I wanted to. You know, Kiddo, I’d like to believe that you’re aware enough even now to know that there’s nothing sadistic in my actions. Well, maybe towards those other… jokers, but not you. No Kiddo, at this moment, this is me at my most… masochistic. Kill Bill – maiasaura_nest

12. What you looking at? You never seen a guy who slept with a fish before?
The Statue is a gift from French citizens and has come to symbolize hope for naked women everywhere… BOCCE BALLS.
Splash – maiasaura_nest

13. You can lose all your points for any one of three things. One: If you cry. Two: If you ask to see your mother. Three: If you’re hungry and ask for a snack! Forget it! Life is Beautiful – Kent

14. This is a true story of how friendships run deeper than blood. This is my story of the only three friends in my life that have truly mattered. Two of them were killers that never made it past the age of 30. The other is a non-practicing attorney, living within the pain of his past, too afraid to let go, finding reassurance instead of confronting its horror. I was the only one that could speak for them, and for the children we were. Sleepers- killintheheart

15. I have something to say! It’s better burn out, than to fade away!  Highlander – mithras_invicti

The clock is ticking (^v^)

Now back to our scheduled programming…

First of all, let me just say that the last entry was so much fun with everyone putting in their guesses that I think I might have to do it again sometime. I’ve definitely got another fifteen favourite movies, as I found it so hard just to pick fifteen originally. A big thanks to everyone who participated (and to those who wanted to but were beaten to it!)

So some updates (I’ll put them behind cuts for those skimmers only interested in smut- lol!)


Well, I’m just starting week four of a low carb diet (Atkins to be exact) and achieving reasonably fast progress. I’m still doing induction (the strictest phase of the diet where you can’t have anymore than 20g carbs per day) so meals are fairly limited and I think one of the hardest things is no fruit. On the weekends when Master is home he likes to have all the things I can’t and while he doesn’t rub my nose in the fact, the smell of raisin toast on a Sunday morning can be very distracting. I just had a zucchini muffin made from soy flour and soy protein powder with two tablespoons of ricotta cheese for breakfast- I think you get the idea.
I’ve also found a gym class that I like -a good ol’ aerobics style one. Ever since Les Mills classes took over the world, gyms everywhere have become instensely boring to me so it’s great to have finally found one that is different and be able to enjoy the challenge.


I’ve secured three things for Master’s b’day present and have another two up my sleeve that I need to organize. I did manage to get something lovely off ebay (not the dress I spoke about but something very yummy) but unfortunately it won’t be here for another 4 weeks so it will be a slightly belated present compared to everything else but I think it will be worth it. I’d love to share the details with everyone, but since sweetie pumpkin Master reads here too, you’ll just have to wait!


I spent Friday night in the cage with a butt plug up my ass. It was decidedly uncomfortable and not a pleasant way to end the week. In fact, I started to get quite pissy about it because I wasn’t in the mood for cage or butt plug (not that I ever am in the mood for butt plug.) With the addition of the foam in the bottom of the cage I can no longer sit up without bowing my head so if I want to stretch my neck I have to lay down and if I want to stretch my legs I have to sit up, but I can’t do both at once. Normally that would be a nice little predicament bondage situation for me but once again, I think I need to be in the mood to enjoy it.


I got some pretty ribbons for my boots so now I can have purple laces with my new black boots or black laces with my new red boots etc. Now I just need to set aside an hour or so to lace the suckers up….


During our Saturday morning ravishing session Master said something that took me totally by surprise:

“I want to mark you some more and I’ve decided something that I want to do.”

Normally a remark like that would make me like it better than Pirates of Penzance (sorry, I’m still in the movie quotes headspace..a pat on the head to everyone who gets the reference!) but I wanted to know what it was exactly that he had in mind.

“I want to laser your cunt so we won’t have to worry about those nasty little hairs anymore between brazillians. Then you’ll truly have a slave’s cunt.”

After the piercings and tattoo I thought it was a relatively an ‘easy’ form of marking for me and something that I would actually enjoy due to the low pain factor etc. I also found it totally eerie because in my little fantasies of being captured I’ve always thought of some sort of permanent hair removal (everything except the hair) as part of it. I don’t think I’ve ever told Master about that so it was just another scary moment where I thought he could see inside my noggin’.

Ahhhh…Monday…the start of another week of house slave bitchness.

We take this break…

…in our scheduled programme of talk about slavery to bring you this little bit of trivial fun (begat from

The challenge:
-pick fifteen of your favourite movies
-put quotes from the movies up
-when a person correctly guess a movie, strike it through and credit the person
-no googling etc. allowed!

My fifteen:

1. What now? Let me tell you what now. I’ma call a coupla hard, pipe-hittin’ niggers, who’ll go to work on the homes here with a pair of pliers and a blow torch. You hear me talkin’, hillbilly boy? I ain’t through with you by a damn sight. I’ma get medieval on your ass.  Pulp Fiction – Steven

2. I’m no friggin’ monument to justice! I lost my hand! I lost my bride! Johnny has his hand! Johnny has his bride! You want me to take my heartache, put it away and forget? Moonstruck – maiasaura_nest

3. I believe in two things: discipline and the Bible. Here you’ll receive both. Put your trust in the Lord; your ass belongs to me. The Shawshank Redemption – Steven

4. I got moths. Big, mutant, junkie moths. Jumping Jack Flash – maiasaura_nest

5. Look, we can’t do this 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Secretary – Steven

6. Oh, Miss Daisy, yesterday, while you was out visitin’, I went and ate a can of your salmon. Now, I know you said eat the left-over pork chops, but they was kinda stiff. So, I stopped at the Piggly Wiggly and got you another can. You want me just to go on and put it in the cupboard?   Driving Miss Daisy – Steven

7. There’s nothing more toxic or deadly than a human child. A single touch could kill you. Leave a door open, and one can walk right into this factory; right into the monster world. Monsters Inc. – Steven

8. I had to go to Greek school, where I learned valuable lessons such as, “If Nick has one goat and Maria has nine, how soon will they marry?” My Big Fat Greek Wedding – Cassie

9. “It’s not a goddamn cold! Don’t be such a hoo-hoo. “
     “And what’s a hoo-hoo? “
     “It’s a cunt, dear. “
Boys on the Side – Cristina

10. Hello. My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father prepare to die. The Princess Bride – Steven

11. Oh. Wow. Gee Whiz. Looky here. You know we’re always fascinated when we find leg irons with no legs in them. Who held the keys sir? 


Well, think me up a cup of coffee and a chocolate doughnut with some of those little sprinkles on top, just as long as you’re thinking. The Fugitive –

12. Splendid! We have been without an interpreter since our master got angry with our last protocol droid and disintegrated him.

13. Listen. Since I’ve met you I’ve nearly been incinerated, drowned, shot at, and chopped into fish bait. We’re caught in the middle of something sinister here, my guess is dad found out more than he was looking for and until I’m sure, I’m going to continue to do things the way I think they should be done.  Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade – Scintillio Grande

14. I got red, I got green, I got yellow… I’m out of purple, but I do have one Gold Circle coin left… the condom of champions… the one and only… nothin’ is gettin’ through this sucker. Whaddya say, hmm?  Pretty Woman – Cassie

15. Walking around like regular people. They don’t see each other. They only see what they want to see. They don’t know they’re dead. Sixth Sense – Cassie

The clock is ticking (^v^)

Gifts that keep on giving

In a couple of weeks time it will be Master’s 50th birthday and for such an auspicious occasion I decided that I wanted to get him something special.

Much hunting around on ebay has ensued and being the nature of our relationship I’m wondering whether I should buy him some to play with (read something for me to wear or be beaten with) or something that he can tell his family and friends about when they ask him what he got for his birthday.

I go through this dilemma every time present-giving is involved because invariably when I ask him if there is anything that he wants he says nothing, or he says an iMac. Now, while I was all readied up to buy him an iMac for his birthday, his old computer somehow seems to have had a new lease on life (as all electrical appliances do when you mention buying a new one)and he’s decided to keep on using the old one until it well and truly dies. So when faced with a man who immediately goes out and buys what he wants when he has a burning desire for something new without any foremention or subtle-hint dropping as I generally do in the hopes that someone will buy it for me, and who no longer wants an iMac, what is a girl to do?

It’s at this point in time that I generally get panicky and confused and end up buying some nasty paintoy that I am going to regret buying for the next ten years. I’m still regretting the purchase of the cane that I bought him for our first Christmas together a couple of years ago and I’m sure I probably will keep on regretting that particular purchase for years to come. It is truly the gift that keeps on giving.

There are some things he/I/we need for the toybox and fetish wear or boots always go down well, but it is right to keep buying the significant person in your life things that you will ultimately end up wearing? Personally I’d like to get him something that he could use, just him and enjoy it and while my budget won’t stretch for a new two-door Pajero that he has fallen in love with, I’d still like to get him something non-fetish/kink. But what does a girl buy?

So ultimately I end up on ebay looking at fetish items and weighing up how badly something is going to hurt and how ridiculous something would look on me. This morning my eye was caught by this:

Lamb leather women dress armbinder steel bond corset

Not only had the indecipherable English caught my attention, but three of my favourite words were contained in the description- leather, armbinder, corset. Wow! I can’t think of anything I’d like better. Take a look at the listing if you’re intrigued – I certainly was. And I have to say, I’m in love with the lamb leather women dress armbinder steel bond corset, but $220 dollars and $55 postage is a bit over my budget for a gift that I ultimately would be wearing…lol. I mean if you’re going to be wearing it and it’s going into your side of the closet, can it still be a present for another person? I’m sure the correct response to this is that as a slave I possess nothing and so by default it would be his anyway so not a problem. But I don’t know…it just doesn’t seem right somehow.

The only thing right about this is the lamb leather women dress armbinder steel bond corset- yessssssss….it is sooooo right (^v^)

**update- the dress just sold on ebay for $255…

The Strap-on

Going back several weeks now I had a chance meeting with a strap-on. That’s not to say that I was riding a strap-on or on the giving end of a strap on (you dirty people still need to take your mind out of the gutter! was in fact using the belt of the strap-on for a purpose other than what it was intended for.

I tend to get a bit creative on occasion during my release sessions and although I won’t spend a day planning them as I was known to in the past, I do like to mull things over in my mind about what I can do that sounds yummy.

Now I’m still on a mission to be aroused by a vibrator. I refuse to admit that I am one of the few people who don’t find vibrators to be a one-way road to a good juicy orgasm. In fact, I feel downright cheated and frustrated that they do nothing for me but make me want to pee. Try as I might, I just don’t get anywhere close to coming with one and while they can feel ‘nice’ as in a different form of stimulation, I don’t and can’t get off even with the mighty Hitachi or a purple pocket rocket.

So back to the strap-on. Many eons ago Master purchased a strap-on because I had let slip somewhere that I had a fantasy of using a strap-on on someone. (After much thought I’ve come to the conclusion that it was a fantasy of a strap-on being used on me and I have no wish or desire to shove anything up anyone’s anywhere.) This particular strap-on actually gave birth to Mr. Purple and while he found use as the butt plug from hell, the belt made of rubber with velcro straps and with an internal mini-vibrator was relegated to the bottom of the toybox.

Ever determined to ensure that any particular vibrator within my reach cannot get me off, I decided to strap on the strap-on belt and give it a go. I then took off the strap-on belt and searched around for some batteries to make it go and put it back on again.

Some nipple clamps and leg and wrist bondage followed as standard and while I worried about the aesthetic look of a purple rubber strap-on belt and its massive remote control hanging between my legs, I also became anxious about the heady smell of rubber and the chances of breaking out in a rash (Just fyi, I’ve been nursing a very badly blistered finger after putting an elastoplast bandaid on it ten days ago. Guess what? I’m allergic to bandaids!)

So I got into the on-all-fours position- my favourite position for nipple clamps- moved my hands so the cuffs weren’t digging in so badly and flipped the switch on the remote control. Hmmm…low speed…nothing happening…ohhhhh…h..i..g..h…s..p..e..e..d…..w..o..w.

Now before you get excited, I didn’t come. But I do have to say that it was the closest to feeling really pleasurable with a vibrating device that I’ve ever come. I’m not quite sure if it was the location or how tightly it was held against my clit courtesy of the constricting rubber belt or what it was, but it was good. It made me want to be fucked and I always take that as a positive sign.

So my search for a device that makes me cum continues, but after this experience there does seem to be some light at the end of the tunnel or should that be some orgasms at the end of vibrator?


I used to have the full set of “Princess” white furniture in my bedroom when I lived at home. You know the cheapish chip board covered with white plastic laminate and the swirly ‘antique look’ tarnished handles. Jam-packed into my very modest bedroom located next to the one and only bathroom/toilet where I would be awoken on a daily basis to the sounds of my father noisily blowing his nose in the shower (what is it with guys and that anyway????), was a dressing table with mirror, a bedside table, a bookshelf, a desk, a bed, a wardrobe and one of those round rattan chairs with the big cushion in it that you find in tropical resorts.

Nothing sinister at all in there- except perhaps for the one or two secreted bottles of vodka hidden in the wardrobe and the Cleo magazines with their “How to give a really good blow job” articles strewn around the floor, except upon closer inspection when you noticed the scarves tied around the castor wheels of my bed, the piece of string looped around one of the louvres of my wardrobe doors, the little pieces of plastic littering the floor near the rattan chair and the slightly crusty facewasher that was hidden in my underwear drawer. Most people wouldn’t have noticed anything strange and it was only me who knew what they were for – bondage of course!

The scarves were long enough just to reach up onto the bed and had slip knots in them that I could slip over my feet for some under the doona restraint at night. The string on the wardrobe door was for me to close the door once I’d put myself inside. It was a dark, enclosed space that I imagined was my own little cell and played out many a fantasy inside. The little pieces of plastic were the remains of plastic straps that I’d used to keep the top of the ‘cage’ down. Turned upside down, the seat of the rattan chair fit nicely over the base and formed a nice little rattan cage that I could close with the ties and snip off with scissors when I was done- or when someone came home unexpectedly! And the slightly crusty facewasher? No, not used in any sort of masturbation activity (you people really need to take your minds out of the gutters! Lol…) but shoved into my mouth and tied on with yet another scarf to function as a nice little gag.

What prompted this little trip down memory lane was a sudden blinding thought by me during the ritual morning interrogation/ravishing session that the built-in closet in the back bedroom could be transformed into a perfect little cell. Upon suggesting this to Master he then informed me of his thought to take off the existing closet door and replace it with a ‘door’ made of wooden dowels to simulate cell bars. While cell bars sounded thoroughly delicious, my mind was still stuck in memories past of white louvre doors and rattan chairs- things I hadn’t thought about for a very long time. 

If I’d been a bit smarter and thought about the fact that a ten year old girl building an impromptu bondage palace in her bedroom was not a ‘normal’ thing, I’m sure I could of caused myself and others a lot less confusion and angst. If I would of then thought of the fact that those fantasies never abated and the need for bondage never decreased no matter how old I got and the implication of that, I don’t think I would of made some of the choices that I have made in my life. I’m not saying that I made mistakes, I’m just saying that I was ignoring (both consciously and unconsciously) what I should of been looking at and instead of trying to get by without that side of me, I should of been working out how to incorporate that side of me into my life.

Should have, could have, didn’t.

But fortunately, even though I took the long and bumpy road here, I’ve finally arrived. It’s good to be home.


Old rules

While I was home for holidays last month I explained to my mother the rules of the car spotting game:

“You get ten points for old vw bugs, fifteen points for new ones, twenty for a new range rover and fifty for a valiant ute”

“Ok,” she said. ” But what do you do with the points?”

“Umm…well, I get a reduction in the number of strokes I receive if they’re my points and M gets to increase the number of strokes with his points.’

“Wow,” laughing, she responded. “But just one thing….he doesn’t hurt you or anything does he?”

“Yeah, it hurts all the time.”

“But I mean he doesn’t like bruise you or anything does he?”  


“And you like it?”

“Not really.”

Shaking her head and laughing. “I think I must of dropped you on your head or something when you were growing up.”

At that point there was some more laughter from both sides and the topic changed.

To be honest, I don’t think that I’d get it either. Reading back over what I said to her that day, I’d be pretty damn well confused and thinking that I was suffering from some head trauma too.

After some thought and some hunting around on-line for a definition that seems to fit, I’ve gone back to the original latin meaning of submit which comes from the word submittere “to yield, lower, let down, put under, reduce,” from sub “under” + mittere “let go, send.”

Now, it may just be me, but I don’t see anything in there about ‘happily, with a big joyous smile on one’s face’ or  ‘with great enthusiasm’. There’s nothing in that definition that says you have to like or enjoy it. Yes, there is an inference of willingness in that the person has to yield (give in, so to speak) or lower themselves, but it says nothing about there being blissful flights of angels to accompany it. You can be put in a situation where you have to yield or lower yourself, just because there is no other choice available to you and that is still submission.

More and more I’m thinking that submission is ‘doing things that you don’t want to do’. I mentioned the other day that I wasn’t broken to my slavery until I was ‘made’ to do something that I would never,ever agree to doing. That to me was a time when there was ‘pure submission’ because I didn’t want to do it 100% but had to do it anyway.

So I don’t like pain and sometimes ‘obeying’ is just a big pain in the ass. That brings us to the big question, “What do I get out of my submission?”

I don’t know is the honest answer. 

I don’t have a burning need to serve and please- of course I prefer Master to be happy than angry or sad, but serving and pleasing are not so much driving needs as requirements of the ‘job’. I can quite happily go for hours laying on the floor watching tv without having to get up every ten minutes to get Master this that or the other (^v^) I don’t need to be serving him in order to feel complete. Making Master coffee doesn’t make me feel complete nor does dressing in slut wear. (I personally think that I look like mutton dressed up as lamb most of the time, so I don’t get a huge amount of enjoyment in pleasing him in that sense. ) I think I get varying degrees of satisfaction more than anything else when I’ve managed to do what is required of me. Making Master cum or getting the froth on his cappuccino just right are things that give me a sense inside that I’ve ‘done good’. It’s that recognition that I enjoy more than the serving and pleasing per se.

There are times when I’ve been beaten when my ‘beating window’ was open and I’ve taken quite a solid beating and it’s never quite made me feel as ‘recognised’ as when I’ve struggled through a light beating. I guess for me I get a stronger sense of submission when it’s not so easy- when I’m doing things that I don’t want to do.

I think there needs to be another word for it. The word ‘submission’ seems to include too much acquiescence for my liking, although I don’t think that ‘Fucking doing crap’ has a good ring to it either. Any thoughts or suggestions?

(thoughts jogged by blogs from kaya and Dakrish – thanks!)


New rules

Being that I’m now a full-time house bitch, there have been some changes in the household. Along with the clothing rules, slut presentation rules and more frequent beatings, there are also more subtle differences.

Take for instance infringements of rules now incurring punishment sessions instead of education sessions. I don’t really think that what happens is any different because I still get beaten or something equally as un-enjoyable, it’s more the case that Master’s expectations have risen and that I should know better not to infringe on the rules and therefore if I do, it deserves a ‘punishment’ and not an education. Perhaps in a way it’s also an indication that I’d made the transition from training period to permanency in my slavery. Not that I’m any better or that I’m a more appropriately behaved slavegirl in any way (lol) …just that I’m now on the next level of sorts.

The other difference is that I now can’t ask to take off my boots or get changed etc. in the usual way I have been. Normally I’d ask something along the lines of, ‘Master, can I put something on my goosebumps are beginning to mutate in the cold’ or ‘Can I take my boots off please, my feet are drowning in their own sweat?’ 

But apparently those ways of asking for things focus entirely too much on my own pleasure and comfort so they have now been universally replaced by the question, “Master, have you had enough visual and physical pleasure from your slave?”The whole idea is to instil in me the fact that I only exist for his pleasure and I can only do things when he is good and ready to have them done. 

Our interrogation sessions seem to have ramped up a bit too. Last night along with the standard Q & A session was this doozy of a question/comment from Master, 

‘You do realize now that you are the lowest life-form in this house now, don’t you? You’re not even human, you’re an animal, my animal.’

Now if that isn’t spelling our clearly my new status in the house as house-bitch, I don’t know what will.

But interestingly enough, just to temper that statement and the double beating session I had last night that has left me with some nice botty bruises, I also received some lovely flowers from Master with a “To my valentine..from M” card attached and some glass beads for my pandora bracelet which, when he heard I’d gotten the bracelet for my birthday, he immediately jumped on ebay trying to track down charms and beads to fill it up with.

A good balance of harsh and cruel to go with the spoiling. The recipe for a happy slave girlie.


I have something to confess. 

I went to sleep last night without leashing myself to the bed…Horror-shock-horror-recoil-in-disbelief!
And what was worse was that I got sprung by Master. He stormed into my bedroom at precisely 11:47pm and found the form of his unleashed slave girlie on the bed. Some unimpressed Master followed along with some cropping punishment and a leashing to his bed instead.  It was torture – the whirring of the fan, the dripping of the shower and the chainsaw roaring beside me. Being a very particular person about any sort of noise in the room where I sleep, it was not good.

Very rarely do I slip up in that way. I think there has been maybe one other occasion when the chain on the bed had slipped onto the floor and me not seeing it, completely forgot about it.

So why on this particular occasion did I not leash myself to the bed, you may be asking.

Well, the answer is because about 30 minutes before the aforementioned storming in of the domly one, I was watching porn on my laptop and having a nice juicy release.

But where does the leashing have anything to do with it, I hear you say.

Well, I was using the leash chain as a weight on the binder clips I’d attached to my nipples, which I’d then hooked together with a shackle and passed through the “O” ring on my collar. The combined weight of the chain and the pulling of the shackle was quit delicious. I’d had a lovely little release (number 10 out of my block of 25 releases won last year) and summarily fallen asleep.

Master was quite amazed to find me unleashed. He said so on numerous occasions and even wrote about it in his blog. I didn’t quite pluck up the courage at the time to explain to him face to face about why I’d failed in my slave duty, so I’m not quite sure what he’s going to say when he reads about it here.

Either he’ll think I’m a greedy little slut whore who can’t keep her fingers out of her juicy twat and will therefore be amused, or he’ll think that I broke a rule and it doesn’t matter what the circumstances were and he will not be amused.

I’m hoping on the former. Say a few hail Marys for me.

Broken part deux

It happened again. Just when I thought that I couldn’t be broken in any more ways,  another part of my resistance, another part of ‘me’ has been broken off and tossed aside. All in all it’s a very good thing.

Ever since that night of the party when something as simple as being paraded naked and bound through a room full of chatting people ‘broke’ something inside of me, I’ve learned that I can be de-based and objectified and that things that I really don’t want to happen are going to happen anyway- simply because I’m the slave and he’s the Master and what he says goes. Everything that I had done up until that point had had, in some way, my seal of acquiescence on it- cunt piercings, tattoo, permanent collar, use by mystery shoppers and reaching a little further back even piss-drinking and a daily 3 litre enema were things that I, in some way or another, accepted and agreed to do. In comparison the paraded nakedness in a room full of people, was something that shamed me utterly and totally to the core and was something that I would never, ever agree to doing. It was an internal hard limit.

But it happened anyway because I had no choice. That was the moment that my slavery was irrevocably pounded into me and I knew that things really were ‘out of my hands.’ It was a sobering moment and one that I refer to as being broken. At the time I thought that was the end of  the ‘breaking’ and life would go on, albeit with me in a slightly different mindset, but it would go on relatively quietly nevertheless.

So then right out of nowhere I was broken again. I don’t think that I had healed and was broken all over again, just that I was broken in another way- another barrier was broken down, yet another piece of ‘me’ was lost. This time it wasn’t a room full of naked people, it was my decision to really be a slave.

Since finishing my post-grad diploma recently and with the prospect of me actually teaching kiddies being a ‘No way, Jose!’ situation, I’d been floundering about what to do and every man and his dog had been asking me what I was going to do. Now, I realise that it’s a perfectly acceptable, socially appropriate question to ask, but it was driving me insane. Not only did I have absolutely no idea what job I was going to do, but a little part of me inside already knew the answer to that question and it annoyed me that people didn’t recognise what I did as a ‘job’.

“Hi, I’m kitten and I’m a slave.”

was what I wanted to say and have the conversation end there. But you can’t. Even Master was getting on the bandwagon, sending me job ads and discussing options. There was even one particular phone conversation when he informed me that I was to call up and inquire about two particular jobs as soon as he had hung up, ‘or else’. I had a good cry after he’d hung upand actually got quite pissy with him. Why was he of all people, not allowing me to do ‘my job’? It hurt and I just didn’t understand what he wanted from me. Did he want me to be his slave or not? Was he more interested in the financial contribution I could make than the mindset of a slave I was in? I just didn’t get it.

We’d had a few discussions before about work vs. full-time slave. He said that he liked me to be home, ready for him when he returned. He said liked me to keep the house in order and look after the poodle pup. He even said he liked the idea of me being here and his and his only. But there was also the flipside of him wanting me to feel ‘productive’ and that I was ‘contributing’. He said he wanted me to be satisfied and to have mental stimulation and social interaction. He also said that he wanted me to have some finances available for things I wanted and for my trips home etc. I really didn’t know what he wanted:

“I want you to be happy.”

was his reply.

I’d had conflicting feelings about working. While the financial independence and social interaction is nice, I know from experience that working is the quickest path to making me feel less like a slave and less inclined to want to serve and please. When your feet are aching and you’ve had a shitty day, the last thing you want to do is put on a pair of 5 inch-heeled boots and be at your Master’s beck and call. I also tend to get caught up in the ‘world of work’ where that’s all you talk about and mostly what you think about. Work for me has always equalled toys gathering dust. I don’t seem to be able to juggle both slavery and career. Life and slavery is hard enough. I can’t for the life of me understand how kids, a job, life and slavery works for some people. Maybe I’m just one of those rare women who can’t multitask (*makes a doctor’s appointment to check her testosterone levels). I don’t know, but for me it just doesn’t seem to work. Something has to give.

The bottom line for me is that I am a slave and want to live the life of one. That’s why I left the sunny shores of Japan 2 1/2 years ago and my oh-so-devoted and still very much in love with me ex-husband. I don’t want to be a pseudo slave, a slave on weekends or a slave who is so tired from other things that she can’t be a slave. I wanted 24/7. I wanted it all. Is that bad?

So I explained all this to Master and his question was:

“Do you want to be my slave completely? Is that what you want to do, be my slave and nothing more?”

I’d always thought that that’s exactly what I was, but apparently not. Apparently I was in slave limbo, neither a complete slave nor a submissive. I needed to make that final decision in order to be a complete slave and here it was staring me in the face:

“Yes,” I replied. “I’m a slave. I’m your slave and nothing more.”

And that was the moment that I was broken for the second time. I felt something else give at that moment and became something a little less, but much more than I was. I felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders and things were looking much brighter and I was feeling much more content.

It was then that Master explained the rules for ‘complete slavery’. Strict adherence to nakedness or fetish wear with boots when home, slutwear when out, permission needed for everything and anything- including access to my bank funds. As I’m a slave, I have nothing. No rights, no choices, no possessions. (Interestingly enough Master told me later that he’d wished he’d had a camera at the moment when he told me I no longer had any money – that my money was his money.  He said the look on my face was utterly priceless.) I can of course, always ask for permission to spend money and beg for dispensation of the rules. Whether he gives it or not, is entirely up to his levels of sadism at any given time.

So for the foreseeable future I’m a career slave, a house bitch. Master and I both believe that things change and people grown, so there may be an option for employment in the future, with his permission of course.



You know when you just don’t feel like writing? Well, that’s how I’ve been feeling for the past couple of weeks and I’m still waiting for my creative juices to start flowing again. If it hadn’t of been for Master saying that he ‘missed my blogs’ then I doubt whether I would of bothered at all, but you know how the domly ones like to tug on the guilt strings.

So I returned from my little sojourn in the country, and it’s back to extremely hot days and nights where it’s so hard to sleep. It was lovely being home and no matter how hard I try, I always have a little cry fest at the airport. My family has been coming to the airport to see my fly in and fly out sporadically for the past 13 years. Quite impressive when you think about it. I used to laugh at my mum getting all teary eyed as I hugged everyone goodbye, but now as I’ve gotten older and mellowed, it tends to be me that is the one who is crying.

Any trip home requires a hooker outfit on my return and for “Hooker 2008” I went for some patterned fishnet stockings, a hot pink and black top-cum-dress and boots. I changed mid-flight and timed my make-up application for about an hour before landing- that way I can still use the tray table and nip off to the toilet whenever I need too. One thing I discovered this time was that turbulence can really assist in the insertion of contact lenses. As long as you’re not being thrown around, the swaying movements actually help the lenses stick to your eyeballs. Wow! I bet you didn’t know that.

After three trips to the toilet and some funny looks from my fellow passengers as I emerged in differing stages of attire, I was ready to meet Master. He was sitting in the terminal at the arrival gate, camera in hand and made me pause and pose as he took some snaps of ‘Hooker 2008’. The flash was making the two hundred or so people milling around the gate look in my direction to see which celebrity had landed in Perth Airport (Damn, it’s not someone connected to Heath Ledger!) so I turned a suitable shade of pink to match my top and Master was pleased by the whole public humiliation aspect.

Back home I received a light caning and was summarily put in the cage. Master had been the busy handyman and had bought some foam to put in the bottom of the cage. While the ten centimetres of foam made it ever-so-much-more comfy, I also had the feeling that the cage had grown considerable smaller as I could no longer sit up in without ducking my head. Comfort vs. space….that’s a tough one.

The pony head harness that Master purchased for me while I was away arrived on Tuesday so last night it got its first trial-run. It had the full blindfold on and had straps everywhere so I was feeling considerable trussed up. Master said he enjoyed being able to pull me around by the reins and I have to say that I enjoyed the animal aspect of it. With the bit in your mouth and everything else shut out, it’s hard not to feel reduced and humbled.

Black beauty in red?

More straps and chains than the eye can see

Come hither pony girl