What thou shalt not know, thou shalt not need to know

(Just delving into some past experiences while plague/ Master’s absence and general blog topic drought continues…)

My first bdsm experiences were…in a word…regrettable. A short flurry of fun and games in a very brief honeymoon period and then nothing. Days and weeks of nothing.

I remember driving myself crazy at one stage trying to figure out my former owner’s ‘grand design’ for me. I used to think that there had to be a reason he was ignoring me and didn’t seem to give a toss about our relationship. Was he testing me? Was this some grand scheme for me to prove how committed I was to him?  His seeming lack of interest in play and sex and everything else that I’d gotten into that relationship for had to be for a purpose, right? 

I’d cycle wildly through conflicting emotions of guilt that I wasn’t doing enough and therefore wasn’t seen to be ‘suitable’ or ‘valuable’ enough to be used, and seething anger that my situation was nobetter than before. I’d given up everything to be with him and for what? But was I the one at fault? Was I not slavey enough or attractive enough for him? Was he disappointed in me? Did he want to get rid of me but couldn’t? Doubts and more doubts bubbled to the surface.

I wrote some things in my blog, but I never really reproached him for what he did or didn’t do. I assumed that it wasn’t my place to say stuff. I also felt that saying negative things might also relegate me from tenaciously ground to plunging down the cliff face. I hadn’t done anything bad that I knew of, but it always felt like I was being punished.

Life in general also made me angry. He stayed home, I went out to do shiftwork.  Every weekend we would have his kids. Cycling home on weekdays I’d be imagining all the things that we could be doing with our time together because I knew that once the weekend came, there would be kids everywhere. But days of nothing went by and before I knew it, it was the weekend again. I actually started getting angrier and more jealous with the kids. There wasn’t a thing he wouldn’t do or buy for them, yet there wasn’t a thing he would do for me. Money that we didn’t have was spent on buying mountains of dvds for them and toys. After working 14hr days and getting home at 1am, I’d arrive home to see that he’d cooked a baked dinner and had dessert with the kids. All that would be left for me were the empty, dirty dishes and crap all over the house. I’d open up another can of baked beans in the dark house and seethe. Then I’d feel guilty because I was the slave and anything he gave me was a privilege and I shouldn’t be expecting things.

It was much, much later when I learned the very important distinction between ‘use’ and being ‘used’.

All of this was a long time ago and now my life is incomparable. The sad thing is that the whole experience scarred me in a lot of ways and changed me into who I am today- a soul who is a lot more insecure and who was constantly waiting for the honeymoon to be ‘over’. I went a bit psycho when I first moved here to be with Master, more than anything due to the permanent markings that were surreptitiously put onto me and that made me wonder, ‘What the fuck am I going to do with them once he gets sick of me and tosses me aside?’ Master often jabs me about it saying, “So you really thought I’d get sick of you, did you? Eighteen months and counting now…” 

I was the one who ended up asking for my metal collar to be removed in my first relationship. I’d stewed and stewed and sat up in bed one morning and asked him, “What is your grand plan?” He said he didn’t know. I asked him if he wanted things to work between us. He said yes. Then I asked him to take it off so I could think. That particular collar never went back onto my neck.

An incident of collar removal here about two weeks after I’d first arrived because I’d freaked and said that I ‘can’t do it’ seriously gave me deja vu. Master had removed my collar because he thought that that was what I wanted, but what I really wanted was the security of it and the sense that there was no backing out. To know that it could come off so ‘easily’ made me even more insecure. I felt that he really didn’t want it to be on there in the first place- I mean, if you can take it off within the space of a few breaths, how much do you really want it to stay on there? Fortunately it’s been securely on there ever since and I don’t even have any idea where the allen key is.

What thou shalt not know, thou shalt not need to know.


9 thoughts on “What thou shalt not know, thou shalt not need to know

Add yours

  1. all i can say is, is that i sympathise with you, after moving here to be slave and getting similar to you, *nothing*, i can understand where you are coming from…needing to be used, having promises of use and then nothing leaves a girl wondering *where the fuck did i go wrong*…i know now it wasnt me but was him.

    the dynamic you have now is far removed from what you had then..

  2. Rough stuff.

    It is hard to realize some aspect of your life is not where or what you wanted it to be.

    Takes a lot of courage to actually pursue your wants and needs. Even more so if that means completely tearing up and out of a comfort zone.

    Sometimes what we all really need is a good swift kick to go get what we want. Never mind understanding it.

    Be safe.

  3. Bastard “Baked Beans”

    You certaintly got ripped off big times by that Bastard in Alice Springs, first of all making you write a contract of slavery of all the things you would do and got your big sister to sign it as witness before you got there.

    Then after the intial play period he deserted you phyiscally and emotionally whilst draining you financially by spending your earnings on his lifestyle and his kids.

    Fact that he only bought baked beans for you to eat when we all know that a slave girl loves cold tinned spaghettie and eating directly form the can with a spoon while sitting on the floor.

    Spending your money on white goods for himself, not paying the rent with your earnings and even cooking the salmon, steak and goodies you brought home for work for his kiddies and himself leaving you the dirty dishes to clean up.

    No wonder you were so traumatised when you got to me and was so distrusting and cagey about life, he ruined your trust in us Masters ability to be all controlling all powerful demi gods didn’t he.

    Yes l removed your collar, youa sked for it to be taken off, you didn’t want to be a slave, l am not going to jail to be some guys bitch on kidnapping charges and false imprisonment am l.

    Yes your collar is back on because you wanted it back on, yes it hasn’t come off because we both know you need to wear it constantly as your a slave and need a collar.

    Yes l marked you as my property, it was a way in which you could be physically marked to imprint into that frenzy brain of yours at the time that you were a slave, you had become property and your were fully owned and no longer free.

    As l say you choose to be a slave, once you make that choice your are what you want to be and your kept and used for what you choosed to be so there is no point in complaining to me about being what you want to be as l don’t see any issue in the way your treated.

    I do know its important to keep slave girlies happy thats why there is always a six pack of cold spag in the pantry for you.


  4. this doesn’t seem to be an uncommon story — i wonder if i am one of those folks who really thinnk they want something that, once they have, they don’t really want. i am trying to turn my man into the dom that i need, but if it magically happened tomorrow, i’m not sure i’d really want it…


  5. I can be a bit like that too though – sometimes the chase is more fun than actually catching the rabbit.

    And if you’re like me, having your man be exactly what you want makes you feel too much like you’re in control and it’s a big turn off e.g. “Ouch that hurts! Are you done yet? Oh, you are?? What, you mean you’re finished? Well, it’s ok if you want to hurt me some more…please?”

    …or is it just me who is fucked up like that?


  6. Confession time = blog topic drought…lol.

    And you know what’s even sadder? I’m only worth $1102 in bed. I think there is a career opportunity for you there somewhere.


  7. Yeah, it’s interesting how fucked up you get and how everything becomes *your* fault and you can’t see that they could possibly be the ones who are fucked up instead.

    *hugs* I really hate feeling fucked over and I know what you went through too.

    Different people, different dynamic, different level of respect for each other. Makes a hell of a difference.


  8. It definitely takes something for you to wake up and smell the crap that fills your life. And what always amazes me is how comfortable the comfort zone feels even when it is so totally fucked up. I don’t think truer words have been said than, “Better the devil you know”…at least in my case.


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