The F Word

"If I ever hear you say that word again, I’ll beat you until you’re black and blue"

While in certain circumstances being beaten black and blue sounds kind of fun, I generally know that if that threat comes out of Master’s mouth, I should be very, very careful of upsetting the man.

I actually use the word a lot. In the past tense, as in "I was really xxxx" in the present tense as in "I am totally xxxx" and in the future tense as in "I’m gonna be so xxxx". The word has peppered my speech for so many years that I’d almost feel naked without it. But apparently the word is so cancerous to Master that he has felt the need to ban it from my mouth.

After spending a couple of blissfully calm hours in my cage watching a chick flick and being fed some pudding through the cage bars ( I giggled at the time as I strained up to reach the spoon, but thinking afterwards, it was really hawt!) I emerged, with permission of course, and took up my standard slave position of ‘slave blanket’. This challenging and highly esoteric position has taken me quite some time to perfect, but simply put, it involves lying on the top of one’s Master like a blankie. It gives me 100% owner contact and has been found to be highly effective when one wants choccie or some other treat.

I was feeling frisky and while assuming the pose of slave blankie casually said the F word to Master. That was when he looked at me with a decidedly evil expression on his face and uttered the threat above. And what word was it exactly that set him off?

‘Free’

Giddy as a school girl after not being in the cage for months and months, I had said the first thing that came into my mind,

‘Hi sweetie! Guess what??? I’m free!!!’

"You’re not free, you never will be. You’re out. And if I hear you say that word again, I’ll beat you black and blue."

Apparently I’m not ‘free’ of anything. I’m finished, over, out, without and less, but never free. Something I must keep in mind- on pain of black and blueness.

You know you’re going to a play party as a pony girl when….

….you’ve just spent the last two hours removing hair from places where the sun does and doesn’t shine

….you’ve conditioned your mane so much that Rapunzel would be proud

….you’re drinking a full-strength cappuccino from your super-super-sized trough at 5:30pm so you won’t fall asleep at your normal granny bedtime of 9pm

….you’re hungry but you’re worried about muffin topping out the bottom of your corset so you decide to have some chaff when you come home

….you’re hoping your boobs won’t droop so badly that they swing around your fetlocks

….you have to remember to remove bodily secretions from your pony boots before you wear them out in public

….you ‘re praying you poo before you have to insert your butt plug ponytail

….you need to figure out what to do with your mane so it won’t get tangled in your bridle

….you’ve got butterflies in your tummy, want to vomit and want to cry all at the same time

Ahhhh…. the joys of play parties!

 

Taking the Secretary’s name in vain

‘Twas a hard week for this kitten- as evidenced by my complete lack of blogs. Being back at work with different shift times and a body clock that is still adjusting has been tough. Not to mention the numerous irate people I had screaming at me. How many more weeks of work have I got left? Obviously too many.

My end of the week comfort was a viewing of the Secretary, which finally arrived after being purchased on ebay a couple of weeks ago. I thought it would be absolutely fabulous to watch it curled up inmy doona in front of the fire. The absolute icing on the cake was having a belly stuffed full of a scrummy rissotto that Master made from asparagus he bought from a road side stall on the way home. You’ve just gotta love a man who hunts and gathers while he hoons through the countryside back to civilisation.

Master doesn’t like the Secretary and I can understand why – it speaks to me on a variety of levels as a subby, but I’m sure that the character of Mr Gray says nothing to the dominant folk among us. Master struggled to stay awake on the couch as I sniffled my way through it. For some reason I can never watch it without crying.

I watch Lee’s frustration when she gets ignored and goes back to just being ‘the secretary’. I watch her struggle to ask for a beating when she needs the emotional release after yet another run-in with her father. I watch her happiness as she finally gets the attention that she had been craving and I think…

‘That’s me’.

Although I’ve never self-harmed by cutting or burning myself, I’ve certainly sought a similar kind of release when things have just gotten too much. Self-bondage was my emotional health fix achieved by tying myself in ways that would hurt and mark. Bonds would be so tight I could barely breathe. And I’d enjoy the moment of feeling really alive and in control. Later on there would be trophies of my struggle to admire.

Mr Gray is a man who fears his control. He has not accepted who he is and he struggles with the concept that what he is doing is needed by both of them. In contrast, I doubt that Master has ever had a moment when he has not done exactly what he wanted- because he knows he has the right to, and what’s more, he knows I want him to exercise that right. Rather than identifying with Mr Gray, I’m sure Master was lying there thinking,

"Why the fuck doesn’t he just beat that croppable ass?"

Master has very much surrendered to his nature. That’s who he is and that’s what he does. He doesn’t give a fuck what other people think. I’m often in awe of his quiet acceptance of things he cannot change and his outward appearance of comfort in his own skin. Of course, he has had 20 more years on this planet and many more years in D/s than I have had to process his role and solidify his feelings, but I’d also like to think that as a dominant he didn’t feel a need to question or doubt.

Somehow I’d like to think that each and every one of us was created with our own individual idiosyncracies to fill the holes in the great jigsaw puzzle of life. For every piece with four straight sides, there is another piece with four straight sides that joins to it. And for every piece with a part that’s missing, there is a piece with a part to fill that hole. I’d like to think that even those that are kinked can fit snuggly together, even if we’re not all straight-sided.

                        The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and
                        He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far
                       Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness;
                      For even as He loves the arrow that flies,
                     So he loves also the bow that is stable.
                                                                                                              Kahlil Gibran

I always feel so much better when I’ve got lots of stuff in my box….

…so let’s play the movie quote game!

This time there are lots from the 80’s and a few trashy, but classic ones so you might need to put your thinking caps on.

** Update: All done! Thanks for participating everyone!**

Remember:

– no googling

– the first person who guesses the title correctly gets credited

The Movie Quote Game…..again.

1. Oh, Tripp is just cruising through the steps. In fact, I think tomorrow I’m gonna let him teach me something.  Failure to Launch –  anonymous

2. Your head is going up his ass, his head is going up his ass, and you get the short end of the straw, cause your head is going up my ass! 

               or

Call me asshole one more time! Hancock – Glavial

3. Here’s a quarter. Go downtown and get a rat to gnaw that thing off your face.  Uncle Buck – min_phoenix

4. One time, there this this lake and uh, it was right outside of town. We used to go fishin’ and swimmin’ and canoein’ in it, and uh this one November this flock o’ducks came in and landed on that lake, and uh the tempurature dropped sp fast that the lake froze right there and then the ducks, they flew off ya see and took the lake with them and uh, now they say that lake is over in Georgia…imagin’ that.  Fried Green Tomatoes-  _tawt

5. Oh, I think she’s saying, “Stick it in me twice a day, and I’ll do anything for you. I’ll lick the ground you walk on.  Point of No Return/ The Assassin – coyotes_kitten

6. But Reverend Mother, I don’t know anything about binders.  The Trouble with Angels – jovial_kitten

7. You got to me? You did this to me? You cut my hair? You tortured me? You tortured me! Why?
You said you wanted to live without fear. I wish there’d been an easier way, but there wasn’t.
V for Vendetta – ahina_gold

8. Oh! He’s a real gentleman! I bet he takes the dishes out of the sink before he PEES in it! Steel Magnolias – imperfect_grace

9. Hey, I like your kimono! D’ya get that in ‘Nam? 

                                         or

I hate men who smell like beer and bean dip… and makin’ love in the back of recreational vehicles! 

                                 or

Think Bette Midler and mini golf…. Big Business – Zoey

10. If I did not fear incarceration from human authority figures, I would terminate your life functions by applying sufficient pressure to your blunt skull so as to force its collapse! Coneheads- ahina_gold

11. Laughter kills fear, and without fear there can be no faith, because without fear of the Devil there is no more need of God. The Name of the Rose – frater_treinta

12. Tom is the one who saw you at Susan’s. He’s known about you all along, isn’t that right? We do know what that means. If Commander Farrell is the man who was with Miss Atwell, then Commander Farrell is the man who killed Miss Atwell. And we know that the man who killed Miss Atwell is Yuri. Therefore, Commander Farrell IS Yuri, quod erat demonstrandum. No Way Out – anonymous

13. You’re lucky he didn’t kill you, too. Or rape you, then kill you. Or kill you, then rape you. Running Man – inominandum

14. When I was growing up, if we wanted a Jacuzzi, we had to fart in the tub. Trading Places – anonymous

15. Assistant Inspector Matsumoto Masahiro, Criminal Investigation section, Osaka Prefecture police. And I do speak fucking English.  Black Rain -Theresa http://sakeofsanity.com

Virgins here there and everywhere

I lost my virginity when I was 18. I lost it in  ‘love hotel’ near Mt. Fuji to a man who was my first-ever boyfriend (I don’t think the three day relationship I had with the gay guy in high school counts!) He was the first man I’d ever kissed and it so happened that that man also happened to be a virgin at the time. Seven years later that particular man ended up becoming my husband- with neither of us having had sex with anyone else but each other.

As we drove into the underground car park hidden by a curtain of hanging plastic strips – strategically placed to hide the number plates of the already parked cars in case any snooping spouses were around – I had a feeling that the moment of the big event had arrived. I didn’t tell him that I’d never kissed anyone before let alone done the deed, so his first comment when he saw the red spots on the sheets the next morning was predictably, “Nande oshienkatta no?!?!!” …because of course, it was Japan and he was Japanese! I believe though, that the sentiment behind his, “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me??” translates across cultures between men everywhere who have popped the cherry of a young lass.

As you can see from this story, it’s obvious that I didn’t spend my formative years as the town bike. And for all my amassed knowledge from years of reading Cosmopolitan, I was sorely lacking in the sexual experimentation area. While I wasn’t planning on making an appearance at a purity ball anytime soon, I did feel that kissing and all that jazz was something special that I didn’t want to do with just anyone. That’s probably why the ‘princess by day, slut by night’ role required of me stretches the limits of my skills and is slowly but surely erasing the last vestiges of a purist morality belonging to my former self. ‘Princess all the way’ is probably something more akin to the the person I used to be.

Inside my head has always been a bit of a different story though. My fantasies are nasty and verge on the ‘dirty little slut by day and night’ kind. Fucking in all holes, group use peppered with beatings…any and all acts of the wantonly slutty kind run through my head on a regular basis. But they’re nice and safe thoughts because they exist only in my head… and up there I’m a different person.

Up there I’m a sexual animal that is comfortable with her sensuality. I revel in my power to please men. I’m comfortable in my skin and know that I am desirable and attractive.

My task at the moment is to make the me ‘up there’ a reality for the me ‘down here’. At times it seems like a bit of an impossible task, but I suppose it’s just another step on the way to self-actualisation, and another thing to add to my growing list of ‘things to do’.

Tag! You’re it!

Day Two of construction and in addition to Stevo, Davo and Marko, we now have Johno on site. Someone in boots is stomping around on the roof and the sounds of pommie accents in a heated argument about ‘which bit goes on first’ filters in from outside. I swear that every single construction worker in Perth comes from the UK…..or SA….or NZ. I wonder where all the Australians are…doing low-paying call centre jobs I imagine…lol.

I can feel the house getting colder as the roof gradually goes on and less and less sun shines in through the windows. Having less sun will be lovely in summer for those long stretches of 40C degree days (100F) when the brick house heats up like a pizza oven. As for winter, it’s a shame we’ll be losing so much free heating- but nothing comes without a cost now, does it?

I spent a small part of my morning putting tags on some of my journal entries so that perhaps I’ll be able to find things in my archive when I go looking. My tag cloud was unsurprisingly predictable with ‘angst’ and ‘analysing’ showing up in 20pt font as my most used tags. I then spent some time playing Martha Stewart and sewed up some rips in Master’s PPE work clothes. I have to say that for a woman who used to write instruction manuals for sewing machines for a living, my sewing skills are really woeful.

So, after my last entry, I had a ‘novel’ of a comment peppered liberally with questions from humblekitten (thanks again kitten!) I actually feel a bit like a blog celebrity being interviewed! lol…) and just to prove that I do read all my comments and savour every single one of them, I’m going to attempt to answer her questions.

1) What’s your take on the respective growth of a slave and a Master (in general or in your own life)? 

I used to think that slavery would morph me into some sort of super-being – I’d be stronger, better and have a veritable wagon full of tricks and skills. I imagined myself sitting under the Bodhi tree having all the answers supplied to me by the shiny thing around my neck. Looking back now I was very,very naive. 

Like everything else, you only get as much out of it as you put into it. There’s no growth if you don’t sow the seeds (face new challenges), water them (do what you can to meet the challenges) and sprinkle them liberally with fertilizer on a regular basis (have praise and feedback). I think that goes for both Master and slave. You either focus efforts into growth or you stagnate. And actually it also goes for any relationship whatsoever.

2) Do you think your Master is interested in your personal growth as a slave and a person?

Hmmm…I suppose it depends on how you define ‘interested’. He has constantly said that the only thing he really cares about (outside of me being obedient) is whether I’m happy or not. Of course, I suppose it would be nice for him to have someone who has grown in that they have attained new skills etc. I’m sure as my owner – and as a guy –  he’d love me to fill my slave resume with things like ‘can deep-throat a 15inch cock’ or ‘can fist herself in the ass’…..

In terms of what I do for myself, to grow as a person, he gives me free reign. If I wanted to study something or have a particular career to better myself, his answer would be, ‘As long as it makes you happy sweetie…’ 

As for growth as a slave and reaching that final state of surrender, hmmm…I don’t know whether there actually is a final state. I’m thinking, as people have said to me before, that it’s the journey that’s important. And when Master says, ‘you will be broken to the collar’ it’s not something that happens once and is done. It’s something that happens again and again. Little things that I baulk at or hesitate to do (even though I eventually do them…because I don’t have a choice to say no!) get placed in front of me as challenges and as I face them, it becomes easier. I suppose it’s my free will (the voices inside saying, ‘I don’t want to do that!) being ‘broken’ that he is referring to and perhaps eventually I’ll get to a state where I just do what is required without thinking.

3) You tend to cast your slavery more in terms of endurance than growth. Surely greater endurance is one form of growth, but it seems you’re growing in ways that you might not give yourself credit for. Thoughts?

I suppose I think of slavery as endurance because I don’t enjoy most of it per se. I don’t get into sub space, I don’t have orgasms,  I’m not an exhibitionist and I don’t enjoy service. Slavery for me is ouchie, humiliating and often a non-literal pain in the ass! Lol. Therefore, the only thing I can enjoy is my ability to endure…and when I can endure more, I have a real sense of achievement.

“If you don’t enjoy it, why do it?” is a question that I’m often asked. Well, the simple answer is because I’m a slave. Being mentally wired the way I am is not something I chose, nor something I can change. Like a diabetic who needs insulin, I’m a slave who needs an owner. If my owner likes doing things that I like doing, that’s just a bonus. I’m yet to find an owner who enjoys bondage and nothing more…so I get ‘broken to the collar’ (learn to accept what my owner wants) each time I’m given or sold or released.

As for growing in ways I don’t give myself credit for, I suppose in a sense I’m becoming more ‘accepting’. Certain things that used to push my buttons, are now becoming more familiar e.g. nakedness in public etc. I’m also perhaps accepting the fact that I don’t have any rights or choices, that what happens to me happens because Master wants it that way. For a long time I felt as though I had the power to manipulate him and everytime I ‘got my own way’ I resented the fact that he was a push-over. It took a great deal of thought-rearranging to understand that if I ‘got my own way’ it was because that’s what he decided- not because it was what I wanted.

4) Sometimes it seems like you might think that absolute surrender would be the ultimate achievement (or are you more focused on absolute endurance?) and sometimes it seems like you might think that absolute surrender would be the ultimate forfeit. So I’m wondering how you feel about surrender in relation to growth: would it be a growth milestone in your journey or would it be some sort of retreat? Are you afraid of losing something inside yourself, or do you see it as finding something new inside yourself that you’re not sure you want to find, or … ?

Absolute endurance! Definitely..lol. 

This question is a toughie. Absolute surrender for me would be unquestioning acceptance. I can’t define surrender as ‘doing absolutely anything’ because as it is I don’t have a choice not to do something. I have to do what he wants because that’s part and parcel of being a slave, so according to the ‘normal definition’, I’ve already completely surrendered. 

As far as unquestioning acceptance goes, I’m getting there slowly. Silencing each of the little voices inside, is like reaching another milestone in my journey. I suppose a part of me is afraid of ultimately losing the voices because that’s all I have ever known and I have a fear of the absolute silence that may or may not be attained. I say ‘may not’ because I think as people we are constantly changing and it may be the case that when one voice is silenced, another voice is born.

I’m not sure whether that completely answers the questions, but perhaps there are no real answers, just more questions.

Day 4 and motivations

Well, we’re half way through Day 4 of my week off and the biggest thing that I’ve noticed is how much happier I am to do slave stuff when that’s all there is to do. It’s almost like there are two completely different kittens, reacting entirely differently to service:

Call centre bitch kitten spends all day working and having her soul sucked dry, so when she gets home she needs lots of ‘me’ time.

Home bitch kitten has had all day to herself, so when Master gets home she needs lots of ‘him & us’ time.

Call centre bitch kitten begrudgingly makes instant coffees and snaps, “Why the fuck can’t you get the remote yourself??”

Home bitch kitten makes frothy cappuccinos and asks Master every five minutes, “Would you like anything sweetie?”

Call centre bitch kitten snoozes during ravishings and does half-assed back scratching because she needs to go to bed asap.

Home bitch kitten wants to banter and cuddle all night long and eventually gets told, “Fuck off, I need some sleep bitch!”

I’m happier, much less stressed and feel that slavery is something that I really ‘can’ do- it’s attainable and doable. But when I’m working it gets too much on a regular basis and something has to give, so I usually end up getting stressed and sick. I’m totally in awe of people who work and are kick-ass slaves. How do they make it work???

On other topics, a few weeks ago humblekitten asked me this:

Given your angst about everything, not just your slavery, it seems all the more remarkable that you were able to take such a leap of faith into the unknown, to commit yourself in slavery to your Master before ever meeting him in person. You had come to know him from afar and had a pretty good idea of what to expect from him, but you didn’t know what to expect inside of yourself, and that is what you have been discovering and pondering ever since. I was wondering if you would be willing to share more about how you made that huge decision, two Augusts ago… or did it just feel decided for you?

This might be a long one, so if you want to go and grab yourselves a coffee before reading on, feel free!

It would actually be three Mays ago that I made the ‘huge decision’. It was coming up to my third wedding anniversary, builders were guttering the apartment that my then husband and I had just bought in order to renovate it, it was hot, I was stressed and gnawing feelings of being locked firmly into a life that didn’t fulfill me were bubbling up to the surface. I’d just spent the last couple of months playing online ‘D/s’ with a guy in Canada (who disappeared off with another subbie, but left me wanting more) which involved sending ‘risque’ photos of me in thigh-high stockings and discussing being bound to trees in the wilds of Canada.

Until buying the apartment and pouring all our savings into it, we’d moved from rental place to place every 12mths or so, mostly because I’d start bitching about our neighbours or commuting times or whatever, but I think probably it was more because I was ‘looking’ for something that would complete me. Once roots were put down and the place was being renovated so that we could live there for good, I panicked and starting looking elsewhere for things that would comfort me- which from when I was very young in times of great need was always bondage and slave fantasies. I looked on line for stories, which lead to collarme and alt and then to me thinking about finding someone on the side of my marriage to play with.

In the end I decided that sneaking around behind my husband’s back was not the way to go and somewhere along the line, I decided that I wanted to do it all the time. I wanted to live the life. I wanted to be the person in my fantasies.

I’ve basically always done what I’ve wanted to do. I wanted to go to Japan, I went. I wanted to go to uni, I went and then went again. Becoming a slave was just another thing that I wanted, so I did it. I didn’t actually think a lot about anything. I didn’t think a lot about the sacred vows of marriage I’d made three years before. I didn’t think a lot about leaving the only life I’d known for the last ten years. There was just something in front of me that I wanted, so I didn’t look back.

Coming to be with Master two Augusts ago was very similar. We chatted a lot. He seemed to know what he was doing. He was well established, was well-known. I tried to find out as much as I could before I came here, but at the end of the day, I just had to take the leap. If it worked, great. If it didn’t, I’d end up back at my grandmother’s house. At worst, I might end up dead at the bottom of the pool. That’s a risk I took. But I had already taken a huge risk going to Japan by myself at the tender age of 18 and I’d made it work. I was confident that if it was something that I really wanted, it would work out in the end.

I guess I’m the type of person who does a lot of soul searching later on down the track. Being the experience-junkie that I am, I’m willing to give things a try just so I can put another notch in my belt and have an amusing anecdote to tell people. Ironically, I sweat the small stuff and leap into the big stuff. I can spend 2mths deciding on a buffet to go to, but my response to a marriage proposal was, “Yeah, ok”

Thank god Master put a leash on me to stop me wandering out into traffic because I wanted to look at the ‘shiny thing’ in the middle of the road. And it’s a good thing I’ve got my own shiny thing to look at in the mirror in the comfort of Master’s home when he’s not around to hold the leash.

The Amazing Gonzo

 I’ve got a week off this week to babysit builders who are erecting some outdoor patios (i.e. covers for outdoor play areas). After getting up at 7am and waiting around until 9:30am with no builders in sight, I decided to call the company and find out what was going on: 

“They’ll be there tomorrow,” said the chirpy voice at the end of the phone.

It was at that stage that I thought to myself that I’m home, alone, for an entire day with nothing to do. (Of course, technically, I had lots of things to do like cleaning, tax returns and gym classes…but who the hell wants to do those things??? ) So my brain was busily thinking of other things that I could do to fill my day like…..masturbation! Yay!

I’m not quite sure what it is about having builders come over to my house, but every single time someone is here doing some work, I feel an insatiable need for a quality release. Is it the feeling of my sacrosanct private area being invaded, or is it merely the sight of plumbers cracks and sweaty men doing ‘man stuff’ that makes me want to do nasty things to myself? I don’t know, but whether it’s guys smashing up my bathroom,guys painting my ceiling or guys erecting things in the garden, I always feel the need to tie myself up and have a meaty, groan-inducing release.

While I was chatting with Master, I read some blogs, surfed some porn and worked myself up into a nice hot state of horniness. He left my cyber world at 4pm to retire to his motel room  and graced me with a freebie release as long as I wrote a blog about it. Alrighty! So I felt that it was then the perfect time for some *insert boppy music here* masturbation time!

I laid out the belts, rope, chains, cuffs, ballgag, clamps, shackles, collar, hitachi wand and the amazing gonzo (g-spot attachment) on Master’s bed and thought that someboobie bondage, nipple clamps, ankle and wrist bondage and neck attachment to bed were in order. I generally like to do my releases on Master’s bed, not only because his bed is bigger and has anchor points on the bedhead, but also because it has his smell and feel and somehow it just feels so much better.

All in all it was 30mins of pussy-vibrating-nipple-pulling-gag-biting action that left gonzo as hot as a tin roof in summer and lots of wet spots all over Master’s sheets. Today I woke up with a sore jaw, sore nipples and sore cunt rings and if Stevo, Davo and Marko weren’t here erecting things or at least if I had some curtains on my windows, I’d be taking a bath and soaking out the ouchies. As it is, I spent my morning cleaning gonzo, stripping Master’s bed and hiding the evidence of my self-pleasures.

But thanks to Master’s generousity I’ve still got three releases left in my lolly jar and two more days of building! Yay! Hopefully it won’t rain and the building will go to schedule…otherwise I might have to ask nicely for another release or two just to tide me over.
 

For those of us who only do things in halves…


I am passing this on to you because it definitely worked for me and we all could use more calm in our lives…

A Doctor proclaimed the way to achieve inner peace is to finish all the things you have started. 

So I looked around my house to see things I’d started and hadn’t finished and, before leaving the house this morning, I finished off a bottle of Merlot, a bottle of shhhardonay, a bodle of Baileys, a butle of vocka, a pockage of Prunglies , tha mainder of bot Prozic and Valum scriptins, the res of the Chesescke an a box a chocolets.

Yu haf no idr who fkin gud I fel. Peas sen dis orn to dem yu fee ar in ned ov inr pece..

One scoop of creamed potatoes. A slice of butter. Four peas. and all the ice cream you can eat.

Food seems to be a hot topic among subby folk. I think I’ve lost count of the number of blogs I’ve read where the sub was under some sort of food restriction or exercise regime. In fact, I’m in that position myself- I’m on a strict diet of gruel and only gruel. Except, of course, Master’s gruel seems to come in all sorts of lovely flavours like asparagus risotto-flavoured gruel or cheesecake-flavoured gruel. In fact I don’t think I’ve eaten so well in my life than on my current diet of gruel and only gruel.

At the moment I’m supposed to ask for permission to eat sweets or treats and probably 80% of the time I do. I don’t think Master has ever refused a request- which is good in some cases and bad in others. Part of me wants him to ‘control’ my eating and part of me doesn’t. The part that wants him to control it is the part that is imagining my naked body in front of a crowd of people at the next play party. The part that doesn’t want him to control it is the part that wants immediately to stuff a whole chocolate mudcake down my throat.

I’ve never really had a healthy relationship with food. I constantly obsess about it and alternate between binges and diets. I can spend a whole week just planning what I’ll eat on the weekend and I have insatiable cravings that I’ve learned to satisfy with exactly what it is that I’m craving because if I don’t, I’ll just empty out the fridge of everything edible and then go and eat what I was originally craving as well. Food has always been something that I reward myself with and while I’m fully aware that that is the worst thing I could possibly be doing, I don’t know what else to give myself for being a ‘good girl’.

Last weekend was a good example of a stress binge. I needed chocolate. It was 10am and I needed chocolate. I read blogs and tidied up the kitchen. I still needed chocolate. I went and took a bath to take my mind off chocolate. I still needed chocolate. Eventually I asked Master if I could go and get some. He said yes. So I got dressed, walked to the shops, spent 30mins wandering up and down the aisles angsting about what to buy, bought a block of chocolate, a chocolate cream sponge roll and some cheezels, then came back and ate it all except half the cheezels that I gave to Master. 

It was not pretty.

Then I felt incredibly guilty and wrote the blog about wanting to be beaten black and blue. I don’t think it was so much a need to be beaten as a need to be punished that was the catalyst for my thoughts. I’d abused his body and felt I deserved to pay for it.

Even though it sounds like nothing but a big fat excuse at this stage, work is getting to me. And I mean really getting to me. I don’t think I’ve struggled through a ‘task’ so much in my life. The work is not difficult, in fact, it’s brain-numbingly monotonous, but I just don’t want to be weighed down anymore by angry people and sad people and stupid people. It’s soul-sapping stuff for hour after hour every day and I’m really finding it a massive challenge to get through the day.I’m taking every possible ‘toilet break’ I’m allowed and just sitting there in the privacy of the cubicle taking deep breaths and telling myself, “I can do it, I can do it.” Thus the binge starts when the weekend comes around because I’ve gotten through yet another week and I’m rewarding myself with comfort of the most bittersweet kind.

There was a time when I wanted to have total eating restrictions imposed on me. I guess I thought that it was easier to stick to a diet if the orders came down from the big M. I also thought that knowing that every morsel that went into my mouth was ‘Master approved’ would be a good thing. But that idea never really addressed the underlying issues.

When the relationship is working and everything is good, it’s easy to be comforted by the security of the dynamic and food doesn’t come to the forefront of my mind. I find that I feel safe and content and don’t ‘need’ anything when everything is good. However, when things go askew and I get needy and stressed I tend to turn to food for comfort and to fill the void.  

But I’ve since come to the conclusion that controlling my diet and my body is something that only I can do. It’s not up to Master to keep me healthy- that’s something I should be doing as (a) a responsible adult and (b) a slave. I’m not a child who needs to be lectured about nutrition and exercise, so depending on him to keep me in line, really is passing the buck. Of course, it’s great to be able to say, “But you wanted to ravish me instead of letting me go to gym!” or “But your cheesecake-gruel was so yummy I had seconds!” At the end of the day, they’re all just convenient excuses for being slack with his body- a body that I should be looking after for him- not the other way around.

Having said that though, the whole ‘sexual slave’ aspect and ‘piece of meat on display’ thing puts a lot of pressure on me and I’m sure that also goes for anyone else who suffers through the embarrassment of public nakedness. I think that’s why I find it hard to ‘let go’ and enjoy sessions. Instead of enjoying the sensations and use, I’m thinking about my muffin top, stretch marks and flabby underarms. I’m angsting about what other people are seeing and thinking instead of enjoying what Master and I are sharing. 

When will my flabby underarms change into angel’s wings…I wonder….

Honey, I think I broke my vagina!

Last night was another one of those ho-hum nights where I was tired but didn’t want to go to sleep because sleep means waking up and waking up means having to go to work again. After watching a bit of tv and thinking of things to keep my mind off food, I decided to go to bed…but I was not alone.

I was accompanied by my laptop (i.e porn collection) and my new hitachi wand attachments that Master thoughtfully purchased for me several weeks ago. I hadn’t really bothered with them because using the hitachi by itself is a very tricky process with all the hardware I’ve got down there, so they had been sitting all forlorn and sadly on my slave cell floor…until last night.

I slipped on the ‘G Spotter’, which oddly enough reminded me of something that should adorn the face of a muppet and revved it up to high speed. Clover clamps also went on the nipples and once I was in my favourite hitachi position – on my knees – off I started on the ride of my life.

It took a while to get going, but once I got going there were all sorts of groans and gutteral moanings that had never escaped my lips before. In fact, I think I’m beginning to see what the fuss about those ‘orgasm things’ is all about. But by the end of it, it was a relief to finally get there. My poor nipples had just about been yanked off and were going purple from the clamps tightening so much.  

Even after all of that, I still felt the need to finish myself off with an old faithful release.The G-Spotter was fulfilling on a really juicy, ‘I need to feel something inside of me’ sense, but nothing seems to ‘release’ me more on a deep level than a hand between my legs and some clenching of muscles-just like mother nature intended!

In other news, I also managed to purchase a new copy of Secretary from ebay. Yay!  There ain’t going to be any more performance disappointments for kitten when she loads it up into her hard drive in future.

And in parting I’d just like to leave you with a gem of wisdom from the packaging of my G-Spotter:

Self-sexuality is the safest sex!

Just remember that kiddies.

Master and I are 2 today!

Music please…

Happy becoming-a-slave-and-Owner day to us!

Happy becoming-a-slave-and-Owner day to us!

Happy becoming-a-slave-and-Owner day to u~s!

Happy becoming-a-slave-and-Owner day to us. 

Two years ago on this irrevocable day I flew from one side of Australia  to the other in hooker wear to take up my place at Master’s feet. I was wearing the first pair of boots I’d ever purchased in my life and my first ever pair of fish net stockings.

I was met at the airport by a very normal looking guy wearing a polo shirt. This was in stark contrast to the ‘bad-ass dom’ everyone in the alt chatroom had been warning me about and also in contrast to his slightly maniacal msn persona who had been making lots of statements in our daily chat about having piercings put where no piercings had gone before. He whisked me off in his green range rover to his abode of kink (i.e. lovely suburban home) where I was quickly introduced to his French housemate (the poodle pup Jacque) and his favourite pastime (ravishings).

Two days after arriving I was trucked off to the piercers to have the first of my piercings done. Six months later, my 6 outer labia and clithood piercings were all complete. Unfortunately, it’s two years down the track now and I’m still waiting for healing to finish. Any time now guys! When you’re quite finished not healing for me, I’m ready for some pain-free crotch time! (Two years healing time is not so standard…or so I’m told..aren’t I lucky that I’m not a standard kinda gal???)

After arriving I spent my first few nights chained to a fold up camp bed in the back bedroom. I also distinctly remember one night spent with my hands cuffed behind my back and a ball gag firmly in my mouth. My eyes would instantly open as I heard him coming down to the hallway to my room at all sorts of random hours as it usually meant a rude awakening of the crop-on-bottie kind and some immediate crawling back to his bed on all fours of the ‘oh-my-god-that-slate-tiling-is-cold-at-5am’ kind.

It wasn’t long after I had arrived that I had my first meltdown caused by a head-on collision of fantasies versus realities. The constant on-the-edgeness of never knowing when your next beating was going to occur and the mindfuck of having to wear a permanent collar when I’d expressly ‘negotiated’ with him that I wouldn’t wear another ‘permanent’ collar sent me over the edge. After much screaming and many tears he removed the collar and went to bed. The next day after the reality of *not* wearing a collar had sunk in, I met him, naked, kneeling on the floor as he walked in the door and asked for my collar back.  He threw it down at his feet and told me to beg for it, told me to take it up and beg like the animal I was. So I did.

I can’t remember what brought about the second collar meltdown. I just remember him trying to grab me to put the allen key in to take it off as I danced around the kitchen attempting to get out of his reach saying, “Whoa! Can’t we talk about this?” Apparently the answer to that question when you’re a slave is ‘no’.

Following that was the infamous ‘Master-of-two’ incident, where I found out that he’d agreed to train another slave. I found that out when suddenly his nickname on his blog comments changed from ‘kittens_master’ to ‘Master-of-two’. Needless to say, I was pretty damn upset about it. Much talking ensued and Master of two became Master of one again. There may be a time in the future when I’m secure enough to add another one into the equation, but not just yet.

The slave tattoo in Japanese characters was etched on my bottie later in year one and although we tried to get Master’s initials done as a second tattoo, some crappy customer service saw us leaving the parlor with our deposit in hand and no second tattoo on bottie.

Other memorable moments over the past two years would have to involve the frozen mars bar up the twat, the birth of Blair Witch Perth and the breaking of me part une, deux and trois.

Since October last year Master has been AWOL from the house during much of the week because of his work. Since May this year I’ve also been working and it’s looking like I will be continuing to do so until mid-to-late September (those people just keep extending my contract! AHHHHHHH!) Because of these changes which keep us apart and very tired, our normally laid-back approach to D/s is looking so relaxed it’s almost comatose. But shit happens and you’ve got to do what you’ve got to do, because life must go on. Eventually things will get back to ‘normal’ and there will be a much more compliant and willing slavegirl ready to serve her Master as he walks in the door for a daily slavegirlie greeting and ravishing (complete with earcleaning and back scratching!)

Happy Anniversary Master. Thank you for a lovely two years xxx

Pulp fiction

There are times that I just want to know.

I don’t want to wonder, ruminate or try to guess. I just want to know.

Like the mountaineer who climbs the mountain, like the runner who finishes the marathon, I just want to know that I can do it. 

I want to know that I can be pushed beyond my limits. I want to know that he’ll do it until he has well and truly had his fill. I want him to take until I have no more left to give.

But somehow there is always that little spark of me left that he never quite gets to. It’s that spark that later leaps into flame, consuming all the good work he has done before..

Even though I’m not a masochist, even though I have never experienced sub space and even though I am extremely sensitive to pain, I want him to beat me to a pulp.

Just on this side of still breathing.

Just on the other side of well used.

Because I want to know that I can.

So I can stop wondering and second-guessing what I am.

So I can be presented with the reality that I am slavemeat and nothing more.

So I can know.

Cogito, ergo sum

I think a lot. In fact, I probably think too much. A small fraction of what goes on inside my head is infrequently put down into this blog but I generally only do that once I’ve arrived at some sort of a conclusion. As a result, each entry in my blog is like a spiffy little powerpoint presentation showing a summary of the results of my internal think tank. It is neatly packaged and thoroughly spell-checked, but it is only ever a quick screen capture of my current state of mind.

The interesting thing about me is that I don’t  just angst about my slavery. I angst about EVERYTHING. Just ask Master. I very quickly stopped asking him to take me shopping because several shopping excursions ended with a very aggro Master and a purchase-less slave. I consider things from every angle and have to exhaust all possible avenues before I will concede to a particular decision. I nearly gave myself an ulcer deciding on the correct colour scheme for the recent house repaint! In many ways slavery is the biggest ‘purchase’ of my life, so it’s not something that will be transacted over night.

I come to various ‘conclusions’ and then over time those ‘conclusions’ change as my thinking evolves and my moods change. If you read back through my blog you’ll see a lot of contradictions and wildly swinging ideas. As an example, not too long ago I said that slavery was what I did, instead of being something that defined what I was. That’s what I was believing whole-heartedly at the time, but ask me today, and I’ll tell you something different. I realise that it makes for confusing reading, but my thoughts are never static and in fact, I’d be very worried if they became so! Cogito, ergo sum. If I stopped thinking, I’d cease to exist!

My think tank likes to chew over comments that visitors to my blog leave and

left a comment (thanks kitten!) on a recent blog quoting a slave who had arrived at the conclusion that they would never reach the point where they could feel wholly like a slave because their ego was getting in the way. The slave’s ego was ‘not flipping the switch to free the spirit’. It was an excellent description of something that I have felt, do feel and will probably continue to feel. Every time I get angry with Master or feel silly carrying out a slave duty or defiantly ‘avoid’ doing something I’m required to do is when my ego has taken the driver’s seat.

My ego (aka my switch flipper) is something that I’m wrestling with on an on-going basis. And it’s not that I’m wasting vast amounts of energy to avoid finding peace, it’s that I haven’t yet found that space inside that is quiet enough to embrace the peace- afterall, those folks in my personal think tank are a rowdy bunch.

I’m always wary of bloggers who seem to be almost ‘too happy’. The ones who don’t angst, who don’t seem to have anything to write about except how idyllic their relationship with their owner is, seem to be the ones who disappear the quickest- one day they are worshipping the ground their Master walks on and the next they are packing bags and moving interstate. When they seemingly embrace the peace and arrive at their destination are they actually only at some fake curtained ‘end point’ that only needs a stiff breeze to be torn down to reveal the much farther off true destination…or is my green-eyed monster simply jealous of their peaceful and angst-less arrival?

To take the ‘ultimate internal plunge’ by flipping the switch is something that I’m aspiring to do, but haven’t evolved far enough to do at this point. I understand though, to some extent, that it is something that I will need to do in order to find ‘peace’. And although it would be easy to shirk the responsibility and have Master flip my switch I know it would defeat the purpose. The flipping of the switch is the ultimate act of submission and also the final nail in the coffin of who I was. 

The slave rebirth is at the same time both glorious and terrifying and I try to remind myself that not in utter nakedness, but trailing clouds of glory do we come.

 

 

The Shiny Thing

Master is wont to point out to me on every occasion possible that I am the slave in this relationship. He does it in a variety of ways, but one of my favourite ones and one that always brings a smile to my face is when he says:

‘Remember, you’re the one wearing the shiny thing.’

It’s true. Sometimes I do forget. I forget how cold and heavy it felt when it first went around my neck. I also forget how much I struggled when he first locked it on and I crumpled under the realisation that it was never coming off again.  I forget because the metal now is always warm from being constantly next to my skin and I’ve become accustomed to its weight. It’s just another part of my life that I’ve adapted to and work around. So much so that when I go to the gym I’ve always got a few spare hairbands in my bag to tie up the ‘o’ ring to stop it jangling and while I’m sitting here composing blogs I play with it absentmindedly, just as other people twirl their hair around their fingers. It’s interesting how we take for granted all the amazing things we have when the seemingly unattainable becomes commonplace and part of the everyday.

I forget what it was like to suffer from ‘collar fever’- that all-consuming need to feel a collar around their neck that subbies around the world seem to universally feel when they first start down the path of D/s. I forget also how I almost used to have out of body experiences thinking about a collar around my neck. I’d dreamed of a collar for many, many years. I remember quite vividly watching a scene of that all-time classic Chinese show “Monkey” when I was in primary school. The scene involved Monkey Magic attempting to rescue a princess who had a magical collar placed on her neck by some evil demon. The collar was gradually getting smaller and smaller around her fragile neck and Monkey was frantically searching for a way to get it off. When the princess eventually died, I wasn’t so much upset by the fact that she’d died, but by the fact that the episode with ‘the collar’ was over. Lol. In many ways a collar seemed to be almost like an all-encompassing magical band aid that would somehow make everything ‘right’ for me and would turn me into the ‘real slave’ that I longed to be. But it didn’t….of course.

Wearing The Shiny Thing does nothing to alter ‘who’ I am. It doesn’t stop me feeling everything that I did as a free person. It doesn’t stop me from having opinions or feeling rage or sadness. It doesn’t put a smile on my face 24/7 or make me feel happy about being a slave during those periods when I’m not feeling it from inside. (And btw, I’m still looking for that elusive ontological description of slave that states ‘must be happy, must not be pissed off with Master, must accept everything given without a word and not vent in public’.)

I was having an interesting discussion with a friend today about collars. He was saying that he would like to use a collar as an ‘on-off’ switch for his subby. Rather than have her wear a collar all the time, he wanted to put it on her to signify that she was now in ‘slave role’ and take it off when he was done. When the collar went on there would be a whole series of protocols and rules that she would have to follow, but without the collar on it was going to be vanilla relationship heaven. He said that doing it that way gave him greater control when he really needed and wanted it. While I could understand where he was coming on, and while I also thought the ‘downtime’ when the collar was off seemed attractive, I didn’t think it would work for me. As I’ve said before, I either am or I ain’t. I can’t be something ‘sometimes’ (even though my personal ‘on-off’ switch seems to have a life of its own! lol)

Of course, I love my collar but I also loved and still love my wedding ring. I love what they both symbolize, but just because I may want to wear my wedding ring every now and then doesn’t mean I’m married. Similarly, Master locking my collar around my neck didn’t make me slave. A collar, while being a useful tool and an outward sign of a commitment, much the same as a wedding ring is, doesn’t do anything. And just because a person wears a collar doesn’t mean that have to be anything. 

To many people, I may not seem like a slave in my words and thoughts and I’ll be the first to admit that I’m certainly not as ‘slavey’ as I would like to be based on my fantasies etc.  But I’ve always kept a complete honesty policy in my blog, I don’t sweeten things up just because I know Master is reading it. I write what I feel in the style that I normally write and at the end of the day I don’t write it for anyone but me. 

Because it’s my blog- as allowed by Master, without censorship or rules or external direction of any kind. If Master told me to stop, I would. 

Because I don’t have choices or rights. 

I am slave.