Weapons of slave destruction

I think I’m going for some sort of record here…three blogs in three days??? Holy unbelievable blogging frequency Batman!

I’m actually sort of enjoying these nightly outpourings of ideas before I hit the sack. It was really getting depressing there to be finally getting home, to be collapsing into bed within two hours of arriving home and then getting up to do it all over again. I needed a little routine ‘wind down’ to stop my days all coalescing into one big mass of call centre blah… How long my blogging motivation will last for is another question though….lol.

For tonight’s topic, I’ve been pondering the most destructive force in my life as a slave and while ‘lack of trust’ ranks up there pretty highly I think I’m going to have to go with ‘lack of use’. Both are equally null and voiding, but while one makes me incredibly angry, one makes me doubt myself to the core.

Two years I’ve been together with Master and during that time there has been the inevitable ‘domination of real life’ and the ‘slowing down of the play’. It happens with everyone. You get comfy with each other, you work out the ‘rules’ and all of a sudden you can’t remember the last time you had a bruise that you didn’t inflict upon yourself. If we were a vanilla couple, this would be the stage in the relationship where I’d be sobbing to my best friend,  ‘He never says ‘I love you’ anymore!!!’ As it is, I’m trying to remember when we had a more than a playful session that wasn’t at a party…nope…I can’t for the life of me remember.

The last time I had a next-to-nil quota of play in my life, I looked inside me for the cause. I went through everything that I could possibly  equate with why he wouldn’t want to play with me: I wasn’t attractive enough, I wasn’t submissive enough, I wasn’t pleasing enough. Everything pointed to the same conclusion- the reason our play was lacking was because I was lacking.

Since then I’ve wisened up a bit and come to realise that 24/7 slavery doesn’t equate to 24/7 play. I’ve also learned that just because he’s not spanking me the minute he comes in the door, doesn’t mean that I’m not good enough for him. I’d come to expect a certain level of intensity/ouchieness in things for them to register with my brain as ‘use’ and somewhere along the line the subtle ways he used me needed to be programmed in as equally valid types of ‘use’. While sitting on the floor at his feet to eat my dinner doesn’t rate up there with being chained to a post and whipped senseless, they’re both types of use. One he always enjoys and the other he may do on the very rare occasion that the mood takes him. While I waited with bated breath for the rattle of chains and searched endlessly for clues as to why I wasn’t good enough to be hoisted up, the place at his feet was always waiting for slave ‘use’.

Similarly there isn’t a night that he’s home where there isn’t some boot action and ravishing. I never really listed those as ‘use’ but they are. Well, to be honest, I never really counted anything that didn’t involve bondage as use, so I’m sure you can see why I was so stressed with weeks going by and not having any ‘use’. From Master’s side of the fence, he has used me exactly as he wanted to and therefore his mission as Master was complete.

It has been a hard lesson to learn.  But the lesson has caused me much less angst than the angsting I was doing about not being good enough.

I think if you really want intense play, you’re better off not living together. Weekend play and fuck fests are much more satisfying when you’ve got a specific and purpose-created play date and nothing to do but play and fuck. It’s even more preferable when it takes place in some hotel room somewhere that you don’t have to clean up once you’re done. All Australia needs now are love hotels…I wonder if there is a niche market there waiting to be exploited??? Holy untapped market opportunity Batman!


3 thoughts on “Weapons of slave destruction

Add yours

  1. hmmm a beating and bondage weekend to catch up on your missed opportunities to claim the slave girl cup for 2008

    Gags were invented by Masters to keep the slave mumbling quite during the football and otehr sports seasons on tv.



    I’m very impressed that you can get an extra-strength beating just by blogging that you are not getting enough of them. Does it work the other way? And does it work for chocolate?


    Chocolate gotta be 85% Lindt Chocolate or she won’t eat it

    And she can blog, whine groan and moan and it doesn’t make a difference to what she gets or doesn’t get and she knows that.

    But hse is right we haven’t had a home play session for a while and we shouldn’t let the fact of work life demands interfere with our play life.


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