Just call me quasimodo

So along with being rather light in the hair department at the moment, I’m also growing a second head on my forehead. That’s the name Master has given the enormous zit growing on my forehead – ‘the second head’. He even made the sign to avert the devil when I approached him on Sunday morning, being that the second head had doubled in size overnight…I’m 32 years old for Christ’s sake! Enough with the zits, god, k?

I’m plaguing, growing a second head and still mourning the loss of my hair…anyone want to make a fork joke to cheer me up?

But while I am still tempted to burn a scarlet “F” in Master’s forehead for failure to haircut, I’m kind of coming to terms with it. I mean, it’s not like I’m bald or have the kind of hair cut a two-year-old gives their Barbie, it’s just that I used to have lots of hair (i.e. down to my waist) and now I have considerably less (i.e. at my shoulder-blades). I had imagined a ‘trim’ and got a ‘hack job’ so that was enough of a shock to me that I would cry for several hours about it.

**pauses for the choruses of, “But you’re a slave, and you’re his property therefore he can do whatever he wants to you and you have to love it because you’re a slave and he is your owner and you should be happy that you were given the chance to serve him!!!” **

I think what disturbed me the most about it, was that Master didn’t *mean* to do it and he didn’t *not mean* to do it – he just totally had a  zero care factor on the whole thing. I would feel better about it if it was an honest mistake like his hand slipped or something. I imagine I would also feel better about it if he was being a hard-ass dom and cut my hair that way because that was what he wanted or it was punishment or something. As it was though, he just didn’t care one way or another, he just barely glanced at my hair before snipping and thrusting the offending 8 inches in my hand and said, “There you go” as though he had cut a loose thread off a shirt or something.

But, you know, it wasn’t a loose thread, it was MY HAIR!!!!!

I hated his cavalier attitude and while it enraged me for about ten seconds after it happened, I was mostly just really sad…sad that he didn’t care and sad that he didn’t have the patience to do it properly for me.

Now I’ll admit I could of paid the $20 and gone to Just Cuts and had my hair trimmed like I usually do. But seriously, cutting my hair is not brain surgery and it takes 5 mins. I have no style. It’s just comb it down, cut straight across the bottom and wham-bham-thank-you-ma’am you’re done. I’ve even had my ex and my brother-in-law cut my hair several times and I’ve had the same result as going to the hairdresser and paying $80 for the privilege.

For some reason, going to the hairdresser is kind of like going to the dentist for me. I put it off and put it off and then finally go when I can’t wait any longer. I guess I fear that they’re going to make some comments about split ends or lack of conditioning or something. Just like at the dentist when they ask you if you’ve been flossing regularly and you say yes, even though you flossed for the first time in 3 months the night before (just because you were going to the dentist…) I even hate having to sit in that stupid seat and make polite conversation.

So in summary, yeah, it was my own stupid fault for being a frugal wuss and putting the scissors in Master’s hands, but I dunno…I just expected something more.

I had a good butt day

I always find it interesting when I have one of those rare occasions that a butt plug doesn’t hurt. I don’t know why some days are good and some days are bad as there doesn’t seem to be a pattern i.e. no amount of ‘training’ makes a bad butt day good, and a good butt day can come totally out of the blue. All I know is that every now and then, I don’t mind having something up my butt.

Last Friday was my good butt day (you’ll notice that I’m trying to stay away from the depressing topic of my hair, so I’m distracting myself with discussing butt) so when I slipped the pony tail in and pulled the ballet boots on, all was good with the world.

Tails and boots

(pony tail and cunt rings – now with more cunt hair!)

Master ‘surprised’ me by posting some pics of the said tail and boots on his blog. Saturday morning I woke up and headed to his bed, only to be told that I needed to go and read his blog before I could access the “Master bed”. So I opened up his blog and there were five ‘uncensored’ pics of my butt plastered across it. It was the first time in the 2+ years he has been writing that he has added pics. I had a feeling when I moved his blog over to WordPress last week that something like that would happen. Now I’m living in fear of what other butt-ugly pics he is going to post.

He had a comment left on his blog the other day along the lines of ‘allowing your slave to censor her pics is like asking the cd player what cds you can play’. I think quite a few people miss the point that I only have the freedom to do as I do within the boundaries he gives me. If he specifically told me to post a particular pic or not write about a particular topic then I wouldn’t have any choice but to obey.

And even though he has the final say, I still have an opinion about things. I will still tell him what I want or what I do and don’t like, but whether he choses to *indulge* me by going along with my suggestions is another completely different story. I think it’s when someone isn’t allowed to have an opinion that you start getting into dangerous territory a.k.a. this-girl-is-going-to-blow-any-minute-kind-of-stress-build-up-territory.

To me, it’s very important that I have a voice, that I can let him know how I feel about things. I also need to know that he is listening – not just hearing my words. I believe he needs all that information in order to be the best owner he can possibly be.

But as I said, whether he actually makes choices that are in keeping with my wishes is another story. Sometimes it may be that he just happens to choose what I would of chosen and I’m all happy because it kind of feels like I’m getting what I want, and sometimes he just does whatever the hell he wants regardless of how I feel about it, because that’s what he wants and yeah, I’ve just got to suck it up (the reality of which can sometimes be hot with the whole ‘no control angle’ and sometimes just really suck…)

So I started out by talking about butt and ended up discussing floormats vs slaves…I think it’s definitely time I went and cooked dinner…chickpea and chicken curry by the way.

I said two inches not fucking eight!!!

Mistake No.1

Asking Master to trim my hair.

Mistake No. 2

Not getting the fuck away from him fast when he grabbed my hair in a fist and the pair of scissors in the other (even though I had two combs and asked him to comb it against my back and take little bits off…)

Mistake No. 3

Not confirming with him that he knew how much two inches was.

Mistake No. 4

Not asking him if he had ever cut hair before he started cutting.

The result of all these mistakes?

my poor hair1

 Seven inches straight off the bottom then another inch ‘straightening it up’…

my poor hair2

Then I started crying.

Then he laughed and said it will grow back.

My hair is my thing…it’s the only thing I like about myself.

How could he do that???


Diet slave gruel

I thought I’d share some food porn of a couple of dishes I ate this week (all low calorie and perfect for the dieting slavegirl) just to show it’s not all about the whips and chains, but also the gourmet too!

Tuna & salmon sashimi, rice with seaweed sprinkles, salmon & potato cooked with miso and butter and miso soup
Sashimi and Sakejaga

Panfried chicken & vegetable gyoza (dumplings)

The goodies inside

Chicken mince, cabbage, leek, garlic, shiitake mushrooms.

The little suckers all wrapped up:
All done up and to the frypan we go

After cooking:
Cooked gyoza
You make the bottoms extra crunchy by adding some extra flour to the water you put in the fry pan. 323cal (per 5 pieces with dipping sauce)

This last thing isn’t exactly ‘diet’ food but Master came home with a bag of yummy looking lemons so I decided to make him a lemon meringue pie because it is his favourite thing in the world (yep, I even made the crust and all!)
lemon meringue pie
474cal (1/8th of the 23cm pie). Unfortunately, this slave girl won’t be partaking of any of it…

See, you can still be on a diet and make your pie too 🙂

BDSM the Strine Way

I had a request on my polls the other day for some more ‘Australian’ content so as a special treat (??) and in lieu of anything smutty to write about, I offer this once off manual to BDSM the Strine (Australian) way. If none of this makes any sense to you whatsoever, you’re obviously not Strine and may need to look a few things up in the Strine dictionary.

Step-by-step BDSM the Strine Way

1. Finding yourself a sheila:

As a bloke, this is probably the hardest step to complete. It can be hard to find a sheila without any ankle biters if she’s from the bush (because obviously getting up the duff is the only thing to do if you live out the back of bourke) and then you’ve got to get some rellies to look after them or a mate. Sheilas from the big smoke also aren’t all that keen on daggy blokes from the bush, so make sure you’re not dressed like a yobbo and your ute is clean.

The type of sheila you want will also depend on whether you’re an arse man or a tits man. If she’s a dead ringer for Angelina Jolie, that’s bewt, but if she looks like Kath or Kim, you might want to incorporate a hood into your arvo or evening’s entertainment. Make sure she’s also not a few kangaroos loose in the top paddock or once you start having your evil way with her, she might call the pigs and then you’ll be up shit creek before you even have a chance to crack a fat.

2. Playing with your sheila:

Have some tucker before you get started (something other than macca’s is recommended or she might whinge about you being a tight arse). Don’t have any grog, and if you’re going to tie her up, give it a burl the night before so you don’t look like a boofhead. Also, if you’re built like a brick shit house, she might feel a bit uncomfortable being alone with you, so let her ring a mate.

If you play for an extended period of time, give her a chance to go to the dunny and don’t forget the frangers or she will spit the dummy!

3. When you’re done:

If you’re both rooted, take a break, have a sanger or something and a bit of a yabber before you shoot through. Don’t skite about your performance or she’ll think you’re up yourself and then you’ll have buckley’s chance of seeing her again.

If she’s a dinky-di subby sheila and she thinks you’re not quite as useless as tits on a bull, then it’s likely you’ll get to see her again. As long as you don’t act like a derro the next time you meet, hopefully it will the start of a bewdiful Strine bdsm relationship.

(Normally this stuff makes me cringe and want to change my nationality, because I feel like a tour operator talking to a group of overseas tourists who think it’s ‘cute’, so don’t be expecting too much more in the future! )

Changeable changes

I had the pleasure of Master’s company for an extra night this week and it reminded me that I’m going to need to adjust back into the ‘at his beck and call’ mindset when he finishes up working away from Perth shortly.

For nearly the last two years he has spent half of every week living out of a hotel room and I’ve spent the half of the week that he has been away pretty much doing what I want, when I want- eating when I want, watching what I want, going to bed when I want. I’ve grown accustomed to the ‘me’ time and I have a feeling that the ‘me-in-control’ feeling will be a hard habit to break.

Of course I’m looking forward to him being here more. There were times when his absence was palpable and I’ve really missed him. Talking on the phone isn’t quite the same and as an added bonus, perhaps his ‘black cloud Sundays’ where he gets into a totally feral mood on Sunday evening as he knows he has to be off again come Monday morning will become more manageable.

It took several months when he began his stint working away before I felt comfortable being in the house by myself at night. The poodle pup isn’t much of a guard dog these days, as I can generally unlock the front door, walk into the kitchen and start making myself a cup of tea before he will deign to raise himself from his slumber. I remember I came home from work one afternoon and couldn’t find the poodle pup anywhere in his normal sleeping spots. I got a bit worried as there was no sign of him so I looked outside – half-expecting to find him injured or worse – and finding nothing came back inside, only to find him head down in the toilet having a good old drink and blissfully unaware that I was there. He did look sheepishly cute though 🙂

When Master is home there is a pattern to what happens. This pattern generally involves him getting comfortable and me becoming his fetch and carry bitch. I’ve mentioned before that I’m not really into the whole ‘service’ side of things that apparently comes with wearing the shiny thingie, so instead of feeling happy to serve my Master and owner, I do a lot of teeth-grinding and generally getting very stressed.

I wouldn’t mind if all it was was the occasional making of a cup of coffee or something, but it’s generally 5 or 6 things a night and he is particular about every one of them in an ANAL with a capital ‘A’ way:

e.g. Coffee has a prescribed measure of milk (mid-way between 1/3 and 1/2 of the cup). Coffee must be measured out with a spoon (none of the shaking the botttle directly in the cup stuff). Coffee must be stirred vigorously so the spoon noisily clatters against cup. Coffee must be served with a prescribed number of scotch finger biscuits for dunking.

Another e.g. Crumpets must be defrosted naturally- no using of the microwave allowed. They must be toasted twice so top is uberly brown (setting off the smoke alarm is optional when one wearing the shiny thingie prepares, but mandatory when the Master prepares) and copious amounts of butter applied. If vegemite is being added, a consistent spreading must be applied.

So often has he said, ‘What did you do it that way for?’ in that angry, ‘you’re-a-dumb-fuck’ voice that I’ve gotten in the habit of asking a million questions and taking detailed notes about exactly what he wants including size and placement of things e.g. does he want tomato on cheese or cheese on tomato (yes, he is that ANAL) whenever a request for something new is made. Regardless of my preparations though, so often has he said that I’ve done something the wrong way that you would think that he would prefer to do it himself.

Alas, no. 

He also seems to have impeccable timing – I’m in the middle of writing a blog and the creative juices are flowing, I’ve just gotten out of the bath and my hair is still dripping or I’ve just served up my dinner and am absolutely ravenous when the, “BIIIIITCH!” call is made.

One other thing that I find totally and utterly annoying is how I’ve got to ask permission to go to bed when he is home. And when I ask, guaranteed, 100% of the time he will say, ‘No’,  just because he can. When I ask to go to bed, I’m tired, I’m needing bed, I’m half-asleep and heading to grumpy-ville. Stringing me around for at least another 30mins or so while you think about it will not improve how I feel. Sometimes I like going to bed at 8pm because it’s cold and I’m bored and I can do that when it’s just me here. I hate that I can’t just say, “I’m going to bed now Master, goodnight” and be done with it.

Yeah, it’s going to take me a while to get used to the fetch-and-carry/ask-to-go-to-bed bitch scenario every night and this is just another example of how the reality of giving up control can be a tad annoying sometimes.

But all in all, I’d rather have him home and have the ‘inconvenience’ of being a slave, than the loneliness of living apart.

Regrettable regrets

It’ s been raining constantly for three days, it’s cold and I’m feeling ‘abrasive’. I really should ban myself from the internet when I’m in one of these moods. I’ve already had a few PMs on the forums I frequent telling me I’m an uber bitch, so just in case I leave a drive by comment on anyone’s blog, just ignore it ok?

Just to show that I do take everyone’s comments to heart, I’ll start will some non-whining topics:

In domestic bliss news, Master bought me a new iron and an ironing board cover! Squee!! Why I am getting excited about this I’ll never know, because now I have *no excuse* not to iron. Damn…

In further bliss news, I actually won something by being chosen by an automatic number generator! Squee!! (Although I didn’t realise it was being decided randomly at the time so I spent ages thinking up a ‘Barney response’ then patting myself on the back because I thought I’d done good…)

That’s about all the happy stuff I can squeeze out for now, so onto the whine for the day:


I’m full of them.

Starting from being such a chunky monkey kid that it left my body criss-crossed with enough stretch-marks that it now looks like I’ve given birth to the brady bunch, and not getting braces when I was young, all the way up to divorcing my husband and leaving Japan.

I regret it all.

That’s not to say I’m not very happy with my life as it is now (except for the stretch-marks and wonky teeth bit).

I tend to think of my life now as an alternate reality, as opposed to something I’ve ‘ended up’ with – which would be the normal result of a regret. And although it would be impossible for me to be here in this reality if I hadn’t made the choices I did, I hate to think that they are mutually exclusive.

In both lives I’ve met wonderful men who I love and whom have loved me. If there was some way that I could meld the two lives together and have the best of both worlds, there would be nothing to regret and all would be good.

I’d also like to erase the 12mths of living with the psychopath that is a huge regret, but the reality is that if I hadn’t experienced that, it is doubtful I would of met Master and unlikely that I would be here.

And it would be unlikely that I’d know what a caring, loving man hides beneath his very gruff exterior (even though he doesn’t like that to get around…)

So regrets? Yeah, I’m full of them.

Both good and bad.

Willy wankers

Thanks everyone for the input on the polls! I found it all excellent food-for-thought except the comments that mentioned ‘forks’ – of course if I was a pain-slut, I would be joining your fan club and having your first born at the mention of forks, but alas I ain’t, so enough with the forks! 🙂

But before I end the question segment of this show, I’d like to ask just one more:

Have you ever seen your significant other wank?

I was over at vanimp’s and she was discussing the results of her orgasm meme and I got to thinking about whether I’ve ever seen someone wank. I have to report that I have never seen a live wank, so I’m just wondering if anyone else has.

Master has seen me release a few times. Of course, that was in pre-hitachi days so there wasn’t a lot to see. Just me with a hand lodged between my tightly closed thighs, clutching a pillow and trying with all my might to cum. I could always hear him breathing and moving even though I had my eyes closed and knowing he was ‘waiting’ for it always upped the ante.

I lived with my ex for 8+ years and never saw or heard anything remotely like a wank. I have to admit that sometimes I would masturbate while laying beside him in bed as he slept after turning him down for sex (again!) though. Other than my ex, I’ve only lived with two other men and I don’t believe (I’m hoping) that either of my owners have had a need to wank – seeing that there has always been one-wearing-a-shiny-thingie nearby(CarrieAnn says I’m being naiive…yeah, I’m sure I am too…) I’ve just never seen or heard anything – so my tally on wank viewing/wank suspicion is zero.

Thinking about this has really perked my interest for some reason though. If anyone is willing to leave me a comment or email I need details like:

Are socks the weapon of choice?

What do you do to control the squirt?

Does it make you blind?

Tell me some really funny names for the deed (I’ve got a boring day at work lined up tomorrow and I need entertainment!!)


I spent my chilling weekend doing some blog housecleaning. I imported all my old entries from LJ and comments with a click. Have I mentioned that I love, love Wordpress?

I had a bit of a look through some of my older entries and laughed and did a fair bit of cringing too. I often say that ‘happy-happy-joy-joy-slavery-fulfills-me’ people make me a bit ill…the sad thing is that I used to be one of those people and it’s all there in writing. I was so clueless, it’s painful. Actually reading those entries is a bit like going to amateur theatre and feeling sorry and uncomfortable for the actors, because they are just really, really bad.

So I had a think about what what I’m doing here and thought I’d ask for some input. If you wouldn’t mind giving me some feedback by answering this poll, I might be able to better serve my reading public.

And before you ask, “We want to see forks!” is not an appropriate answer to put in the ‘other’ column…


Japan Four-year Anniversary

In a couple of weeks it’s going to be exactly 4 years since I departed the land of the rising sun never (so far) to return again. If you haven’t been reading me very long, I’ll just give you a quick run down of why I left:

An ex-con who did something like twenty years of jail time for kidnapping, torturing, raping and attempting to kill a young girl found me on alt.com and whispered sweet nothings to me over the internet. In the space of about 3 weeks I ended my marriage, flushed my career down the toilet and left on a jet plane.

Okay? So we’re all on the same page now? Great. Let’s move on.

To commemorate this illustrious occasion, I’ve compiled a little comparison list between my home of 3 years Perth, Western Australia and my home of 10 years Tokyo, Japan (strictly speaking I also lived in Tochigi and Kanagawa, but mostly in Tokyo.)

Let’s begin with something simple: Train travel


(an oldie video, but always a good one to scare the foreigners)


View of CBD area

Tokyo (Shinjuku-one of the business districts)

shinjuku from sky 
I guess they need a few more buildings for the extra few million people they have there.
Perth (the only business district)

perth from sky





Mushroom & Cream Shrimp Fillet Burger 280yen







 Bacon & Potato Pie 120yen


seared chicken burger


Seared chicken burger (McDonalds in Australia has more chicken products on its menu than KFC does…)








McFeast Deluxe (mayo and mustard sauce)

Fresh seafood


(Do not watch this video if you are at all squeamish about food that is still moving)



fresh seafood


to be continued….

Good week news

I’d have to rate last week as a 9/10 on the scale of good-week-ness.


* I reached my second weight loss goal (*does a little happy dance) !!!

* I got to see the ‘girl with fork and thumbtacks’ pic before the people involved chucked a wobbly and kaya had a sad.

I recorded the highest number of views and the funniest search term EVAR on my blog. Drum roll please……

                                         bitch accept the mullet

Is mullet the new word for a boy’s wiener or am I missing something?

* I actually had some things to do at work so I wasn’t bored out of my brain. I swear trying to look like you’re busy is the worst thing in the world.

*I discovered the 241543903 meme and had a good laugh at how stoopid people can be. Except now I’m thinking I want to take a picture of me sticking my head in a freezer bdsm-style. Comments for how this can be achieved are now open 🙂

*The ‘enter’ key on my laptop had been sticking for a few days and when I was getting really stressed and thinking that I’d have to get a new keyboard, the tried and tested method for fixing appliances (i.e. turning them upside down and shaking vigorously) actually worked!!

* I cleaned! Yeah, I do it so infrequently that it’s a good week when I do.

* Master turned the heater on at 6am this morning so that the house would be warm when I got up. I am spoiled 🙂


*I failed miserably at my slave greeting yesterday. In my fervent efforts to clean, I totally mis-timed when Master would get home and was vacuuming in my uber sexy cleaning clothes when the poodle pup began barking. Note to self: it is physically impossible to strip and put boots on in the time it takes Master to walk from his car to the front door, so don’t even bother trying.

*I broke my favourite tea cup. Now I haz a sad.

* As a result of reaching my goal weight, my calories have gone down again. As Master said, good thing I had the banana cake and scoop of ice-cream last night.

* I’ve managed to get chilblains all over my toes due to my lovely issues with circulation. Boots + chilblains=pain (and not the pleasant kind…)

* It’s still in the a.m. and Master is listening to Shirley Bassey….

Edit: Now it’s Tom Jones…Please Release Me!…no, like really, stop.

Am I a bit sick?

No, I don’t have swine flu. Although my boss did the very cute Japanese thing and came to work wearing a mask today. Personally, I think he could do much better with his mask selection…perhaps the leopard print or something with Hello Kitty on it instead of boring, hospital white.

Anyways, Master and I were watching a program on the CI channel last night about, The Toy Box Killer. Basically, this man David Parker Ray became infamous for being sentenced to 224 years in prison in 2002 for kidnapping women and keeping them as sex slaves. He called himself The Dungeon Master and had a very elaborate trailer fitted out with instruments for restraining, inflicting pain and sexually abusing his captives. It is believed that he killed many of the women who entered his toybox, but police were never able to find a single body.

So I was watching as the police showed many of the henious instruments he had constructed and kept in his toy box: spreader-bars, dildos on sticks, fucking machines, floggers, restraining tables and various types of cuffs, collars and gags. They showed where he set up his tripod so he could record his encounters with his victims and they played segments of his initiation tape where he welcomed his ‘pieces of meat’ and informed them what he was going to do to them.

At this point, I’m sure the standard reaction one is supposed to have when hearing about this sort of thing is revulsion and horror. I, on the other hand, was getting juicy.

It all sounded so hot – the devices, the torture, the restraint. He even had a little cavity in the wall where he would chain up his captives and shut them away while he went out. Everything (except the whole killing side of things of course) was speaking to my nether regions. And that’s when I began to think, “Am I a bit sick?”

My reaction is not only limited to CI channel documentaries. Anytime I get a whiff of a storyline involving kidnapping, captivity or torture of some description, I am so watching it. I’ve also been thinking about perhaps perusing the true crime title series so I can get some more gritty stuff to entertain myself with. The sugary-sweet, desperate-woman-first-resists-but-eventually-realises-that-submission-is-her-destiny-and-allows-her-inner-slut-to-bloom stuff sets my teeth on edge. I need force. I need pain. I need a bit of brutality with my fiction.

I know I’m supposed to be disgusted and should be busily making placards to join the protest for crimes against women, but I find myself distracted and and thinking about my lolly-jar instead. Instead of thinking, ‘Damn that man has a great toybox!’ I known I should be thinking about the terrible experiences of these women. But I don’t and I’m guessing that gets me a big, fat cross on my behavioural report card. That’s why I haven’t really mentioned this dirty little pleasure of mine to anyone before. Instead, I decided to keep it low-key and tell the innernets about it! Yay for low-key confessions…

**Disclaimer: Of course, I don’t actually want anything horrendous like this to happen to me or anyone for that matter, but the fantasy of it is….how shall I put it? Delish 🙂 **

Mid-week Movie

In the vein of HNT, I’d like to introduce MWM!

So break out your popcorn and choc-tops and have a gander at this week’s offering:


Master seems to be going through a cane phase at the moment – which I think is better than a tawse phase or a nipple-cripple phase.

You’ll also notice he takes a few moments to drink in the boots – which I think shows where his priorities lay.

I’m a big enough girl to take it

You know it’s going to be a not-so-good day when you open your inbox first thing in the morning, only to find an email from the admin of the BBW group on flickr wanting to know if they can use one of your pics….

Ho hum…

Well, at least it was an older pre-diet pic. I can comfort myself with that fact that I’m not quite that BBW anymore.

It was still a depressing start to the day though – not saying that there is anything wrong with BBW mind you. I just don’t want to be that way and am trying my darnedest to be a THM (thinner, happier me).

But anyway, there are ruminations in my brain that need to be expressed, so I shall forge ahead with a blog and not curl up in a blankie like I really feel like doing…Make it so!

Remember that blog that I wrote about what’s hard about slavery? For everyone who is too lethargic to click, I’ll summarize it by saying that slavery involves you doing stuff for someone other than yourself all the time and because we are intrinsically wired to look after ourselves, we have to constantly struggle to overcome our programming.

Okay? Are you with me? Porn will only be distributed to those people who get a perfect score on the end-of-blog test, so pay attention!

The other thing that I think that makes it hard is the ‘controlling-while-not-being-in-control paradox’. The basis of consensual slavery is that the slave chooses to be a slave. If you are a consensual slave you have the power to stop being a slave at any time, so you are controlling the relationship (by consenting to be a slave) but you’re not in control of the relationship.

Now I know a lot of people like to say, ‘I’m a slave and I can’t stop being one’ or ‘I could never leave my Master’ etc. etc. But that is all a bunch of hooey. (Hooey is my new favourite word in case you haven’t noticed.) If you are a consensual slave in the modern world, you can leave at any time. And no, I don’t think that if you’re chained inside the house and have no access to money etc. and your owner won’t let you leave if you want to that you are in a ‘consensual slavery’ arrangement. This type of an arrangement is known as a ‘crime’ and will get you some serious jail time.

Choosing to be a slave (by my definition i.e. no rights, no choices beyond the original choice to be a slave) gives your owner a blanket right to do whatever the hell they want to you. Choosing to be a slave doesn’t mean that you necessarily *like* everything that they do to you, but being a slave is what you signed up for and therefore you have to submit. If you don’t want to submit to something and your owner won’t budge from what he wants, that’s a ‘deal breaker’ and will generally end up in the slave no longer choosing to be that person’s slave.

Now, we get to the part that is hard…constantly submitting to things that you don’t like or don’t enjoy or that you feel are detrimental to your health, or that lower your quality of life is unbelievably stressful. It’s like living on the edge of blurting out your safeword; but you don’t want to because you chose this; but you feel like you can’t go on; and you feel like a failure as a slave; but you don’t think he really understands what it’s doing to you; and you want to use your safeword…but then you realise that you don’t have one.

The only thing you can do is chose to not be a slave.

Also there is a self-imposed mind-fuck going on. You chose to be a slave, therefore you are saying he can do whatever he wants. You are in fact ‘giving your blessing’ to his actions whatever they may be – but his actions are hurting you or making your daily life miserable or making you want to *not* be a slave.

‘I hate this.’

‘But I chose this.’

‘But I hate this.’

‘But I chose this.’

Like a one-track record this plays over and over in your head and it wears you down – little by little, day after day after day.

I got to thinking about this after I had that email from t. In the email she had also said how her master had her tongue and septum pierced and all she could do was taste and smell metal and she couldn’t eat properly. She also had her labia pierced and had problems similar to mine. With the neck pain from the collar and everything, she’s not a happy camper. But she gets through the day by reminding herself that she chose this.

It’s a difficult problem. Not all owners care what happens to their slave and some owners have different levels of caring. Not all owners ‘do it by the book’ and many have, at one time or another, done something that was *not good* for their slave simply because they wanted to do it. It doesn’t necessarily make them bad owners

Master shows a level of caring towards me that I never in a million years expected. He also occasionally does inexplicably unbelievable things to me that I would never do to my worst enemy. It does my head in sometimes.

Ahhh the life of a slave – full of mind-fucks and paradoxes. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

© a subtle slavegirl

Ballet boots have entered the building

Guess what arrived???!!

And it was such perfect timing too- mid-ravishing there’s the sound of the doorbell! (well I guess it wasn’t such great timing because we were both naked and I’d barely finished giving Master some much needed relaxation therapy…but anyway…)

This time the size 7.5 boots from the wonderful folks over at Rubberotica fit like a charm.

Adjusting the laces

Yes I need to clean my desk

Yes, I know I need to clean my desk…

Evil heels

The ballet boot!

I didn’t have them on for long, but my calves certainly noticed and now feel like they’ve had a hard day. Obviously some training is required before a wearing of more than 10 minutes.

(Just wanted to say that I was soooo impressed by the customer service at Rubberotica. They were more than happy to do a size exchange for me and even posted back the new size back free of charge! Thank you!

And if anyone is thinking of purchasing these boots, just keep in mind when choosing a size that they are quite ample so are great for people like me who have bigger calves/ankles.)

I hereby declare it ICOMONYOU day

Or International Comment on Every Blog you Read Day.

I swear I am the biggest drive-by-blog-reader there ever was. I have 62 blogs in my feed reader and another 30 odd bookmarks – not including the blogs I read on my lj friends page. Sadly, even though I get so much entertainment and thought-provoking reading from so many people on a nearly daily basis, I’m very,very bad at leaving comments.

Sometimes of course I have a total of five minutes to check my email while eating my breakfast before I have to race out the door to catch the bus, but mostly I don’t comment because I don’t know what to say. Some people just sum-up things so nicely that I read, get that warm good blog glow and promptly leave.

So to make things a little bit easier, I thought I’d compile a little list of ‘cheat comments’ that you can leave instead of having to think up your own every time. (Teachers will recognise this as the old-school-report-cheat-list-trick where you rotate the same fifteen comments on the 300 or so kiddie reports that you have to write…you don’t think they actually sit there and think of a comment for each little darling do you??? Well, only for their pets…)

Cheat comments:

1. I love what you write. I want to have your baby.

2. I love your blog, but we need more porn!

3. I love your blog, but your ass really does look like Stewie’s head.

4. You have amazing spell-checking skills.

5. You really need to pull your finger out of your ass and show us more porn.

6. You have definite potential, but seem to be distracted by the blogs around you. If you applied yourself, greater results could be achieved.

7. Can I have some of whatever you’re on???

8. You keep saying that you don’t think you’re funny and guess what? You’re not! (But I do find you funny when I’m half-asleep/hungover/not in control of my bodily functions.)

9. You started out with promise, but a lack of attention to detail has seen poor work in some posts. Hopefully a more consistent effort in the second half of the blog year will yield better results.

10. You are a pleasure to read and put 100% effort into every word you write. Your pretty borders and layout has earned your commendations from all readers and I look forward to having you in my feed reader in the future.

11. You rock!

12. You call this a blog? This (insert own blog link here) is a blog.

13. *coughs, struggling to breathe* Must…have…more…porn.

14. You’re a tool sometimes, but I luffs ya.

15. Can I join your fanclub? What?You don’t have one? Well, can I start one and set up an online shop to sell coasters and pens and then we can have you write a book on how to live the lifestyle titled something like “Don’t buy candle holders, just stick them in me! Slavery for the frugal-minded”.

Go forth and comment people! And even if you don’t use one of these handy phrases, a few words to let those hard-working bloggers know you appreciate their efforts will go down a treat.

But remember:

If you wouldn’t say it to their face, don’t say it in cyberspace!

© a subtle slavegirl

Just call me Dr. Ruth

It’s a very rare occurrence when I get sent an email, and even rarer when I get asked for advice, but below are some excerpts of a recent email I received (posted with the author’s permission):
i know you have a steel collar locked around your neck as i do. i have worn mine almost constantly for several year, and now have very bad pains in my neck. What is it about these round, steel collars that make us better slaves? 
i have not a clue as to why the collar is such a big deal to some Masters. i think the most important collar is the one around my heart. i think i am at the breaking point with the collar. What are your experiences? my Master just says he likes the way it looks on me. i know he enjoys seeing me in pain.
My fantasy:
The slave within me is physically bound.
She wears constant reminders on the body that is no longer hers. She is restrained, she is caged, she is contained.
The slave within me is marked.
Her Master has marked her as his property. Anyone who looks at her knows she is a slave. She cannot hide what she is; there is no doubt.
My reality:
It’s noisy, heavy and the screw has an annoying habit of poking its head out and sticking into my neck. The hinge traps my hair and pinches my skin every now and then. Anything more physical than a brisk walk sees it banging up and down into my collar bone and jaw. Getting comfortable when laying down takes a bit of adjustment. I have occasional episodes where I feel like I’m being ‘suffocated’ by it and wish I could just rip it off.
My point of view:
My ideas about collars have changed a little over time. In the beginning I had a love/hate relationship with my collar and now it has become a hate/resignation relationship. Like yourself t, I really don’t feel that a collar is ‘necessary’ to make me a slave and the inconveniences associated with the reality of wearing a permanent collar outweigh any benefits of ‘reminding’ me of my slavery.
Master’s point of view:
You’re a slave, you’ll wear a collar. Also, I like it so you’ll wear it. Do you want some cheese with your wine?
I suppose a collar has been part of the ‘uniform’ of a slave for as long as anyone can remember and rarely do you find a dom who doesn’t want to put a collar around his slave’s neck at one time or another. If you had asked me a while ago, I would of emphatically said, ‘You can’t be a slave without a collar!!’ but now I’m thinking that line of thinking is a bunch of hooey. Something around your neck does not a slave make.
I’ve tried the whole this-is-not-medically-good-for-me with my pussy rings, boots and collar to date, but unfortunately as far as anything to do with ‘the look’ is concerned, I might as well be speaking Slovakian. Master doesn’t enjoy seeing me in pain unless it’s something that he has directly inflicted, but he does not care if I’m in pain as a result of achieving ‘the look’.
The bottom line is, I’m the slave – deal with it.
I do find however, that there is still a small part of me that wants to do what he wants. If he casually mentions that he wants something or wants me to do something, some part of me, deep inside, thinks about a way that I can possibly do it. So even though I don’t want any more pain and I don’t want any more piercings, tattoos or whatever else he feels the need to do to me, after an initial knee-jerk reaction of, “No fucking way” I start to try to wrap my head around the possibility of whatever takes his fancy.
So a few questions to consider:
1.Do the trappings make me any more or less a slave? No.
My choice to be a slave makes me a slave.
2.What if I don’t want to do what he wants?
You discuss your issues, but at the end of the day, he makes the choices.
3.What if I really can’t do it?
See answer to (1) above.
I’m sorry I haven’t got any more advice than this t. Just call me Dr. NFI (no fucking idea) instead. Take care xx

You say wallpaper, I say where do you want it?

Pilferred from carinastarr

The Wallpaper Meme

1. Anyone who looks at this entry has to post this meme and their current wallpaper at their blog.
2. Explain in five sentences why you’re using that wallpaper.
3. Don’t change your wallpaper before doing this. The point is to see what you had on.

So without further ado, here is my wallpaper


My five reasons for using it are:

1. I find it funny in the morning.

2. I find it funny in the evening.

3. I still find it funny at 3a.m.

4. I find it funny no matter how many times I look at it.

5. I find it funny all over this land.

It reminds me of the stuff those folks make over at despair.com. I swear I am buying one of their calendars next year (I’ll just ignore the fact that I said that last year and it’s already June and I still haven’t purchased one…)

So what do you do when…

…you’re not feeling very slavey?

Do you meditate in your slave corner until you feel the warm glow of being owned?

Assume the Nadu position and ruminate on how well-watered you are like a good kajira?

Or do you go ‘meh’ and slap on another dvd, ’cause it’s just another ol’ day in unslavey-ville?

If you guessed that last one is me then go and reward yourself by upping the size of your butt-plug. Go on! You deserve it.

There have been a few comments directed towards Master and I of late along the lines of, ‘You’re doing it wrong’ and often more specifically it’s, ‘He is doing it wrong’. I know it’s very tempting to side with the subbly one especially if you’re a subbly one yourself when you read that perhaps things are a bit rocky in an M/s relationship, but it’s not always the domly one’s fault.

Yeah, he can say he’s the captain of the vessel and if the crew mutiny then it’s his fault, but we ain’t talking about getting a boat from A to B, were talking about, in essence, stripping away another person’s independence and rebuilding them from the ground up. This involves some pretty serious emotional manipulation and getting into someone else’s head, and quite frankly, there is only so much a dominant can do.

Because unless you happen to be dealing with a programmable robot, ultimately, you cannot make anyone do anything.

You can coerce, threaten, influence, pressure, bully or try to force someone to do something, but due to the simple fact that a consensual slave is another human being, everything they do, they do of their own free will.

They must consciously chose to do whatever it is that the dominant wants them to do.

And if they don’t do that, the dominant is stuffed. There is nothing a dominant can do to ‘make’ them do it if they don’t chose to do it.

A fairly important part of being a slave is, I think, maintaining the headspace, which in turn allows you to be more ‘malleable’  (ready and willing to do what he wants). To achieve this, you have to live in the M/s ‘bubble’ you have created around you by, quite often, living and breathing the role. If you can successfully do this, the lines between the ‘real world’ and the ‘M/s bubble’ can become very, very blurry.

And a nice side effect of this is you feel well-watered 😉

It’s so easy for the M/s bubble to burst though. If you’re not constantly feeding and strengthening it with your belief, it will wane and waver until it eventually pops. That’s when you find yourself wearing 6-inch stilettos, with a lump of metal around your neck going, ‘wtf am I doing?’

I’ve been pretty lax at feeding my bubble of late and so I’m seeing the pink elephant in the room and the naked old codger strutting around like an emperor. I need to get my slave cap back on and get back into role. My problem is that I’m just so meh about it all at the moment that I’m struggling to just get started.

I could offer up a thousand excuses like ‘It’s cold and I’m in hibernation’ or ‘I’m pre/mid/post plague’ or even ‘I don’t want to!!’, but the bottom line is that I chose to be a slave, so I have to do what I’m here to do, no ifs, buts or maybes.

I actually feel a little bit like I did before I started my diet. Prior to the day I actually made the commitment to lose weight I was ‘comforted’ by the fact that if I really wanted to lose the weight, I could at any time – it was just a matter of doing it. So I kept putting it off, and putting it off – not really willing to make the necessary commitment to actually get me started.

Then one day I happened to step on the scales and was utterly and totally rocked to the core by the numbers I saw there. The next day I promptly signed up to calorieking and haven’t looked back since.

Like my ‘I can lose weight at any time’ days, I’ve kind of got my slavery in stand-by. It’s there, waiting to roar into life, but I’ve lost my spark. Meanwhile, the bubble grows dimmer and dimmer.

Somehow I’ve got to shake myself out of Mexicoma*…but I’m thinking tequila won’t help.

* bonus points to anyone who can name the movie this line is from!!

I am what I am

Hi and welcome to my blog. In case you didn’t notice the very key point I’m making here, I’ll repeat it again – *my blog*.

The beauty of a blog as opposed to a forum is that I get to shoot the breeze about whatever takes my fancy and I can say whatever the hell I want about it.

That means I can say, ‘Slaves are x,y,z’ or ‘Doms are blah,blah,blah’ or even ‘Actors playing spock should be able to do the vulcan salute without the need for glue’.

I can bitch about Master. I can say I’m a poor excuse for a slave. I can whine about this, that or the other.

That’s the beauty of it being *my blog*.

I think people get a little confused sometimes. I’m not writing intellectual essays or opening up the floor for debate. I’m not writing a cohesive narrative that is logical and evolves as the months go by. I flit from one topic to the next, often repeating myself and sometimes saying one thing one day and then saying the complete opposite thing the next.

I use my blog to think out-loud, to mull, to ponder and to question. Every entry is like I’ve peeled back my scalp and given you a little glimpse of what’s going on inside. It’s not complete or polished and never, ever the whole story.

The ultimate benefit of it being a blog though, is that as a reader you don’t have to like it or lump it. If you don’t want to read, you can just click and I’ll be gone.

Isn’t technology a wonderful thing?

Oh, and thought for the day:

Mastering others takes strength, Mastering yourself is TWUE POWER 🙂


Welcome to the BDSM spelling bee where collar is spelled s.h.i.n.y.t.h.i.n.g and slave is spelled i.s.u.c.k.a.t.b.e.i.n.g.o.n.e.

Today’s topic is surrendering or as it’s most commonly known ‘giving yourself to someone’ as in ‘I gave myself to Master two years, ten months and a few days ago’. I only start counting my period of surrendering from the day I arrived at his house and not from the time I decided to become his slave which was a few weeks before that. I do this because I believe that you can really only surrender yourself to someone if you’re living with them, because I think to really control someone you’ve got to be within an arm’s reach of them. When you’re living in the same space, there’s no down-time spelled w.e.b.c.a.m.t.u.r.n.e.d.o.f.f. and no ‘you’ time spelled h.a.s.h.e.l.l.f.r.o.z.e.n.o.v.e.r. – because you’re owned now and let’s not forget owned is spelled i.t.s.a.l.l.a.b.o.u.t.t.h.e.m.

But there’s this thing called life which is spelled f.u.c.k.s.t.h.i.n.g.s.u.p. that comes into your perfect little world in which you’ve given up all your rights and all your choices. So even though you have surrendered yourself to your owner, f.u.c.k.s.t.h.i.n.g.s.u.p. makes you make choices and deal with shit. It makes you use your brain and function as a human being which is exactly what you’re trying not to be when you did the surrendering thing way back when.

So why do we want to surrender ourselves to begin with?

I have a theory and it’s spelled i.m.g.o.i.n.g.t.o.g.e.t.l.o.t.s.o.f..i.r.a.t.e.c.o.m.m.e.n.t.s. I’m going to go down the unfavoured path of suggesting that people who are slave-orientated generally don’t like themselves and are trying to escape the person that they are by surrendering, also spelled i.h.a.t.e.m.y.s.e.l.f.

Every slave hopes that they will be reborn into something shinier and brighter once they’ve gotten rid of that icky self they used to be. They dream that their owner will mold them into something new and improved spelled p.i.g.s.m.i.g.h.t.f.l.y.

It’s a bitter pill to swallow when you realise that that will never happen and that you’ve either got to accept yourself, as you are, spelled i.m.n.o.t.a.s.b.a.d.a.s.i.t.h.o.u.g.h.t. or make a change yourself often spelled c.r.a.p.i.n.e.e.d.t.o.l.o.s.e.s.o.m.e.w.e.i.g.h.t.

No dominant will turn you into a size six/give you confidence/make you a success. They can help and give you an environment to induce those changes, but ultimately the one doing it is you.

So what are you really surrendering after all?

Slave gruel

I woke up this morning with a craving for some of the hard-core black stuff…

There's black stuff in dem der bottle

Apparently you can’t really call yourself an Australian “officially” unless you eat it 2-3 times a week, but I only spread a little of the black gold maybe once every 2-3 months. You can see evidence of this by the fact that only just recently we finished off a jar that expired in April 2006.

Spread a little on your two slices of Helga’s mountain grain and seed bread Noble rise’s mountain pepper and grain bread (note to self: write blogs after caffeine intake) and if you’re using any more vegemite than this you’re doing it wrong…

On toast

On the subject of using too much vegemite, I remember when a chick out of my Year 4 class decided it would be really cool to scrape the vegemite off her sandwich, rub it all over her mouth and run around the playground giving people ‘kissies’. 15 minutes later when she had had enough fun and tried to remove it because it began to hurt, we found that the stuff had literally burned her lips off! Might I suggest not using it on your nether regions…

So back to brekky…top with grated cheese (Diet tip: grating your cheese makes it seem like you’ve got more than you actually have!)…

With cheese

Grill and serve with kitten’s ‘standard size’ cappuccino and voila, you’ve got slave gruel!

Slave gruel

Life as a slave is just sooooooooo hard.

P.S And yes, I’m sorry Master for promising to take your crumpets out of the freezer on my way to bed and completely forgetting.

PP.S And yes being greeted with “Crumpets bitch” when I said ‘Good morning’ to you helped me remember my indiscretion.

PPP.S And yes, I’m a bad slave…but in my defence…life as a slave is sooooooooooooooo hard (see above)

PPPP.S Don’t you just love how I add the word ‘slave’ to the most ‘un-slave-related’ stuff just so I can justify to myself putting it in my ‘slave blog’??

PPPPP.S This brekky was a major blow-out on my diet as it contains about double the calories I normally have…Methinks I will be doing some hard-core exercise this afternoon to work it off…But it was yummy and worth it 🙂


I was sitting in front of the fire watching some more Japanese tv on dvds that I borrowed from my boss last night and today I’ve got the ‘God, I miss Japan pangs!’ again. I really should have learned by now, shouldn’t I? As far as Japan is concerned though, I’m a definite self-harmer.

One of my biggest kokoronokori (lit. ‘something that remains in your heart’) is the fact that I can’t share jp stuff with Master. I can’t sit and watch a dvd with him and laugh together. I can’t have in-jokes or throw the occasional jp word into our convo just because it seems to ‘fit’ better. For this reason, I still don’t feel like he really knows or understands me 100%.

I had exactly the same situation with my ex-husband. We’d watch a movie and laugh at different parts (because he was reading subtitles and I’d be listening to the English). I’d want to share a joke with him or swear or do any of the simplest things that involved English and it just wouldn’t happen.

I’m a big fan of in-jokes. Even though I can’t have jp ones with Master, our latest English one is:

‘When do you get off?’

We saw it in the preview of Year One when Micheal Cera has become a slave and not realising the whole ‘eternal factor’ in being a slave, turns to another hot slave chick and wanting to do something with her ‘after work’ asks her, ‘When do you get off?’ to which she replies, “Never”. I think it’s one of those jokes that you’ve really got to be a slave to appreciate 🙂

I asked Master this morning for a little more clarification on the type of chastity belt he wants i.e. one with a bum-crack strap or without. Apparently he is liking this one from extreme restraints with separate locking mechanism for ass strap. Those helpful folk suggest adding a large butt plug before locking it on….

“Ummm…when do I get off?”


*I’m thinking about changing my profile on Fetlife to say, ‘Just here to get entertainment from clueless fuckwits’. Seriously. People on a *bdsm* website starting threads about why people treat them differently when they go to play parties wearing a collar??? Or my recent favourite, “I didn’t realise a corset would be uncomfortable”…I know we’re all newbies at one stage, but seriously…

*Master and I went to see the new-old Star Trek. The most entertaining part of it was when we were leaving and the twenty-something bimbo sitting in front of us said, ‘Wow, I loved it. Now I want to watch all of the original ones!!’ Somehow I don’t think the cardboard sets and William Shatner are going to excite her as much as uber CGI enhancement and hot guys with anger issues. Master also told me that they had to glue the fingers of the guy who played the young spock together because he couldn’t do the vulcan salute. I was thinking he did it pretty half-assed anyway and now I know why! That’s not to say that I didn’t like it. I thought it was a good movie in itself and fine if you didn’t try to fit it into the timeline of all that has gone before in the Star Trek world. Yes, I’m a geek, get over it.

*And still on the subject of Star Trek, I was disturbed that the guy playing Mr. Sulu was the same guy out of Harold and Kumar. I kept waiting for him to do something stupid and just couldn’t take him seriously.

*And finally on Star Trek…I’m glad they kept the tradition of the ‘red shirt’ alive and kicking dead 😉

*I had a very intense moment of internal WTF-ness yesterday at work when my boss told me the story about the ‘inappropriate’ guy back in the head office in Japan. Remember when I talked about how levels of appropriateness are gauged a bit differently in Japanese and that people comment on anything from the size of your boobs to the height of your nose (non-asian folk in Japan are deemed to have ‘high’ noses)? Well, apparently this ‘inappropriate’ guy dares to comment to people that they’re looking a bit thin up top or even goes so far as to say that people are looking a bit tired from working too much!!! OMG….that guy should definitely be doing some serious harakiri.

*I’m still chugging along with my diet and should be reaching my second goal shortly. I’m thinking about going shopping and buying something to wear as a reward instead of rewarding myself with food like I used to do. I haven’t bought any news clothes since….umm…before Christmas – which I’m sure is some sort of a record for me. Maybe some more boots are in order?? Nice day boots, not break-your-ankle-while-walking-to-the-bus-stop-boots methinks.

*The ballet boots are being returned to the store and exchanged for a smaller pair. Apparently baggy ballet boots just don’t do it for Master…lol.

*I’m always saddened when bloggers disappear over night or when they suddenly get password-protected. My beer-can-up-the-bum Japanese blogger friend is the most recent one to go and I’m always wondering who will go next. I know it’s very tempting to ‘do a diva’ when some asshole leaves a comment on your blog and I know some people have had privacy issues and whatnot, but it still always comes as a shock to me when I click and get a “404-Not found” or when I’m prompted for a password that I have no idea how to get. It’s just one of the dangers of cyberspace I guess.

*I’m in the market for some pony mittens. Anyone seen some reasonably-priced ones anywhere?

The Dollhouse

God it’s hard to get your mojo back when you go away for a while. Having  no innernets for a week was both a blessing and a curse – it’s great to get away from life, but hard to get back into life when you return. It’s also officially winter (since June 1st) and I’m heading into hibernation mode. Winter…blech…I even hate the word.

Master thinks I’ve been going a bit feral of late so he has added two things to his shopping list to impose my slavery upon me in a slightly more tangible way: a chastity belt and a posture collar.

I’ve been enamoured with the idea of a posture collar for a couple of months now. I even went as far as to ask Master whether my metal collar could be taken off (I emphasize the word ‘ask’ here as I realise that generally ‘asking is futile’ in the lot of a slave, but I thought it can’t hurt…but now I’m realising that asking can actually hurt 🙂 )

He gave me the standard, “WTF are you talking about bitch?” look at first, but then said that as long as it was being replaced by a posture collar, he would take off my steel collar. Yay!

There was a time when the very thought of having my collar removed made me sick to the stomach – but not any more. Maybe it means I’ve somehow grown as a slave and that even without all the bells and whistles I feel secure. Or perhaps it just means that finally, after eons of pondering, I’ve come to realise that a collar does not a slave make.

I often think that life would be more comfortable and quieter without that hunk of metal around my neck. Sometimes I’d also like to wear a necklace or something a little less ‘industrial’. Unfortunately though, it’s very much a part of ‘the look’ that Master likes and so it stays firmly there with just the occasional adjustment courtesy of the allen key when the locking screw starts to pop its head out. Which by the way, I feel is his job to do and not mine even though I’m the only one who knows where the allen key actually is! Lol.

The other item on his wish list – the chastity belt- is slightly more inexplicable. I mean, all he has to say is ‘no releases’ and that would be the end of my days of dipping into my lolly jar. There is also no possibility of me using it without his consent anyway so I mentioned to him that more metal in my nether regions would make absolutely no difference to what I ‘can and cannot do’ with his pussy, but once again, it’s more about ‘the look’ than his ‘control’ over his property.

I’ve come to the conclusion that he is a very visual man and highly motivated by what he wants to see me wear/do/be. Once he gets a particular visual in his head that he wants to see, nothing will get in his way of achieving ‘the look’. This makes me feel many times like I’m a doll that he enjoys playing dress-up with. Of course you don’t care how your doll feels when you shave off her hair or leave her out in the yard so her face melts off – she’s a doll.

Comparing myself to a doll is misleading though. Master cares very passionately about me and in 99.99% of situations takes very good care of me. However, he also has an equal ability to have a zero care factor for me when there is ‘a look’ he wants involved. The pussy rings, the collar, the tattoo, impossibly high-heeled boots, the posture collar, the chastity belt…they are all part of ‘the look’ he wants and regardless of the discomfort and risks to me, thy will be done.

I constantly marvel at his ability to go from ‘meh’ to ‘are you okay sweetie????’ in nought to ten seconds. It’s like he has a care factor switch hidden away somewhere.

Me? The only time I have access to my care factor switch is when I’m pms-ing. During that golden time of the month, my switch is permanently stuck on, “Do it your fucking self asshole!”

Nature is a glorious thing


We’re back! (I can see from my blog stats that you’ve all been amusing yourselves in my absence by looking at my unfortunate butt-plug video..methinks it’s time to take it down….lol.)

Well, we had a wonderful time. I swum with couple of rather large (3m & 8m long) whalesharks, two delightful sea turtles, several rays and a zillion fishies in all colours of the rainbow. There was also a leopard shark and white tipped reef shark, but they seemed more scared of us than we were of them, so all was good.

As you can see, I was proudly presented with an official whale shark swimmer certificate which Master kindly corrected to reflect my real names. I also have a dvd of the whaleshark swimming and when I can figure out how to rip some stills from it or at least how to rip a cop to my hard-drive and post it to youtube I will.

And for all you latex nylon and neoprene fans, here’s a rather sexy pic of my….wetsuit! Here I was heading down to swim with the fishies and the crabs near the oyster stacks just as the tide was coming in.















I won’t bore you with all the details of the golden sandy beaches, dolphins frolicking in the emerald seas and picture perfect weather that we had, suffice to say it was magical.

sandy bay

Other than the brief time I spent koala-ing Master at Turquoise Bay, he had a tiring time doing all the driving (approx. 2800kms or 1740miles) dodging emus, cows, goats, sheep and a kangaroo complete with joey. He even managed the return drive in a 14hr marathon drive back, arriving home at nearly 11pm. (Dodging everything on the road is bad enough in the day time, so you really don’t want to be driving at night-time on country roads.) What was even worse though, was about 200kms into the journey I seriously ran out of things to talk about, so thank god for the ipod!

We will be returning to our regularly scheduled programme of kink when I float back to earth.