Invasion

I spent most of my day entertaining the electrician who came over to install a new power point for M’s recently purchased stainless steel oven. Tradesmen, in my opinion are a necessary evil: I can’t do the shit they do so I need them, but at the same time I feel totally invaded when they start messing around in places people aren’t meant to go.

Like the back of the refrigerator.

“Looks like you’ve got some mouse poo back here!” he yelled gleefully as he manoeuvred the fridge out of the way to get at the wall cavity.

It was at that point that I was so mortified, I actually started cleaning.

Because nothing will get me cleaning like fossilised mouse poo behind a refrigerator.

Then a few hours later while I was dutifully de-cobwebbing down-pipes he asked if he could use the toilet. As I showed him where it was, I couldn’t help feeling invaded again.

Because nothing makes me feel more invaded than people using my toilet.

Which is really strange because I don’t have issues with public toilets other than when they don’t have toilet paper and I don’t have tissues so I have to do the jiggle-shake-panty-dab.

And you know what? After someone has used my toilet, I can’t use it myself for several hours. Instead, I go and use M’s toilet until my levels of ‘invasion’ have settled down a bit.

I’m strange, aren’t I?

But speaking of invasion,  a couple of question from Ipi on my last post reminded me about another particular time when I feel a bit ‘invaded’.

The enquiring mind of Ipi asked:

Are solo orgasms enough for the rest of your life? And if they are is that just because you have issues with letting go in front of others or has it become a kink of sorts? Would you like it to change in time(for the better, however scary that is)?

Well, to answer the questions: probably, no, dunno.

All clear? 🙂

I smiled a little when I read the first question. I suppose people who have had mind-blowing, multiple orgasms as a part of their daily life can wonder how I could possibly get by with anything else. To be honest, I’ve never known anything different, so yes they are enough – they have to be.

See, I’m a bit special in the clit department and I have complete sympathy for men who have trouble locating one because I often have trouble locating mine. My clit seems to move like a ghostly set of keys that aren’t where you last left them and sometimes, it’s just not there at all and when it ain’t there, there isn’t anything that can coax that sucker out – try as I might with whatever is on hand, including my hand.

Just for the record, it seems to be genetic. My mum has apparently never had an orgasm in her 59 years of life and it has nothing to do with the fact that she’s a lesbian! My sister, on the other hand, seems to have inherited my randy dandy father’s genes and has absolutely no problems any which way – if there be dick, she be cummin’.

So I hope that cleared up questions one and two and now onto question three…would I like it to change?

That’s a toughie. In an ideal world, I’d be a sexual beast and my clithood ring would be something more than just a piece of jewellery, but I’m not. In fact, having a release involves the alignment of the planets, a sacrifice of goat and two pieces of twine (that McGyver hasn’t turned into a helicopter). It’s tough work and being under pressure pretty much guarantees that nothing will happen. Sometimes M likes to have me do a release in front of him and the whole time I can feel him waiting, waiting, waiting and it just takes my release far, far, far away.

Other times he does things that I find pleasurable under the right circumstances i.e. nipple ouchie-ness, but don’t enjoy without some stuff to balance out the ouchie-ness. This is when I find it ‘invasive’. Sometimes I have to fight the urge to say, “You’re doing it wrong!!” but I have to remind myself that in those instances it’s not about what I want or what I enjoy, but about what he wants and enjoys.

I like to set aside a good hour or two for a release and things have to be just ‘so’. Actually I think it’s getting harder as I get older to get any sort of release, so when I repeatedly have to spend my days off entertaining tradesmen when I could be having a well-planned release that I’ve looked forward to for ages, NOT HAPPY JAN!!

(Have I mentioned that the dishwasher guy has failed to appear on 5 separate occasions now?? Five days over three weeks when I’ve been hanging around feeling impending invasion and not able to have a release…REALLY NOT HAPPY JAN!!)

I’m sure a lot of helpful people would at this point suggest some counselling or drugs or something to better my orgasm-challenged situation, but honestly, as I’ve said before, I’ve never known anything else so it doesn’t bother me. I call it the ‘dishwasher effect’ – if you never have a dishwasher, you can spend your life washing dishes by hand and wondering how good a dishwasher actually is. But if you have a dishwasher and then you have to go back to washing dishes by hand, you are so fucked because you know what you are missing and it makes it 50x worse.

We’ve had a non-operational dish-washer for over 3 weeks now. For three weeks I’ve been washing dishes by hand and moaning and whining about my lack of dishwasher for the entire time, but for the first 29 years of my life I didn’t have a dishwasher, didn’t want a dishwasher and didn’t understand the fuss people made about them.

Then I experienced the pure joy that a dishwasher brings to your life and I wondered how I survived 29 years without one.

Life is interesting.

These feet were made for worshipping…

…and that’s just what slaves do!

It’s always refreshing to start a post with a bit of slave humour, isn’t it?

My apologies for leaving everything in the lurch and disappearing for several days. I’ve been ill with some dreaded virus-cold-thing that turned me into the snot monster. I swear every time I get sick I’m just amazed with the amount of snot that my body produces. I mean, if my body can make something that gross, that quickly, in such ridiculous amounts, you’d think it could be a bit obliging and do something that is actually productive like speed up the old metabolism or something, but alas no.

So I’m sort of alive – thanks to the wonderful medications available over the counter with a driver’s license and a signed declaration that I’m not a drug dealer.

Yay.

Remember that collar-coming-off-and-are-M-and-I-going-to-break-up-and-that-chick-spends-way-too-much-time-in-her-head-because-even-M-doesn’t-understand-her-blogs thing that I had going on? Well, it’s been solved.

Sort of.

There was a long discussion one afternoon a few days ago that involved several apologies, several realisations and several cases of really smelly gas being let off under the bed covers (because it was a really long discussion and we’d had beans the night before). As a result of that conversation we’ve decided to continue on our current path – with several course corrections and a bit of getting back to basics stuff.

I came to the realisation that because I’m an all or nothing girlie, if I’m not getting all the kit and caboodle associated with being a slave, then I’ve got no choice but to reject it. Well, not ‘reject’ it per se, maybe I was trying to force it all down into a space deep inside where I wouldn’t have to deal with little dribs and drabs of it. You know when you just get a tiny little bit of something good and it makes the cravings even worse? Yeah, well let me just say that I’m not satiated with minute rations of anything

M came to the realisation that I need a certain level of slave stuff in my life in order for me to justify to myself that I’m a slave. He also came to the conclusion that treating me as anything else is confusing and while a bit of spoiling and pampering is fine, too much is a bad thing. I came to the realisation that sometimes it’s hard for the owner to get into the right headspace too, so more using of the term “Master” instead of the usual “Sweetie-pumpkin-pie” is prudent – as is following the rules as set by said owner.

We both came to the conclusion that talking is good and that just because something is written in a blog for all to see, doesn’t mean that the person whom it is actually intended for understands what is written there. We also learned that not everything written in a blog is an expression of angst and moaning, but that it can actually be a cry for help of sorts.

There obviously was a lot more to the conversation, but that’s the gist of it for now (with a little bit of bonus bean-gas talk.)

So we’re sort of back into that Master/slave thing, but I’m not wearing the collar around my neck yet. Apparently it will go on at a later date. At the moment I’m thinking of the neck collar as a bit of a symbolic renewed commitment towards each other so I agree that neither of us is quite ready for that yet. We need to ease back into things and make sure that after spending so long on one side of the pendulum, that we find a happy balance in the middle instead of swinging back totally to the other extreme.

And that’s where we’re at.

I’ve done a lot of soul-searching and wandering around in the dark these past couple of weeks and it’s been….productive??….in the sense that I think it’s always good to re-evaluate your life and make sure that you’re heading in the direction that benefits you the most.

As they say, the unexplored life is not worth living.

Next time though, can someone send me a GPS?

Transient permanence

A wise person said once that people will do anything to make their life seem less meaningless. We collect things, build things, etch our stamp of “I wuz here” all in an effort to prove that we are here on the earth for some sort of a reason.

I think this is where slavery comes into it for a lot of people. Together with the need for safety and security by being owned by another, I think there is a need to be able to say, ‘I did something extraordinary’ and for some of us, being a slave is the extraordinary thing that we do just to give our existence a bit more meaning.

Another wise person said, “The best way to find yourself is to lose yourself in the service of others.”

I believe it was Gandhi who said that one and I think this is also where slavery becomes attractive to some people. What better way is there to get around your ego than to serve another and by doing so, be able to get to the core of what makes you, you.

For me, I think my motivation was made up of 50% security and 50% meaning of life. Lacking the skills to be able to build or make anything and choosing not to pre-create has seriously hindered my mark-leaving on this world. Other than a brief stint of stamp collecting in primary school and a very unfortunate period of collecting Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle trading cards in the late 80’s, I’ve never really felt the need to surround myself with things. In fact, I’ve always enjoyed throwing things out more than keeping things. I find the de-cluttering high to be great and it’s very freeing not to be weighed down with tonnes of stuff.

Defeating my ego is something I’ve thought would be great to do, but realistically is never going to happen. I’m too much of an attention-seeking, high-achiever whore who doesn’t like to lose. I like the ribbon, medals and plaques on the wall, and I don’t think I should be afraid to toot my own horn, so I really don’t think I could ever be humble enough or focussed on another enough to lose myself.

And why am I thinking about motivations for slavery?

Well, M and I had another talk last night in which we kind of got down to the meat of my issue and I think I’ve reached that famous point known as the “crumbling point”.

You know that point where you forget what started your meltdown to begin with and you’re sitting there with the pieces of your once carefully formed wall of objections laying in your lap?

Yeah. I hate when that happens.

That’s not to say I’m ready to make some sort of a decision; I’m just saying I’m more confused than ever because now absolutely everything has come unstuck – even my moral high ground.

In a nutshell I told him that my issue with slavery at the moment is two-fold: (1) being that I don’t 100% trust him to make the right decisions about me and (2) that I’ve lost the point of being a slave.

As far as the trust issue is concerned, I can’t accept the possibility that he would want to pierce me anymore or to be more exact, I don’t trust him 100% that he would not pierce me anymore. As my owner he has a right to do what he wants to me and at the moment, I can’t accept that.

He says that he has always allowed me to ask for dispensation for things I have an issue with and that is true; I can ask and he can choose whether to give me dispensation or not. My problem is that if he gets it into his mind that he wants to pierce me, as a slave, there is nothing I can do to stop him. In order to feel completely safe, I would need a choice whether to say yes or no to piercings, but having choices does not a slave make in anyone’s book.

He says that while he might tease me and mind-fuck me with the thought of more piercings and even though it is something he would love to do, he hasn’t done it and therefore I should feel ‘safe’ because it hasn’t been done.

I suppose that is true, but when you get told on a daily basis several times about big rings going through your septum and being led around by nose chains and stuff, it kind of messes you up psychologically, and you start believing it, ya’know?

As far as the point of being a slave is concerned, I think Chloe summed it up well in her comment:

I guess I’m just saying – what’s the difference between someone who says “I’m a slave” and yet CAN deny him anything she wants because it’s all her choice, and someone like you who maintains, out of desire, “95% or more” of what he wants, and basically just doesn’t wear a metal necklace and can deny him… well… the exact same things someone with the slave label can deny him.

M has always maintained that while he has given me flexibility about things, the final decision and choice about everything has ultimately been his. Pretty much the theory goes that everything I thought I had a choice about or was doing of my own volition or ‘free-will’ was because he was allowing me to do it as his slave. So whenever I disobeyed him or did whatever the fuck I wanted, it was under his approval so to speak. He maintains that at anytime he could have put his foot down and brought me into line and as his slave, I would have had to obey regardless of what I felt.

M would say that the only ‘choice’ I’ve ever really had has been the one of to be or not to be a slave and that I’ve never had the RIGHT to deny him anything. He may have LET me deny him something, but that was done under his umbrella or approval and he could have GAINED anything he wanted at anytime.

To me, slavery has always been a bit of an endurance thing. The emotional cost and weight of the collar was balanced with a sense of purpose because I felt that doing the extraordinary task of being a slave, gave my life a meaning of sorts. In other words, I can cope with slavery and all it entails if I can have a sense of achievement out of it. If I can feel like I am ‘doing something’  (regardless of how it may appear to others) then I can understand the need for the collar. I can probably cope with the ‘living on edge’ about the piercing thing (hoping, praying that he would never do it) if I felt the collar was a plus to my life.

This is turning into what looks like a rant about lack of play and I’m trying not to turn it into that, but I guess ultimately that is what it boils down to. For me, there is no point in having something if you don’t use it. Just being part of the collection is not enough to justify the possession. If I’m at a point where I say to myself ‘WTF am I doing?’ then something is amiss.

I guess, I don’t want to play, but I have to. The collar demands it. The title of slave needs to have meaning.

Am I afraid of what that meaning involves?

Yes.

But do I have a choice?

A change is as good as a holiday

I decided to throw off the covers and start afresh by attempting to update the look of my blog. I’m staying away from the darker colour schemes that tend to go along with blogs of a ‘kinky’ nature and I’m going for PINK for no other reason than I’m a girl and every girl needs some pink in her life!

I’ve been playing around with different themes and backgrounds and things so just bear with me while I get things sorted, okay? I know parts are hard to read at the moment and some things are broken on different browsers (what is it with everything looking beautiful on my iMac and then looking like crap on IE??) but I’ll do my best to get it up and running asap.

In the meantime, I’ve had some questions come in (have I mentioned how much I love getting questions?? *hint, hint*) so I thought they’d be great blog fodder:

What i wonder is how did you get from being willingly pierced, tattooed, and a steel collar locked around your neck, to where you are now?
 
What an excellent question, t and thanks for asking! Actually, I’ve been pondering this very same question for the last few days and I have absolutely no idea.
 
I guess the only thing I can say is: I started disbelieving.
 
I’ve mentioned before the need to suspend ‘disbelief’ in order to be a slave and by that I mean you have to consciously stop believing that you are anything but a slave. For M/s in our modern world, the suspension of disbelief is the only way you can get yourself into the mindset of slavery, because, let’s face it, you’re not and cannot be forced into slavery.
 
But you have to believe that there is no other way, no other life, or why else would you choose to live the life of a slave?
 
I know some people talk about being ‘fulfilled’ by slavery and that nothing makes them happier, but I seriously question how can you be fulfilled by not having any rights, choice or decision-making powers? How can you be happy living under the will of another even if their will goes against everything you ever believed in? What possibly is there to get out of a life like that?
 
I know some people don’t enjoy making choices and prefer to have their decisions made for them, but I still don’t see that as a reason for choosing to be a slave because there is so much more that goes along with the ‘title’ of slave than simply having someone pick your wardrobe and deciding on your entre for dinner.
 
It’s funny because I used to be someone that batted for the other team. I used to get angry at people who didn’t understand my reasons for being a slave, i.e. the need for the safety and the security of the collar.
 
But now I’m thinking, maybe I was just hiding behind the collar. Maybe what I really needed was a real connection with someone that allowed me to see that slavery was not the only way I could feel secure.
 
In many respects, the collar had been holding me back. In some sad, twisted way, I almost felt like I wasn’t supposed to be happy because I was a slave. I also felt like I wasn’t supposed to have feelings for my owner because I was his slave. I didn’t want to admit my feelings because it would make me somehow ‘less of a slave’ and I was already struggling with feeling inadequate as a slave to begin with so I refused to admit anything.
Actually, I was embarrassed to admit it.
 
Now I know there are a lot of ‘supposed’s in there. A big part of my problem is my perception of slavery and being hemmed in by what I see as ‘slave absolutes’. But honestly, I can’t change those. They’ve been built up over time and now are so firmly fixed in my mind that trying to change them would be like trying to convince myself that a raw egg is something I want to eat. I’m not saying it couldn’t be done, and it’s not like I haven’t tried, but I’m saying that I simply don’t have the skills to do it myself.
 
Which brings me to the next question:
 
May i ask if you have told your ex Master what you really need to continue as his slave?
  
The short answer? Yes and no.
 
I’ve told him what I enjoy and what works for me (i.e. bondage). He also knows my motivation for becoming a slave in the first place (i.e. needing to feel secure).
 
But that absolute part of my brain tells me that I shouldn’t need anything but what he chooses to give me as his slave.
 
The reality is though, that I did have a need to feel secure that has been met beyond the confines of slavery and now I need something else to entice me to give up my rights, decisions and choices.
 
And the absolute part of my brain tells me that it’s blasphemous for a slave to want something in return for her slavery.
 
And that’s where I’m stuck.
 
Yes, I have needs for certain types of play & sex – but it’s just play & sex and something that doesn’t require me to be a slave. So I don’t know what I could get out of slavery now that would encourage me to take up the collar again.
 
(And the absolute part of my brain tell me it’s beyond blasphemous that I’m talking about collars and not hyperventilating in excitement at the mere thought of something encircling my throat.)
 
I understand that M has a need for me to be a slave. I know that that’s what floats his boat and he doesn’t want it any other way, but I’m tempted to ask,
 
“What’s in it for me?”
 
Which, we all know, if I’m asking that particular question, it’s a bit of a problem.
 
I’ve said before that M/s is very much like a business transaction and there has to be something attractive in the deal for both sides, so would I be a slave just to suit M?
 
I don’t think I could sustain it and I don’t think he’d get much out of my half-assed attempts at being one.
 
Oh wait, are we talking about the hypothetical future here or the past I’ve just come from?
 
Am I the only one having deja vu?
 

The slavery post or is that post slavery?

M has always used word porn as foreplay. It’s the prelude to a ravishing and quite different to your normal ‘dirty talk’. During word porn he normally talks about what he wants to do to me, his plans for the future and how he hopes to continue to make me feel my slavery.

The first ravishing after I went back to freedom was really strange – he was quiet. In fact we were both quiet. And he seemed to be constantly grappling for something to hold me with since I no longer had the shiny thing around my neck. Lacking a ring with which to loop his finger through, he settled for my ear. It was kind of cute – in a bizarre way.

M’s word porn over the past few days has turned into a bit of Q & A session. He asks questions and I ask questions. The only problem is, neither of us has any answers.

He asks questions like, “Are you my slut?”, “What is your cunt for?” & “What do my rings through your cunt still make you feel?”

And I ask questions like, “Why do I have to do the ouchie stuff?”, “Why do I have to be your slave?” & “Why can’t we just be us without the labels?”

See? The impossible questions that just don’t have any answers, keep spewing forth.

After much thought and pondering, I’ve come to the conclusion that my biggest problem with slavery is that I don’t see the point. I don’t understand why he needs to have me as ‘property’. He has me now, what difference does the label make?

I think I would have fewer problems with slavery if he was a sadist and we were constantly playing. If we were doing stuff all the time and I lived in a constantly state of use and pain and whatever have you not, I’d understand why he wanted a slave. I would totally agree that he needed a slave that he could do whatever he wanted to at the drop of a hat if he was that way inclined, but he’s not.

He says that the ‘option’ of being able to do whatever he wants to do to me, whenever he wants is what he wants – whether he exercises it or not. To me, I don’t see that the struggling and questioning and emotional toll that the whole ‘slave’ concept takes on me, is worth what little use the ‘slave’ aspect of my life gets.

Now, I’m not complaining about lack or play and stuff, because seriously, I don’t want to do it. I’m totally fine with zero play because it means that I don’t have to have ouchie stuff done to me or do things that I don’t want to do.

He said to me last night that he wants to cane me. And I was like, “Why??” And he said that he ‘enjoys it’.

And it’s little exchanges like that, that totally send my head into a spin. I mean, if you enjoy something, you do it often, right?

I enjoy bondage, so I tie myself up at least once a week, sometimes, two or three times. It’s something that I’ve always done and will continue to do because I enjoy it. I like omelettes, I eat omelettes. I like reading blogs, I read blogs.

I can’t remember the last time that he caned me. Maybe….ummm…five months ago? Six? I can’t even remember. To me, that doesn’t sound like something he “enjoys”. I can’t help but think every time he mentions it, that he’s only doing it because it’s what is expected of him as a “dom”. I can’t think that it is something he actively seeks out because he wants to and that annoys me immensely!! I mean, don’t do the stuff if you’re only doing it because everyone else is!!

I suppose here is the point that he would say, ‘I don’t do it often because you don’t like it.’

And that sends me into another head spin because isn’t the whole slavery thing supposed to be me submitting to stuff regardless of my feelings and him doing what he wants also regardless of my feelings?

Which brings me back to the point of, if that’s not the case, why bother?

To date, he hasn’t given me one reason to be his slave other than, “Because I want you to be.”

I’m not sure that’s enough.

What’s the big deal?

After four years, there are things that you do regardless of whether you wear the shiny thing or not.  I guess they just become a part of life, a part of me when the line between ‘kitten’ and ‘me’ is more opaque than solid.

Like last night I decided to make dinner wearing an ”outfit”. It used to be that I did ‘slave greetings’ on the days when I was home before M and I’d wear an outfit or just be naked and in boots. I’d kneel with my head down just inside the door so when he came home, I could greet him properly as his slave. Since I’m no longer a slave, I didn’t think the greeting would be appropriate, so I went for the ‘sexy cooking’ scenario instead.

I was going for a maid-look but somehow ended up with wanton hussy with my boobs hanging out of a black pvc top, a little black ballet skirt and thigh-high pvc boots. For the first time in four years I wore something because I wanted to, not because it was expected, and it felt nice for a change.

That’s the thing about the collar – wearing it means you’ve got this whole list of expectations to live up to. Not only expectations from the one who owns you, but also from the people around you. I mean, you see someone in a collar and you expect them to do certain things, right? You expect them to be submissive, to have ouchie things done to them, to be appropriately respectful and so on and so forth.

My belief about collars was that they were supposed to give you the freedom to be who you really were. I know people generally talk about the ‘freedom in slavery’, but in my case, the collar was forcing me be something I wasn’t. I found it stifling and restricting.

Not physically, of course. After four years of having it around your neck 24/7 and going through the doctor’s appointments, the dental x-rays, airport security, gym sessions, swimming with whale sharks and everything else I did with it on, you get used to the noise, the weight, the discomfort and the realities of it all. Physically wearing it really didn’t bother me, but the implications of wearing it did bother me. A whole lot.

I guess because it was there for all to see: around my neck, difficult to hide, and carrying a whole lot of meaning to those who knew what it was and even to those who suspected.

On the other hand,  my rings aren’t things that are easily seen.

M said he wanted them to stay in. They might mean something slightly different to him than they do to me now, but honestly I’m okay with them. If they still gave me pain it would be a completely different matter; I’d be hauling my ass down to the piercer’s quicker than you could say, “Is wonder woman invisible in her invisible plane?!?” But ever since I took out that nasty one in the middle, my crotch has been blissfully pain-free and if truth be told, since they’ve settled down I’ve gained a new appreciation of them. Silver rings really can have a silver lining 🙂

M thinks I’m scared and that’s why I’ve rejected slavery. He thinks that because I hate to fail at anything, I’m removing the chance that I might fail before I even have to face it. He thinks that I’m scared about what he wants to do to me in the future and that’s why I’ve retreated to my ‘comfort zone’ where I don’t have to face the thought of failing as a slave by not being able to submit to what he wants.

I think that if I was truly secure in my slavery and convinced that that ‘s what I was and there wasn’t anything else I could be, I wouldn’t be scared.  Like when I first had my labia rings done. My belief in my place and status as slave got me over the wall of fear and allowed me to submit to what he wanted.

I couldn’t imagine ever submitting to anything like that now. I don’t have that support, that unwavering belief that would get me through. So I guess you could say the thought of what he wants to do scares me a lot, but it scares me because I’ve rejected slavery.

The rejection is not the result of the fear, but what brings about the fear.

(I think I just hurt my head coming to that conclusion. Can you tell I’ve had a little too much time to think over the past couple of days?? lol…)

Oh and just as a last tid-bit, M also thinks that I’m going through a ‘phase’ and that eventually I’ll come around.

(Don’t you just love NOOH’s (non-owning other halves) and their optimistic outlooks? 🙂 )

But thanks everyone for your messages of support and concerns. I’m actually really good. I’ve been sleeping better and haven’t binged on food (which is a classic sign I’m stressed) for a whole week! Yay!

The only way is up?

Gumby & the pink elephant

Master removed my collar the night before last. I’m no longer his ‘slave’ and he’s no longer my ‘Master’, so I guess I really should be calling him M. He is M and I’m K. Officially, that’s all we are at the moment.

The issue of my slavery had been a pink elephant between us since I announced a few weeks ago that I didn’t want to ‘do the slave stuff’ anymore. We hadn’t really talked about it and things just went on fairly normally between us – I was still wearing the shiny thing and he was still expecting me to be pleasing and obedient. I knew it was something that we needed to talk about, but I’ve always found those deep and meaningful discussions involving D/s types to be not the sort of thing you want to do around the dinner table. It’s hard to have a conversation that goes something along the lines of: ‘You know that slave stuff? Well, I don’t want to do it anymore. kthanxbai!’ so we just sort of ignored it.

But I was still thinking about things and realising just how much I didn’t want to do it anymore as each day passed.

The night before last M decided that he wanted to ravish me while I was in bondage. I was sooooooo not in the mood for it, but I didn’t say anything as he rummaged around for wrist cuffs and padlocks. Then the ravishing started and with the ravishing comes word porn and its associated questions of, ‘What are you?’, ‘What are you for?’ etc. etc. I know the answers he wanted and normally I would have just given them to him, but something about the whole situation just tipped me over the edge and so I told him the real answers and what I was really feeling.

Then he stopped and just stared off into the distance and said,

‘You’ve got to make the choice. Either you are a slave or you aren’t.’

And I stayed silent.

So then after the longest pregnant pause in history where there were things dancing behind his eyes that I couldn’t read, he got up and started rummaging around in the kitchen.

I knew he was looking for the allen key so I got up and told him where it was. And I just stood there while he took the collar off and placed it on top of the kitchen cabinet.

And I was completely okay with it.

Every other time in my life that my collar has been removed, there has been wailing, crying and gnashing of teeth involved. This time there was nothing because I knew it no longer belonged around my neck.

Actually, more than anything, without the collar I felt relieved.

Why? Because I feel the shiny thing gives me a lot of pressure. There’s a constant pressure of why aren’t we playing? Why aren’t I enjoying ouchie things? Why don’t I like service? Why don’t I feel like a slave? On and on the questions kept tumbling around in my brain and the resulting pressure had really been gnawing at me for quite some time. I wouldn’t exactly say it was the pressure of feeling like a ‘phony’ but I do know there are slaves out there, and I know I’m not one of them.

Of course, you can say it’s all about a person’s definition, and you can call yourself a slave and do absolutely nothing,  but I’m pretty anal as far as words go. M used to read a blog of a chick who is bald after having electrolysis on her head, who is covered in tatts & piercings and works for her Master as a stripper. I’d define her as a slave, whereas I’m clearly not. I’m sure everyone has different cut off points for what defines a slave/submissive/bottom, but to me, there has to be some sort of ‘level’ differentiation.

I’m not saying it’s a bad thing that I’m not a slave, just that I feel silly calling myself one when I’m so clearly not. Submissive? Maybe in certain areas. Slave? No.

I’ve been married and I’ve been a ‘slave’. The only difference was instead of a wedding ring, I had a shiny thing and inside it was exactly the same. I’ve always been submissive sexually and within relationships. I don’t have a problem cooking and cleaning because I’m the woman. I enjoy a bit of rough sex and bondage. I don’t think any of that qualifies me as a slave and I don’t see anything there that I couldn’t get in a normal relationship.

So why call myself a slave and try to be something I’m not?

On the same point, I don’t understand why M has always wanted a ‘slave’ and won’t accept anything less than a ‘slave’. I believe as a ‘free’ person I’ll still be doing pretty much the same stuff as I would as a ‘slave’. I will still wear the boots, tie myself up, make his coffee, put his socks on. I don’t see that as ‘service’ per se. I see it as living together and compromising by doing what he and I enjoy. I don’t think we have to be master and slave to do that sort of stuff.

Last night I also had a bit of an epiphany while we were talking. I was talking about how the need and the burning desire for the collar had just melted away from inside me over time. M said,

“That’s because you’ve got your needs met.”

And I realised that he was 100% correct. My whole drive to be a slave was bound up with my need to feel wanted. I wanted to feel safe and secure in the strongest, most unbreakable way possible and to me, that was by being someone else’s property and becoming their slave.

But without being a ‘slave’ I’d found the exact level of security that I needed with M. I knew he wanted me. I knew he felt very passionately about me. I knew that for four years, his feelings toward me hadn’t changed and so my need for the collar just dissolved away.

From the very beginning of our relationship I had a strict policy of not lying to M. He has been the only person I’ve had a relationship with and been 100% honest with. I’ve told him about all my issues and hang ups and quirky little things that make me, me and he accepted them without a qualm. It’s been wonderful and exactly what I’ve been looking for all this time.

I also realised that all that bending over backwards to do things I didn’t like or enjoy because I was trying to make myself appear worthy enough to want were unnecessary. I used to be a bit like gumby – bending myself in impossible ways because that’s what I thought I needed to do, but as I felt M’s levels of acceptance rise, even though I was telling him truths about me that I thought would send him packing, it became harder and harder to bend, harder and harder to do things I really, truly, from the bottom of my heart didn’t want to do. And with that came the realisation that I have limits. There are things I will say ‘no’ to and I’m talking things above and beyond the normal 3L’s (children, animals and unlawful acts) which pretty much puts the final nail in the coffin of my slavery.

Slavery is a state of mind. I can’t get into that state of mind now and it doesn’t matter how many times I hit myself over the head, my square peg won’t fit in the round hole. That’s not who I am and the constant hammering has been making me tired. Emotionally. Dead. Tired.

That’s why the other night it all kind of bubbled to the surface – I was tired and had had enough. It wasn’t the best way to go about it and I wish we could have just sat down like two adults and discussed it. I don’t know why changes in D/s relationships have to be all emotional and dramatic and take place in drama llama central, but that seems to always be what happens and this case was no exception (although, as I said, there was no wailing and crying that gives you blistering headaches for days afterwards.)

I’m not exactly sure what going to happen now. I love M and cherish our relationship together, but he ultimately wants a slave. I don’t know what I ultimately want. We’ve both got some serious thinking to do about compromises and future paths. In the meantime, things will be pretty much the same around here – he’ll call me bitch and have his way with me and I’ll answer every single one of his demands with, ‘Do I look like your slave buddy boy?’ (just like I normally do.)

As I’ve always said, the collar is just a shiny thing and what counts is inside.

Enter title here

Okay so it turns out I was pmsing….does anyone else think that their pms gets worse as they get older? I heard someone describe the phenomenon as ‘yet another way god punishes you for not having children’ because apparently the hormone levels get balanced out a bit when you have children (correct me if I’m wrong any of you who have procreated…) I woke up this morning and bamn! there was plague. I guess the cramps should have been a hint, but at 4am I can be a bit dense.

I had one of those weeks where I was just getting through each day – you know when you’re on auto-pilot and keep saying to yourself, ‘I just need to make it through to the weekend, I just need to make it through to the weekend…’ Getting up at the crack-ass of dawn most days also doesn’t seem to be conducive to my positive feelings about everyday life. I’m really not a morning person and no matter how I try, I can’t change it. I actually get a headache when I wake up too early – regardless of how many hours I’ve slept. Is that bizarre or what? It’s like my body is telling me I’m doing it wrong or something.

In an effort to force myself to exercise, I’ve been going to work with Master in the mornings and getting him to drop me off about 5km from my office. I then walk back to my office (carrying my work gear in my backpack), get changed and put my face on in the office toilet and front up at my desk just before 9am. It sounds like a good plan in theory, but after doing it for a couple of weeks, I’m started to get bored of walking the same roads everyday. Have I mentioned before that I get bored very, very quickly? As far as exercise is concerned, my reaching-boredom-speed is about ten times my normal reaching-boredom-speed so that doesn’t help either.

I know changing my route would help things, but I’m pretty stuck for alternative choices being wedged between a river and a freeway. We’re also limited by the fact that Master needs to be at his office by 8am and I need to be at my office by 9am so there’s not much scope for wandering off on side-streets. As I walk I’ve been listening to ‘101 Greatest Aussie Hits’ on my ipod and amusing myself with how many bands I didn’t realise were Australian and how many song titles I can’t name, but I figure I’ll be bored with doing that in approximately a week.

I’ve never really understood people who enjoy exercise. I used to enjoy going to aerobics, but that was only because I enjoyed the challenge of learning the routines and proving my superiority as aerobics queen. I didn’t really enjoy the sweating, the puffing or any of the other assorted niceties of exercise including jelly legs and the unfortunate releases of bodily gases when legs are raised into certain positions. I always find it hard to do things without a purpose so walking just for the sake of walking is something I will not do. Walking to the shops to buy something or walking to work are things I can cope with, so that’s why I’ve embarked on my morning walking routine. I can tell now it’s going to be a bitch in winter though. I’m already walking along in three layers of clothing and gloves because it’s so cold. For the life of me, I can’t understand how people can be walking along in just bra tops and stretchy pants at that time of the morning and not freeze their tits off.

My boss left to go back to Japan yesterday. He’ll be back occasionally to see how the new guy is coming along, but it’s truly the end of an era. He was a really nice guy and I’ll miss our chats about Japan and how crap Australia is. As far as our opinions were concerned we gelled on everything except camping. He thinks camping is fantastic whereas I think camping is what abnormal people do for kicks. But then again, he’s the type of person who tips himself upside-down in a kayak just so he can roll up the right way in as many fancy and flashy ways as possible. I believe they teach a similar thing in ‘Ways to Drown 101’.

My new boss is a bit of a dubious character. I have a feeling his extreme levels of anal-ness will start to grate on my nerves shortly and he has a laugh that involves about thirty seconds of snorting with every giggle. In an interesting twist he got married before coming to Australia and he is yet to have any sexual relations with his new wife… (I didn’t actually ask him about his sex life. My old boss did in the spirit of it’s-okay-to-ask-about-really-inappropriate-things-in-Japanese.) If it was me, I’d be very concerned about marrying someone that soon. What’s that old adage about taking the car for a test drive before buying it?

Oh and remember that welcome dinner I went out to a couple of weeks ago and ended up being slightly food-poisoned? Well, I was processing the petty cash receipts at work and found out that for the three of us, the dinner cost $475!!!! Divide that by three and you get about $160 per person! For my $160 I had a pan-fried field mushroom with a scallop on top for entree, a seafood ‘tasting plate’ that had one tiny baby octopus, one tiny squid, two scallops and a tiny piece of fish on it, panacotta for dessert with coffee and 2 glasses of wine. That’s why I don’t enjoy going out to dinner in Perth – ridiculous prices and mediocre food. After some thought, we’ve thought it might have been the mushroom that made me so sick as the mushroom was bigger than the total amount of seafood on my plate…lol.

I went shopping the other week and bought four more pairs of boots to add to my collection. Unfortunately, I also had to throw away 3 pairs of boots as I’d worn them into a state of total disrepair (the repair guy just laughed at me when I took them in asking if he could fix them). I learned that in many cases it’s cheaper just to buy another pair than have them fixed. A new sole and a heel replacement sets you back approximately $40 and a pair of new boots can be bought on the cheap for $20-$40 so that’s a bit of a no-brainer in my books (of course I’m talking about el cheapo day boots here, not the uber leather slut boots that can set you back several hundred dollars and are obviously cheaper to repair than replace). So my total boot collection has increased only by a factor of one – which is a very good thing considering I already have enough trouble trying to store the boots I currently own.

Apparently this year over-the-knee boots are in, so I’m sure you can imagine Master’s excitement. He really is a boot boy. He has been spending copious amounts of time cataloguing our photos from the Japan trip and he added a tag ‘boots’ so he could group together all the boot pics (most of which were pics of random people on the street he chased after to take a pic of their boots). Of the four pairs I purchased, two pairs were over-the-knee so not only did I keep the man happy, but now I’m in fashion to boot 🙂

And the new movie queen of the innernets part deux is…

Bree! Congratulations! Bree scored 12/15 to take the crown.

Sephani came in second with the same score, but was a little later with her answers.

Third place goes to the anonymous person who answered eight titles correctly.

Fourth place goes to Ashley with 7/15.

Shout-outs also go to Ellen, Carina & Nightfall for having a go 🙂

The answers were:

1. Turner and Hooch – I still have nightmares about the dog drool.

2. Grosse Pointe Blank – I like a lot of John Cusack’s early stuff. Recently he has only been in crap.

3. Reservoir Dogs – I gave all my sex toys names like Mr Purple, Mr Pink, Mr Blue, before I ever saw the movie. I’d like to say that that proves I’m funny, but I think the jury is still out on my comical talent.

4. Kill Bill – I didn’t enjoy it as much as Pulp Fiction, but it was okay.

5. The Breakfast Club – Ahhh…the eighties…need I say more?

6. The Devil Wears Prada – I enjoy watching movies where people are made into other people’s bitches.

7. Raising Arizona – This is one of those movie titles that doesn’t make me want to watch the movie, but when I did see it, I quite enjoyed it.

8. Fatal Attraction – Remember how controversial this movie was in its time?

9. She’s the Man – I always enjoy movies involving boarding schools for some reason.

10. A Fish Called Wanda – I can’t believe only one person got this! I thought the seafood reference would help, but alas no.

11. 27 Dresses – See 14.

12. Lost in Translation – This is definitely a movie I didn’t like. Everyone else seems to love it and I’m not sure why.

13. Crocodile Dundee – It still makes me cringe as an Australia, but it was funny in its time.

14. Knocked up – I really liked this movie due to it having Katherine Heigl in it. I’ve never seen Grey’s Anatomy, but the thought of Katherine being in it kind of makes me want to watch it.

15. The Lost Boys – I stopped eating fried rice for many years after seeing this one.

Thanks for playing everyone!

The ‘Name that Movie!’ game returns

I’m absolutely rooted (which can mean either fubar or well-fucked in Australian, but I’ll leave it up to you to decided which) and walking around like an old granny after spending the day shifting three tonnes of wood and helping my boss load his life into his container to ship back to Japan.

Due to going to bed at 8pm last night I haven’t had a chance to do a ‘real’ post, so have another movie game instead 🙂

The rules: Read the plot summaries below and leave the names of the movies in a comment. Try to avoid the temptation to google and the correct name of the movie is required.

Once again I’ll be modding comments so the answers aren’t revealed straight away.

The game starts now:

1. A detective must adopt the dog of a dead man to help him find the murderer.

2. Martin Blank is a professional assassin. He is sent on a mission to a small Detroit suburb and, by coincidence, his ten-year high school reunion party is taking place there at the same time.

3. After a simple jewelery heist goes terribly wrong, the surviving criminals begin to suspect that one of them is a police informant. They don’t know each other’s name, but they’ve got each other’s colour.

4. The Bride wakes up after a long coma. The baby that she carried before entering the coma is gone. The only thing on her mind is to have revenge on the assassination team that betrayed her – a team she was once part of.

5. Five high school students, all different stereotypes, meet in detention, where they pour their hearts out to each other, and discover how they have a lot more in common than they thought.

6. A naive young woman comes to New York and scores a job as the assistant to one of the city’s biggest magazine editors, the ruthless and cynical Miranda Priestly.

7. When a childless couple of an ex-con and an ex-cop decide to help themselves to one of another family’s quintupelets, their lives get more complicated than they anticipated.

8. A married man’s one night stand comes back to haunt him when that lover begins to stalk him and his family.

9. When her brother decides to ditch for a couple weeks in London, Viola heads over to his elite boarding school, disguises herself as him, and proceeds to fall for one of her soccer teammates.

10. In London, four very different people team up to commit armed robbery, then try to doublecross each other for the loot. A tale of murder, lust, greed, revenge, and seafood.

11. After serving as a bridesmaid 27 times, a young woman wrestles with the idea of standing by her sister’s side as her sibling marries the man she’s secretly in love with.

12. A movie star with a sense of emptiness, and a neglected newlywed meet up as strangers in Tokyo, Japan and form an unlikely bond.

13. An American reporter goes to the Australian outback to meet an eccentric crocodile poacher and invites him to New York City.

14. For fun loving party animal Ben Stone, the last thing he ever expected was for his one night stand to show up on his doorstep eight weeks later to tell him she’s pregnant.

15. After moving to a new town, two brothers are convinced that the area is frequented by vampires.

And if you can’t be bothered to try the movie game, check out this very, very cute video: Ewok Karaoke

How was your Sunday?

I started my Sunday with a couple of slaps across the face, some arm twisting, pinching, grappling and quite a few tears. Just a typical Sunday morning in the house of a non-compliant slave…lol.

Now I don’t know about you, but when I’m told, ‘Open your mouth’ so that the man can do a ‘here-comes-the-aeroplane!’ with several of his fingers that have just been up my cunt and are covered with stuff I’d prefer not to think about, I’m not exactly leaping off the bed to comply. I may be leaping off the bed to get as far away as possible, but that seems to get me slapped around and ultimately results in physical struggles that I’m never going to win. After all, the man can fart me into oblivion without even trying, so imagine what he can do with other parts of his body.

Apparently the story is now that I still have to be obedient – whether I enjoy being obedient or not doesn’t get factored in. So even though I’m kind of in slave limbo at the moment, I’m still expected to do what he says. Which sucks in a big way because now I’m even less motivated to do things I don’t want to do. Before I had a bit of the ‘being forced’ thrill mixed with some humiliation to help get me through, but now I’ve got nada to work with.

It’s tough. If I didn’t click with him in other ways, damn I’d seriously be scraping the bottom of the barrel. But what I’m wondering now is whether being made to do stuff will actually make me resent him and whether it will start to chip away at our relationship. Can we exist as just man and woman instead of Master & slave?

He always said that he’d never have me as anything but a slave but I wonder exactly how true that statement was…

I also wonder what his definition of ‘having me as a slave’ is. Could I be a slave in nothing but name only and would he be happy with that? Or would I actually need to do some ‘slavey’ stuff in order to keep the title of ‘his slave’.

There’s also that problem of the shiny thing and whether I can bring myself to keep wearing it. That feeling of non-entitlement is kind of creeping around on the fringes of my consciousness….But then again, it’s only a symbol, right? It doesn’t actually mean anything. Maybe I can just start thinking of myself as a goth and buy some black lipstick to match. I’m sure that will go down fabulously at work.

One thing I do know is that my non-compliance will probably start to get on his nerves very quickly. For all he talks about me being his slave regardless, I genuinely think he wants me to be enjoying stuff. While he says my tears ‘turn him on’, I think there’s a big difference between beating someone to tears and getting horny because of it, and someone getting all blubbery because they don’t know what they are anymore and finding that it doesn’t bring a stiff breeze to your sails.

Yeah….

Emotionally I feel like I’m pmsing, but it’s a bit early. Or maybe I’ve just moved into the realms of all-month-long pmsing and this is how I’ll be all the time from now on until I get shit sorted.

And the new movie queen of the innernets is…..

Movie queen of the innernets

Theresa!!! Congratulations 🙂

Theresa scored a massive 14.25/15 (because I’m anal, I deducted 3/4 of a point because “Chuck and Larry” wasn’t quite the correct movie title.)

LK came in 2nd with 14/15,  Chloe & Mindy came in 3rd with 12/15 and Sephani was 4th with 10/15. A special shout-out also to Ariel, Sir Mike & Ashley who also scored 10 points but were pipped to the post by Sephani.

The answers were:

1. Australia – As predicted, almost no-one knew this “epic” movie starring Nicole Kidman & Hugh Jackman. It was released in 2008, cost $197 million to make and was total crap.

2. WALL-E – I didn’t get all anal if you didn’t put it all in capital letters.Likewise, I didn’t get all anal about whether people left off ‘the’ from some of the titles.

3. Lock Stock and Two Smoking Barrels – I quite like Guy Ritchie even though he is a whiney pommie.

4. 12 Monkeys – A movie I have seen several times and manage to completely forget a few hours later. Don’t ask me what it’s about – all I remember is Bruce in a straightjacket…mmm…straightjackets.

5. The Princess Bride – A true classic.

6. The Hangover – Kind of funny.

7. Children of Men -It reminded me sort of The Handmaiden and I didn’t enjoy it as much as I wanted to.

8. UP – I’m yet to see it.

9. My Big Fat Greek Wedding – I love, love, love this movie. When it was released in Japan the title was ‘My Big Fat Wedding’ (I think something fairly important was lost in translation.)

10. Mr & Mrs Smith – As Chloe correctly pointed out, there is an ampersand in the middle, not ‘and’, but I didn’t mark it wrong regardless (I’m the teacher all the kids like.)

11. The Blair Witch Project – I’ve never actually seen it….I don’t like scary movies.

12. The Ring or Ringu – I’ve never watched either version (see above) but I believe the Japanese one is more scary.

13. I Now Pronounce you Chuck and Larry – Yeah…I really don’t like Adam Sandler.

14. Gone in 60 Seconds – I like Nickie boy.

15. Iron Man – Mmmm… RDJ FTW 🙂

Thanks for playing 🙂

I didn’t actually choose the movies because they are all movies I’ve seen and like. Basically I chose them because a lot of people know them and the summaries didn’t give too much away. I’ve got a second quiz in the works so stay tuned.