Don’t shit where you eat

I work in an unusual workplace. Not only do I essentially sell grass for a living, the building where my office is located, is funky.

I present Exhibit Number One, the toilet cubicle that I use everyday:

fh1

Not only are there two receptacles for feminine hygiene products in front of the toilet, there is also one beside the toilet.

fh2

This brings the sum total of receptacles for feminine hygiene products in a three feet by four feet square area to three. You can barely close the door due to the number of big-ass boxes in the place. And in case you were wondering, there is one more cubicle but there are also two of the receptacles in it and I’m guessing they gave up on a third because it wouldn’t fit.

That’s two toilets and five boxes !!! Five !!! How many feminine hygiene products does one person need to use??

If it may please the court, I would also like to present Exhibit Number Two, also from the toilet:

fh3

I’m not even limber enough to try this.

Who does this funky animal shit?

Now, I have to admit that I have seen footprints on the toilet seat. At the time I thought it was someone standing on it to change the lightbulb overhead. It never dawned on me that squatting over the toilet was something people did.

But then again, I never thought wiping your bum with half a roll of toilet paper was something people did either, until one day I was in the cubicle next door and heard the person reach for the paper. What followed was approximately one minute of unrolling the toilet roll and I assume some rather thorough winding around of one’s hand with said paper (unless of course she was creating her own roll and putting it into her purse for later…)

I have heard though that a lot of girls claim that going to the toilet is so icky that they can’t stand not using large amounts of toilet paper. Personally, I’ve discovered that my experiences with drinking piss and ass-to-mouth over the years have removed any squeamish feelings I have about toilet stuff.

So with that, I rest my case. I work in a weird-ass place.

Special

While some people like to call me ‘spethial’, I also like to think that I’m special. And by special I mean unusual or extraordinary, not better or superior.

Being submissive (or a slave – the jury is still out on that one) makes me feel particularly special. I often find myself going back to work after a weekend filled with deviant deeds and feeling like I’m the only one who knows my secret and smiling on the inside at my ‘specialness’ as I walk around the ordinary people in myordinary workplace.

Some part of me likes knowing that no-one else around me knows what I am or what I do. I also like to have to make clothing choices to cover marks and I like being reminded of a bruise every time I sit down.

I think it was this feeling of being special that I missed more than anything else on the other side of the fence.

One could argue, I guess, that going to work after spending a weekend of doing deviant deeds would be equally as fulfilling in the special stakes (and it should actually be more so since being a dominant female is also on the rare side) but I never had the same feeling.

I don’t know if it’s because I think that submitting is harder or whether it’s because it has more of a social stigma and therefore seems more ‘risqué’, but there is something special about submission. (And just for the record, most non-kink people I have spoken to about kink find the idea of ‘submitting’ to a man to be abhorrent and tend to want to shake some ‘sense’ into me…)

People submit for a variety of reasons – love, the joy of service, because it pushes their degradation buttons etc. and in the scheme of things my reason of ‘because it makes me feel special’ seems very self-centred and not at all in keeping with the spirit of submission.

But I have a sneaking suspicion that a lot of people feel the same way. We all want to feel different and special and how we experience the quality of ‘specialness’ differs from person to person. So, if you feel special because you took your dog for a walk or because you were the one being walked, well, good for you.

special

The return of the hairless twat

It was M’s birthday on Sunday and due to a lack of budget and his lack of enthusiasm at celebrating yet another milestone, I did the only thing I could do that I thought he would appreciate – I de-haired my twat.

It had been a damn long time since I was bare down there – probably something like 2 years. I dabbled in the Mistress thing for about a year and a half and during that time I took the Mistress prerogative of doing whatever the fuck I chose, so of course I went au naturel and only de-haired the parts of me that I needed to reveal in public.

There is something very peculiar about getting bare down there. It’s really quite powerful in the way that it makes me feel like I’m all twat and very submissive at the same time. I’d forgotten how it felt.

As a result of having less cushioning material, my rings are also jangling merrily away as I walk. Strangely, I sometimes missing having the two rings that migrated out. It was a very complete look with the three down each side making six and it seems a bit bare with only four and the clithood now. I’m not saying that I’d be running down to the piercer’s tomorrow and laying my labia down on the table for round two, but there was something to be said for all that pain I went through only to have the fuckers decide they didn’t want to be there to begin with.

It almost seems like the rings are an analogy for my slavery – hurts like hell to make it happen, seemingly better when no longer there, but something is always missing without it.

ring

The Situation

We finally had a talk about The Situation™ (a.k.a the big fat pink elephant of my recent return to submission in the room). As a result I will now be wearing my collar on weekends and there will be an immediate increase in the amount of boot time.

The reality of having a full-time sucky job means that we’ll have to find a balance between submission and real life. I didn’t do very well with this before but now I’ll be working on being more flexible within myself as to what constitutes ‘submission’. I’m a do-it-right-or-don’t-do-it-at-all kind of person, so being ‘half-hearted’ about submission is something that I couldn’t deal with. ‘Half-hearted’ is how I would have described it before, but now I’d like to think of it as ‘the best that I can do’ submission. It’s okay not to have a collar on 24/7 and it’s okay not to be home and serving him all the time. What matters is how I feel about being submissive and what type of relationship I think works best for both of us.

Truth be told, I feel a little bit ‘all-or-nothing’ about my blog as well. I won’t do a post if I’m not 100% happy about it. I need to feel like I’ve legitimately got something profound to write about so you won’t really see me writing just for the hell of it (if that makes sense). I guess what I’m trying to say is I’ve always needed to feel 150% committed to what I’m doing, whether it be my submission or a blog, but because I put so much into everything I do, I get over-stretched pretty damn quickly and tend to have melt-downs. I need to dial stuff back to about 80% and find a happy balance.

It was a very weird feeling to be back in the collar. I’d forgotten what the feel of the weight around my neck was like and I had a split instant of claustrophobia as the allen key was turned and I knew it wasn’t coming off. The first time I got a collar, it was something that excited me no end and I couldn’t wait to have it locked firmly on. This time it was more like coming home.

I’ve had my labia rings and clithood collar in ever since they were pierced. It’s been…ummm…about 6 years now. Have I ever thought about taking them out? Well, for the first 3-4 years when they caused me nothing but pain and grief, every fucking day, but I never did. Even when I had my stint on the dominant side of the fence, they were still in. May be some part of me knew that they belonged there…

So that’s The Situation™. Let’s see where we go from here.

try

Awkward

So, we were in pre-sleep banter time last night and we were discussing the day I owed him after losing a stupid bet. The bet involved me dressing and doing what he wanted for a day if he won. He’d been telling there would be multiple pairs of boots and some ‘barely there’ outfits. I pointed out to him that that wardrobe probably wouldn’t be appropriate for his mistress and that it would be decidedly slavish, to which he said,

“Well, you’ve already told the world.”

And that’s the problem with having a blog that he reads. I can’t ‘fess up to anything without him knowing too.

You’re probably thinking at this point that it is fairly important that he knows of my recent decision and it’s pretty crap of me for announcing that kind of drama on my blog – to the whole world, I might add – before I’d discussed it with him. And you’d be right. But that’s how I roll.

Because having a direct discussion about that stuff with my slave/Master/whatever the fuck he is now is way too scary. What if he doesn’t want to put the shoe back on the other foot? What if he wants to stay as the submissive one in this relationship?

I can just see us having a fight,

“No, you tie me up! No, you tie me up!!”

“No, I’m the slave! No, I’m the slave!!”

That would be some great comic material for a sit-com.

In bed last night he also asked that oh-so-familar question:

What are you?

I hmmmmed and hrrrred and tried to be all cute dodging the question for a while, before finally answering that I thought I was on the submissive side of the fence. And I’m not sure whether it was that thought that excited him or the thought of a day with multiple pairs of boots, but whatever it was, it resulted in a prompt “climax” to our banter time.

To be honest, I’m not even sure how you would have a conversation about the future of your relationship. Would you just come right out and ask,

“So, do you want to be the slave or shall I be?”

There’s got to be some sort of a better way to work this shit out. Flipping a coin? Rock-scissors-paper-lizard-Spock?

rpsls

All in the head

When you are a girl, you spend a lot of time in your head. When you’re a submissive, you also spend a lot of time in your head. When you’re a girl submissive, well, you just spend a crap load of time in your head, fantasizing, puzzling and reading way too deeply into all things.

The hard thing is that being a submissive actually requires you to spend a lot of time in your head. You need to get yourself into an ‘appropriate’ headspace to interact with your domly one and if you’re on the receiving end of pain, humiliation or the icy chill of being pushed out of your comfort zone, well, you have to find a way to deal with it and most people internalise it.

It’s very easy to get worked up about dealing with this stuff. It’s also very easy to spend too much time in your head and find yourself lacking.

I’ve always had a problem with accepting that things are ‘good enough’. Even though I was born and raised in a country where ‘she’ll be right’ (a.k.a near enough is good enough) is a birthright, I’m very henny penny. I have big issues about letting go and more often than not, my sky is falling.

But, I’m not getting younger so I’d like to chill the fuck out and have fun.

In days of old when we attended play parties, a lot of people used to have ‘fun’ with me. There would be a lot of teasing, a lot of laughing and general light-heartedness. Something about it always rubbed me up the wrong way. I thought play parties should be about ‘proving’ your submission and silent acceptance. I wanted them to be dark and heavy and to have an atmosphere that was in keeping with my serious attitude towards what I did.

But this bdsm thing doesn’t have to be like that and in fact, they never were. People at those things had it figured out much better than I did. They were there for some fun and diversion. Why does everyone else have it figured out, but I struggle with this stuff so much?

I think it’s because I do spend so much time in my head. I need to accept that some things just happen and some people just do stuff and there is no deeper meaning. Random shit happens and it’s okay to fall on your face. It’s not a reflection on me and who or what I am, it just is.

I don’t need to take this stuff so seriously. I can be me, live my life and enjoy.

bdsm

The following is brought to you with limited commercial interruption by…

…that uberly hot guy in Arrow, Stephen Amell (my first and only choice for the Eye Candy of the Year Award 2013) and my truly gelatinous phlegm that almost made me want to vomit on the bus on Wednesday morning.

Work is crazy, I’ve not been well and now I’m facing three weeks without a new episode of Arrow – does life get any suckier that this? But that’s not what I’m here to talk about.

You may have noticed that I’ve been doing a little story-writing of late. There are a few things driving my urge to write (a) I was sick at home for a few days and for whatever reason I get uberly horny when I’m home alone, (b) I couldn’t find any porn that would push my buttons and (c) I’m on the fence about the whole dominant/submissive thing.

The first two reasons for writing are probably neither here nor there, but that last one is a pretty damn big thing. I’ve come to the realisation that being dominant or submissive is like being gay – it might take you a while to put a label on yourself, but if you are, you always were and always will be.

For most of my life I was of the submissive bent. I did the slave thing for a long time and found it very hard to live up to my own expectations. (In hindsight, I really don’t think it was anyone but myself whispering in my ear that I sucked as a slave.) Granted, there was also the complication of a pretty radical change in our financial situation that forced me into the role of breadwinner, decision-maker and general head of the household, but there was a time when I had a very strong voice in my head telling me that I couldn’t do the slave thing anymore.

Then I tried the dominant thing for a while. While it’s fun to get a bit of revenge on someone who has caused you a lot of pain over the years, it’s not really me. I can’t put my heart into it and frankly speaking, I don’t enjoy the feeling of another ‘burden’ on my plate.

I thought that perhaps it would be great to get away from all the submissive/ dominant stuff and just be normal and go about my life, but I can’t do it. Deep inside I am submissive. I enjoy what I enjoy and there’s nothing good or bad about it, that’s just what I am.

This above all: to thine ownself be true.

ophelia