Daisies

He loves me!

Wrench

Me: Did you get my package Master?

Master: What package?

Me: Umm, never mind.

Master: No, tell me, what package?

Me: Small package of Christmas stuff...

Master: No! But I'm going to check the lobby right now...and um, you stole my idea!!! You're a tool!

Oh, the verbal abuse! :p

Serenity now!

I talked to my Dad about staying with Master over the break and he was very supportive. He was surprised I had asked him what he thought, since our household has never been restrictive--I often tell my parents what I am doing out of courtesy and to attenuate worry, but I never ask for permission.

In this case though, I could see how spending holiday time with my first-time boyfriend could cause bitterness and tension over Christmas. I didn't want my parents to feel devalued for wanting to spend time with Master over them; I didn't want them to think that I have suddenly been brainwashed to drop my outwardly conservative lifestyle; and because I want them to like Master, I didn't want to colour the nature of our relationship negatively.

It is a relief to have their support. I value the opinions of my family and close friends and I know that they are, at the heart of the issue, the greatest advocates for my safety and well-being. It's immensely important for me to be open with them, to trust and be trusted, and in times of distess to be able to discuss concerns without having to backtrack and justify lies or shady behavior.

Living with Master is going to be interesting. It's only for 10 days but it's more time than we have ever spent together in one chunk. Granted, he will be working, so there will be space; however it is sure to develop our dyanamic.

Master is keen on re-enforcing some protocols that have fallen to the wayside as I have been studying (ie. wearing my cuffs, collar, slave bells; kneeling by the door to wait for him to come home, curfews, having dinner ready for him etc). It's not hard stuff, but I am nervous to go back to that frame of mind. I'm also a bit nervous that more rules will mean more of a chance to slip up; and I'm anxious about physical punishments (or "just-because" beatings) since I haven't been hit in a long time and I'm sure my already low pain threshold has dropped significantly. Most of all though, I'm nervous that he'll be really strict, and it will be like the beginning where he didn't smile half as much at me, or speak to me with the same affection that he does now.

Overall though, I feel like some of these concerns are exacerbated by exam stress. In general, I'm so excited to be with him again! One more week until exams are over!

Scribbles

I can't wait for the break; to stay with Master and be at his beck and call, in the way I haven't been able to while I've been studying.

I'm anxious because staying in him will mean either lying to my parents about my whereabouts or finally having the "I'm an adult, I can sleep over at my boyfriend's house whenever I want" confrontation. I dread both options. I hate to ruin my golden child status and to contribute unecassarily to their anxiety levels.

A huge part of this dilemma stems from trying to convince myself that I am an adult. I've been living away from home for 5 years, I make my own decisions--for the most part, good decisions, I'm financially responsible for myself, I'm on the verge of starting a career. Legally, logically, I'm an adult...it's just sometimes hard for the lost, little girl in me to come to terms with.
---

On the night of my last exam, I got annoyed--not angry, not tearful--just frustrated, when Master mentioned hypothetical plans of travelling without me in future summers. First and foremost, mention of all the fun, exciting things that I've never experienced and that I may never be able to experience because I am working or studying, antagonizes me to no end. On top of that, I thought he meant he wanted to travel with his friends instead of travelling with me (I later discovered he meant in addition to, and on seperate ocassions), so I got cranky. And when he didn't notice, or maybe refused to respond to my irritability, I grew even crankier.

It was such a small episode, and it could have completely passed without mention, but the scenario spurred a couple of realizations which are worth mentioning:

1. I can't help but be jealous of so many of my friends and peers--of Master--who have already travelled, seen amazing sites, experienced new and wonderful things, and have so many fond memories and fascinating stories. I wish I had more time to explore the world; to have fun.

I also can't help but look at the older generation of people I know, who define themselves by their careers and pour so much of themselves into work, that they never find the time or oppurtunity to enjoy life.

I want so much of the first part--of the new experiences, of the excitement of discovering what life can mean--and I dread, so greatly, this self-imposed slavery to work and drudgery.

I want a strike a delicate balance. I want to find meaning in my career, I want to love what I do...and I really do think I am entering a field that will bring me this fulfillment. I just don't want it to lead to structured, meticulously planned and boring life.

The key here, lies in a recentering of my values. Yes, I will be working in a busy job but I chose this path, and need to reconcile with myself that I may miss inevitably miss out on some experiences--but this is okay, if I am happy overall. I also need to realize that jsut because a job is busy doesn't mean that I won't still have time for vacations, and family, and friends and myself...I just need to make time for all of these things.

Most of all I shouldn't get pissed off at Master for wanting to live a good, well-rounded life. I shouldn't be jealous of oppurtunities that I'm afraid I won't get, I should be looking to, instead, create these oppurtunities and look forward to the bright aspects of the future.

2. Master's off-handed vacation remark spurred me to contemplate my ideals on maintaining identity within the context of couplehood...so I shall jot them down.

Couples need to spend time together. They need to grow in comfort so that they can do the ordinary, necassary activities of daily living, however, they also need to do fun, adventurous things to continue to build joy and enthusiasm to strengthen the relationship. I've noticed that older, long-term couples that don't travel, or event go out once in a while, are very dry...they have nothing to say to each other, there is no sense of novelty or passion in their relationship anymore. They seem to stay together for sheer comfort and companionship as opposed to relishing in the excitement of new discoveries or out of a legitimate enjoyment of their partner's company. For this reason, I do think it is important to spend time together in new experiences that create layers within a relationship and give you new things to talk and reminisce about.

I also believe in the convergence of lives and social circles, so that couples don't isolate themselves from society. I think that each partner should know the other's friends and family and be comfortable with them. We should be adaptable to each other's social circles, be able to go to other's events to support each other, and to meet new people and have an evolving social life.

That being said, while we need to have time together to get know each other better, and while we need integrate our lives...we also need time to explore our own ideas, hobbies, interests and our external friendships. I don't want to be closer or as close to Master's friends then he is, and while I want him to get along with my friends, I also value my girl-time. I've noticed that couples who do not have an outside social network tend to be less happy with each other and less fulfilled; their lives seem replete of excitement because they are over-exposed to each other. When there is no outlet, no space apart, it's hard to renew your appreciation for the person who is constantly invading your space.

Once again, it's all about balance. When I expressed my dissapointment about his travelling comment, Master said something like "'That's what a lot of women do; they stop their guys from doing anything they want." But that legitimately isn't the reason I was upset...I don't want to stifle him.

I don't believe in eroding another's identity. I don't think that's what a relationship should be. I think couples should complement each other, and bring out the best in each other. That's quite idealistic from me--a skeptic who scoffs that the idea of happily-ever-afters and starry-eyed bliss--but I think that major relationship pitfalls can be avoided when couples nurture each other's individuality. After all, if it's that individuality--that charming, quirky personality--that drew one to the other in the first place, what magic is possibly left when one robs the other of this fundamental component of attraction?

----
Anyway, I'm not entirely sure if this entry makes sense...it's late and I'm tired. I have a random workshop on domestic abuse tomorrow...should be interesting; I'm already certain that our relationship is devoid of any red flags.

Reunion

I couldn't take the distance, so I jumped on a train. Now, I'm sitting at the table across from Master, we're checking our emails on our respective laptops, and he's grinning at me and still sending me limericks:

There once was a little freak show,
who gave me her very first blow,
but the problem with oral sex,
is her attrocious gag reflex,
which causes her to puke on the flo (or).

For the record, I've only thrown up on the floor once. The other time I threw up...it was on him. I'm glad he can laugh about it. :p

Dear Newton, You Suck

It's the night before a big exam and I'm nervous, jittery (three cups of coffee working their magic) and incredibly frustrated.

I know that I am being irrational in wishing for the laws of physics to bend for me, but I really don't want the person I'm pushing on to push back. I just want him to force his way between my aggressively outstretched arms, and squeeze me hard...until I come to my senses, until I hug him back.

I need this caffeine to wear off soon so that I can get to sleep.

Twenty-one days

My counterintuitive way of dealing with homesickness and missing the people who are dear to me, is to pretend they don't exist.

While I love my family, I barely talk to them when I'm away at school. When I stay uninvolved, I don't feel their absence. The minute I feel time pressure on friendships, I pushing friends away preemptively. It is easier for me not to miss them when I already feel detatched.

I always get worried about time apart from Master because of my lousy coping strategies for dealing with the pain. Surprisingly though, neither time or distance have been a problem so far.

While being apart from Master is hurts in a different and deeper way than being apart from my family or friends, I also feel like I am connected to him in a different and deeper way. While I sometimes feel very lonely when we do not see each other, I know in my heart that he is still very much my Master, and I very much his girl.

Sonnet 18

Some impromptu poetry from Master; he sure knows how to woo a girl.

A Series of Improvised Limericks

There once was a girl named A,
Who was sometimes let out to go play,
with her Master, the cutie,
with a kickass rear booty,
Whose name begins with a J.

There once was a repressed, little whore,
who when she first walked through my door,
made my knees weak--
for what a beautiful geek!--
so I forced her to her back, on the floor.

Slave A is a fantastic date,
whose absence makes me masturbate,
about doing to her, kinky things,
She ended my many flings...
Could this be a working of fate?

There once was a cute, little lass,
who lacked all dignity and class,
until I took her over my knee,
and inflicted strokes, disciplinary,
before fucking her hard up her ass.

Studying

From time to time, I'll remember something cute he did or something nice he said, and in those moments the corner of my lips turn up and my palpitations temporarily subside.

La Petite Mort

We have finally figured out how to make me come through clitoral stimulation.

In the days before Master, when I would masterbate, I found the most pleasure in heavy clitoral stimulation. I'd rub my clit fairly vigorously through underwear (direct stimulation was too overwhleming and too painful), and I'd always get to the point where the electricity would build and ripple through me until I got twitchy and squrimish. Shortly after, my pelvis would throb and I'd get scared and stop. After stopping, I felt good but not relieved. I'd masterbate multiple times a day in an attempt to relieve the tension, but continuously stopping pre-orgasm just exacerbated the frustration.

Only now, am I slowly learning that before the point where my clitoris becomes hypersensitive and my entire lower body starts to ache, I need to relax my pelvic muscles and and my legs and I will come. In fact, the last few times Master was playing with me, I came very quickly when I willed myself to relax. One of the times, I was lying down, which I think helps a fair bit. The other time, I was standing up, which made it harder to relax because of the tonic activation of all my leg and groin muscles. However, knowing what I had to do, I sort of let my knees give way and flop a little, and lo and behold, I came all over Master's hand.

It's pretty exciting. I actually didn't realize that female orgasms were associated with fluid...and this much of it! It's strange to me that I didn't know that my body could create and release all of this mysterious liquid. But it feels good. And when it happens, I actually feel relieved and entirely relaxed.

The problem is that I can't control this yet. I am supposed to ask permission before I come, but I the liquid gushes out even while I'm asking for permission. Master is being patient on this front, since he understands that this is all very new to me, and I don't really understand how my body works yet.

I should also add though, while coming is relief, I kind of like it when it I get to that painful point of stimulation and can't come and I'm just hurting. It's confusing but I enjoy the mixture of sensations.

Another orgasmic revelation includes the location of my G-spot. Sometimes Master will put his thumb in me, and press between the anterior wall of my pelvis with his other fingers. He'll move his thumb around and the combination of movement and pressure in that area feels really good. I'm assuming that's my G-spot, from the diagrams I've researched and because stimulation of that spot feels different, better, than stimulation of anywhere else inside. It's deeply pleasurable...not the quick, squirming, shooting pleasure of the clitoral rub...but something more flavourful and rich. I feel like it would take a long, long stimulation time however to orgasm via this mechanism, especially since it's only hit transiently during penile stimulation and only in certain positions; moreso when we're spooning or he's fucking me from behind, very rarely when I'm on my back.

I'm aware of the stats: 10% of women cannot experience orgasm in their lifetimes. Many women only begin to orgasm after their first pregnancy. Of those women who can acheive orgasm, only 1/3 can do so through intercourse. 2/3 of women require clitoral or other extra stimulation. (See Society of Obstetricians and Gynaecologists of Canada: http://www.sogc.org/health/health-myths_e.asp). So, I figure I'm pretty normal in this regard. I can do the clitoral thing, and maybe, one day we'll figure out the G-spot business.

I'm not concerned at all. Sex feels pleasurable...I like it a lot and I'm sure a lot of it is pyschological: I like Master on top of me, I like feeling close to him and that I belong to him. Penetration feels good for me too, just different from clitoral stimulation...but ultimately, I don't care if I don't orgasm during intercourse. I think I get enough pleasure knowing that Master is pleased.

Vine-Strangled Roses

Sometimes the male mind perplexes me. Sometimes I wonder why he says the things he does. It's not my place to censor or stifle him, nor do I want to: I want to hear his true thoughts. I want him to feel like he can tell me anything, without worry that I will be anything but supportive.

It's just, sometimes, I wonder about the rationale behind his words and why it is so easy for me to get hurt by them.

Pillows and Pistachios

“Am I not the greatest human being in the world? I took this nerdy little girl, transformed her into a beauty, awakened her sexuality…taught her how to bowl.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yes, Master,” I said, while lunging at him with a playful punch. He caught my arm and wrestled me into a head lock. When he released me at his side and kissed me, I smiled to myself.

Yes Master, I thought in my head, you are the greatest.

(For clarity: bowling is by no means a euphemism for something more sinister…we simply went bowling earlier in the day. Master winced with unreserved embarrassment as my ball deviated into the gutter time and time again.)

***

There is a girl whose journal I consistently read, who has fed my daydreams with graceful illustrations of her beautiful relationship.

“Your reality is my perfect fantasy,” I wrote to her once.

I used to devour her memories with a sense of ravenous longing, of waxing desperation.

My skin still prickles when I read her entries, but now, it's because her words reflect my own bliss.

***

The trees shrug off their leaves at the wind’s mildest flirtation. I see the lust trapped in their knotty eyes when they writhe under alternating light and heavy breaths. They flaunt their gold and blush in crimson, unaware that this coquetry will soon turn into merciless ravishment. Throughout the dark of winter, the wind’s frozen touch will turn their tears into icicles that cling to their naked branches.

I am inside, looking out, giddy in my knowledge that I am with a man who wraps a blanket--or better yet, his arms--around my shoulders, when coldness creeps into the room. When the air from the open window transforms in quality from refreshing to chilling, he calls for me at nighttime, and pulls me into his chest, where I can feel his warm sighs against my cheek.

Roots

I jotted down “refill birth control prescription” on my list of things to do, and then I paused. I just started my sixth pack of birth control—that can't be right, I thought to myself, I can't have been on it for that long. But I scanned through the dates in this journal and the timeline is right.

Almost six months have passed. Looking back at beginning makes me wonder how we got from there to here.

I met Master at the end of my last school semester. I was stressed out about exams. I had just come out of a messy, drawn out fling that left me disappointed with myself. My close friends at school found themselves in relationships with fellow classmates and temporarily left me without social networks. My academics were concurrently dwindling; my two-year research project was rejected from a major journal. My priorities were all screwed up because I decided to start drinking and partying last year instead of engaging in my usual, wholesome pasttimes. In general, my entire work-life balance was skewed. Suddenly, for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel very whole or very happy.

I knew that a relationship wouldn’t fill the gaps but I was looking for companionship, while I pieced everythings back together. It was getting progressively harder to meet singles my small school, so signed up for lavalife. I was skeptical about online dating, embarrassed, and in denial that I’d have to resort to it—I was, after all, young, attractive, fun. I had no trouble flirting, or picking up boys at bars...but I didn't want to do that. I wanted a real connection. I didn't necassarily think that looking through profiles during study breaks would do this for me, but there was a secret but deeply rooted hope that it would.

I had posted a sparse, picture-less profile on the normal relationships section. Then, just to see what kind of responses I’d get, put a kink-receptive profile one on the intimate encounters page. I was skeptical at the site’s prospect for vanilla dating, let alone anything D/s related but I thought it would be an interesting experiment anyway. I had long given up my search for a D/s relationship, stopped reading the forums, stopped reading the stories, relegated my desires only to the world of muted fantasies and nighttime explorations with my hands. I don’t know what possessed me to put that profile up, but for some reason, I saw a small glimmer of hope. Logic cautioned me but there was something deeper in me, something longing for mystique, and romance, and all my simultaneously wild, cruel, rough, sweet and tender fantasies to be realized.

I was only on the site for a few days, and talked to only a handful of people, when Master messaged me. It was a no-nonsense exchange. He told me his name, his profession and what he was looking for in a relationship. I was guarded, but we revealed our faces via webcams. I immediately thought he was very handsome. Just my type, actually. And that’s when the hope began to rise: good career, young, cute, interested in the type of relationship I have harboured in my fantasies. I was excited by the prospect.

Unfortunately, he was an asshole.

I asked him questions about himself, he’d answer them without elaborating, almost sounding defensive. He told me that he wasn’t lying and that he didn’t feel the need to prove himself to me. I asked him whether he wanted to know anything about me. He told me that he wasn’t interested in learning about me online, or even as just a person, but rather only wanted to get to know me as a sub. He was very set on getting down to business, and while the nature of the business did excite me, I didn’t feel like I could or even wanted to trust him.

“Be online tomorrow”, he told me at the end of that first conversation.

“I can’t,” I said, “I’m studying.”

“You better make time for your new Master.”

He was getting ahead of himself and I was outraged.

I googled his name, and read up on him, and searched his credentials to see if he was who he claimed to be. It was hard to find definitive information, but with his profession in mind, and because he was so darn cute, I decided that there would be no harm in talking to him some more. After all, I reminded myself that despite this small glimmer of hope, I needed to keep my original skepticism in mind; exams were my main priority and it didn’t ultimately matter if I didn’t find someone.

I talked to him again the next day on messenger, with our webcams on. He continued to disappoint me. He didn’t smile, and when I asked him if he would, he gave me this crooked, half-hearted smile, that resembled a smirk more than an interested show of friendliness. He seemed distracted, he kept looking over to the left (which I have since learned is the direction of the TV in relation to the computer) and seemed annoyed when I asked him what he was doing. I asked him more questions and while he answered them, he continued to be dismissive and told me that getting to know each other online was very pointless. I got defensive. I am a cautious person-- for me to even consider meeting someone online is a big deal and I wanted to develop a rapport before meeting anyone. I wanted him to acknowledge this and make me feel comfortable. He didn’t. He acted as though he was amazing, that I should take everything he said at face value and consider myself lucky to even be talking to him.

I thought then that he was probably a guy who just wanted to hit girls, to be served and pleasured, but who didn’t give a shit about the woman doing it. I thought then, that he would never respect me and this wouldn’t lead to the companionship that I was searching for. I argued with him, and told him his approach to online dating and trying to find a submissive girl was wrong and that he was too pretentious. He told me that I didn’t know anything about online dating and that I was really close-minded and probably very uneducated about dominance and submission. Then, he shut off the webcam, told me he had had enough and that this was not going to work.

Imagine—it could have ended there. None of this could have come to pass. I could still be a virgin. I could have picked up the pieces of my life, and rediscovered meaning in my work and still been single, but accepted it happily. But that didn’t happen. The glimmer of hope was still there. I blame his attractiveness for why I did what I did next.

I messaged him again. “Hey, I’m sorry. I don’t want to antagonize you…I just don’t understand your approach. Maybe you can explain it to me so I have some sense of where this is going.”

“Okay.”

And he explained the outlines of his plan. Then, he gave me an assignment: find a submissive’s online journal, pick a few entries that intrigued me, and we would discuss it. We did this and suddenly, the lines of communication opened.

We started talking about D/s and fantasies, and integrating submission into reality, and about respect and understanding and companionship. He started asking me questions about mysef. Not a lot, but enough to get a global picture of who I was.

This progressed into little assignments over the next week, which started to include chats about our respective days and revelations of who we were. We are both writers. He asked me to write him a Dom/sub scenario and even though I was really stressed out about impending finals, I took time out of studying to write him a detailed story. It captured the feeling of what I wanted from this encounter. After he read it, he told me that was the exact type he was looking for too. We shared favourite poetry, he sent me some of his writing too. I have a huge soft spot for people who like to read and write; who see the beauty in words, who can appreciate poetry and imagery. He also gave me assignments to kneel daily, and take a picture to send to him. He comforted me as I studied, encouraged me, gave me fun tasks during study breaks...I started to look forward to talking to him. When we spoke on the phone for the first time, I grew immediately smitten with the sound of his voice. He can seem quite harsh online—and sometimes still does—but when I talk to him, I hear the sarcasm, and playfulness and the sweet intonations that are impossible to detect online. His voice is hard to describe, it's distinctively masculine--without being deep or echoeing or intimidating (though I've since learned, he definitely has a no-nonsense tone when he means bussiness). It’s charming, playful, soothing. I grew excited.

We decided that we would meet on the weekend about my finals were over. I had a lot planned for that weekend. A lot of my friends were graduating, there were lots of goodbye parties planned, I had family matters to attend to, an opera night planned. But I rearranged my schedule to fit everything in and still meet him.

That week, I was simultaneously nervous and excited. I wanted to see him in person, to touch his hand and see if he was real. Everything I had wanted for a long time, and then suppressed, was being dangled in front of me. I wanted to reach out and grab it, to taste it, to live the impossible.

I couldn’t sleep the night before our first date. I was exhausted. My social shuffling combined with exam-period sleep deprivation and just starting my period had turned me quite zombie-like. But the night before, he told me that he would have a calming effect and that he completely understood that I was not at my best and would take care of me. We met up, and he did.

And he still is. Sometimes it's hard to believe how we went from there to here. Now, he is my Master, the one that owns all of me: my breasts, my cunt, my ass, my lips...my heart.

Wholeness

I have no concerns to write about, since Master has addressed the imminent ones: anxiety about commutes and time management, worry that my schooling and career will divide us, fear of lack of integration of our separate lives. He visited me at school this weekend, and created solutions for the issues that were nagging at me. He is willing to be flexible for me, and this reassurance has been a tremendous relief for me. I don’t want him to lose him because he gets fed up with the time and effort he may have to invest in me.

In an ideal world, the submissive would make all the sacrifices for her Master…but we aren’t living in an ideal world. I have a career and a life that I’ve invested so much of myself in. I need a partner who is willing to integrate our lives and not expect me to drop mine to serve him. Master has never made any outrageous requests of me and--quite the opposite--has supported me and encouraged me to be well-rounded, and happy. His assurances about making school and our relationship work out has taken a huge weight off my chest. I’m so, so grateful to have someone so caring and understanding looking after me; I’m so, so, so thankful and happy that he is my Master.

In fact, he is so good to me that sometimes I worry that I am not doing the best I can for him. I don’t want to be constantly needy and asking for accommodation. I want fulfill Master’s desires, and serve him well and be the girl he needs and wants me to be. And I can only hope that he will tell me when he needs more from me, so that he doesn’t end up resenting me for being too much work.

I am going to sleep now. It feels a little less lonely retiring to my small bed now that Master has shared this space, slept between these sheets, kissed me under the canopy and held me close throughout the night.

Not quite, Estelle

When I prepare myself mentally for an experience; when I create coping mechanisms for potential situations, the fear, anxiety and uncertainty that would have otherwise been provoked by the situation, is dulled. It’s a good strategy for coping with life, but it can make things too predictable, boring. I am starting to see that I like a little bit of fear, and uncertainness injected into play. I like when I don’t know what is coming. I want to be afraid, nervous, excited. I want to feel my skin prickle, and to startle at every sound. I want to feel like something terrible could happen…just because I have the safetynet at the back of my mind, knowing that Master would never really hurt me.

So here, I will explore the rape fantasies I have long suppressed.

The key to acting out such a fantasy would be the element of surprise. There would have to be a diversion. Maybe Master would leave me at home and tells me he’ll be back in a few hours and gives me a task to do; something to keep me occupied, something to keep me in an area where
I’m not watching the door, where I’m oblivious to my surroundings because I’m so engrossed in what I am doing.

Then, before I realize it, there’s a hand over my mouth, fingers underneath my thin, leather collar, twisting it, tightening the band around my neck. He is silent, doesn’t want to give himself away by speaking in that voice I know and trust. I want to be scared. I want it to be him, I’d want a sign that it was him and not some manic stranger…but I’d like the fear to rise a moment more, as I wait and see. He would blindfold me, and pin me down. I would writhe and squeal.
There would be a struggle. Then, my defeat.

He’d restrain me. It would be easy; I always have my wrist and ankle cuffs on, so he’d clip my wrists behind my back. Then he’d tie up so that I couldn’t struggle anymore. He’d strip off my clothes…angrily, roughly. He’d do something to disorient me…drag me around, maybe by my hair. I want to be confused, to not know where I am exactly.

Then he’d torture me somehow. He’ll use everything I hate; the nipple clamps…he’d torture my breasts. And when I protest, he’d slap me so hard. Maybe he’d speak to me profanely, in a way he never usually would…so that even though the voice would be familiar, I’d be transported to a different reality and the fear would continue to rise.

There would be no mercy in this fantasy. He would hurt me, and I would cry. He would make me kneel in front of him, and fuck my mouth so hard and quick, until I couldn’t breathe. He would bend me over, and fuck my ass while I begged for it to be over.

Then, when he is finished, he would discard me in a heap on the floor…as if I were a worthless, used toy. He'd leave. And I would wait in silence for a period of time more, writhing, trying to get free of my bonds. Fed up and wanting my Master back. Waiting, with anticipation for something warm and comforting to juxtapose the violence.

Logistically…can a ‘realistic’ rape fantasy be worked out? I don’t know. It would definitely require creativity and opportunity, it would have to eliminate the danger without eliminating the fear. I think if well executed, a rape fantasy would terrify me at the time…especially if there was a huge element of uncertainty about whether my attacker was really Master. However, I think this element of fear would be exhilarating.

Cream of the Ice

In the beginning, when I was shy and unsure and would slip-up a lot, Master wouldn’t hesitate to immediately slap or otherwise punish me. In retrospect, I can see how strictness is necessary in the initial stages of training, but at the time, I resented it. I was unsure about him. I didn’t like being corrected, especially when I didn’t think I was wrong. I remember that sometimes after hitting me, he would hold my hand afterwards and I would want to get away from him. We were solemn. I followed his commands, because this was in theory what I wanted. However, I was obeying orders detachedly. Maybe it was because I felt like he was giving them out detachedly.

One day, I was giggly around him for no apparent reason. It takes a lot for me to let down my guard, to show people I might be less serious than I seem. He told me to stop being silly. He made me massage his feet at the foot of his bed, told me not to speak and wouldn’t even look at me when I looked up at him. I can’t do this, I thought at the time, there is no joy here. He got mad at me later, “You are slipping up too much; you are forgetting your role. You aren’t taking me seriously,” he told me before and after he punished me. I remember being upset. I don’t want to always be serious, I thought, to be living in rituals and begrudging servitude, to continue being shy and unsure like I am now.

Everything has changed so much. So much, that it hurts me to think of the doubt at the beginning, to realize how scared I must have been that I couldn’t see the wonderful man I see right now.

I’m not scared of Master anymore. I’m scared that he’ll be upset with me, that he’ll get tired of me. I’m scared of negative reactions for things I do, or forget to do. I know he can punish me and hurt me, and I fear this. But I do not fear him as a person. Now, I obey him for completely different reasons than I did at the beginning--because I respect and care for him. In him, I am finding the companionship and laughter and friendship and balance that I lacked and badly needed.

Now, if he were to hurt me, out of correction or simply for his pleasure, I would want more than anything to crawl into his arms afterwards. I don't want to run away. I don't and can’t resent him, not now that I see that he so good for me. Ironically, these days, he is not so quick to slap me or really hurt me. Sometimes I wonder why. Perhaps it is because he recognizes my need to please him. Perhaps he realizes that my slip-ups come from moments of humanity and forgetfulness and not from disrespect or a desire to test him. Perhaps it is because he has come to care for me in the same way I have for him; past that superficial level of exploring something new and interesting. Perhaps he is just less frustrated and agressive now that we are having sex. Perhaps, he come to like me not just because I am submissive, but because of who I am in conjunction with the submission.

Whatever the reasons, I love how things have changed.

I can’t believe I once thought of my relationship with him as joyless, when these days, I am happier than I have ever been before.

Warm Fuzzies

My birthday weekend was filled with lovely surprises. I tried to keep it as low-key as possible but the important people in my life insisted on celebrating my existence. In the end, however, the festivities made me very happy. Since I feel like birthdays are a celebration of the previous year, I was ultimately glad for chance to acknowledge and commemorate that the epic age of twenty-one was coming to a close. Twenty-one was a year of lofty heights and maddening lows. It was a time of dramatic firsts, and quite possibly a few lasts; it felt like the entire adolescence that I didn’t get to experience crammed into a year.

I was staying with my parents for the weekend but was free on Thursday night, so Master invited me to stay over at his place. It fascinates that he often tells me to come on Thursday nights, just so I can spend another night in his bed. It fascinates me because while neither of us sleep on that first night and he is forced to go to work groggy and tired, he continues to extend the invitation. It's completely worth it for me, since I usually sleep in on the Friday...but it makes me feel warm and fuzzy that the lack of sleep is a worthwhile trade-off for him, to have his slave at arm's reach.

On Friday, I decided to go to have lunch with old colleagues and friends. Master has previously told me that when spending the day at his place, I can leave and return freely, but I cannot remove my collar and cuffs without permission. Before I went out, I texted him at work, but he didn’t respond. So I donned jeans and a cardigan and a scarf, so I could cover them up without having to break his rules. I had plans on Friday evening, so I actually didn’t see him when he came home from work, but I tidied his apartment for him before I went out.

On Saturday, he took me out for a nice dinner and gave me a beautiful bracelet. I, predictably, cried. I'm not materialistic; my affection cannot usually be bought with shiny, pretty things, but because Master has long won over my affections, it was a sweet gesture. The bracelet itself was very lovely but I cried because the rationale behind the object itself was that I could have something I could continuously wear to mark his ownership of me.

I don’t usually wear jewelry since I tend to fidget with it...but the bracelet's smooth, silver links encircle my wrist and sit so gently against the skin, that they feel natural. They aren't heavy or irritating but have enough weight and substance that they serve as a perfect, constant reminder of Master. I love how the silver glints against my honeyed skin, how I can wear it in public and be met with nice comments (a sharp contrast to flak spurred by wearing my collar around friends) and be reminded that I am always his, even when I am not with him.

At dinner, we got a little bit tipsy and he said something like “I like how you folded my underwear again, you always do such a good job of cleaning up”. The butterflies fluttered in my stomach. I love to please him. I don’t expect him to notice the little things, like my tidying up after him, but I love that he does. I love how he sometimes thanks me, even though he doesn’t have to. It really makes me feel appreciated, valued.

We went back to his place afterwards and just hung out for a little while. We were lying in bed, when he told me to suck his cock. Last weekend, I learned how to give him a proper blowjob. He was pleased that I had finally learned and told me that if I subsequently performed poorly and he had to instruct me, that I would be beaten. So on this Saturday night, I went down on him, thinking I had a good strategy in place. However, after twenty minutes of sucking and doing everything I had been taught to do, I still couldn’t make him come.

Finally, he instructed me to stop and lie down beside him. I was just feeling and looking, terribly upset. Without my telling him, he knew that I was disappointed in myself. I want to be able to please him and if I can’t, I feel just awful. I don’t like the idea of him being upset with me. But he explained to me that sometimes he just lasts a long time, and sometimes he just breathes deeply to control ejaculation to give me more practice. It fascinates me though, that I require consolation from him because my happiness has become intrinsically tied to his pleasure. It is crazy how I have come to feel good when I know that he is comfortable and pleased.

He told me, however, that I was a good girl because although I am occasionally forgetful, I never purposely disobey him . It’s true. I mean, I’ve been pretty good from the beginning but initially I was quite resistant to his ideas…to his methods. He was quite strict at the beginning, and I was scared because I didn’t think I could deal with such a regimented lifestyle. I kept going along with it because Master looked really good on paper, and he was, in theory, what I was looking for. However, I was terrified because I was seeing the rituals of the dom/sub dynamic that I thought I had always wanted, without really seeing the man, the personality under the dominant role. In an ideal world, in a fantasy world, I always saw myself submitting to someone I had already come to care for and really respect. In contrast, I was in a position where I was trying to convince myself that I cared for and respected him, even though I didn’t know him well enough to know for sure.

However, as time went on, and I started to legitimately see his personality I decided that I wanted to do more than just obey commands, I actually wanted to serve him. And since then, I have had no desire whatsoever to disobey. I’ve been forgetful sometimes, yes, but I feel awful for it. I really don’t want him to be mad at me and would never antagonize him purposely.

On Sunday evening, he met my parents. It went well and first impressions were positive all around. It’s a giant relief for me that now my parents have some idea of who I’m dating and think well of Master. I feel like they have been worrying about me, which I hate. Life is stressful enough; I don’t want to be a source of anxiety for anyone, especially when I am perfectly fine. I think my parents got to see that I am safe and happy in my relationship with Master; they thought he was generally a nice person, so I’m very pleased with how that turned out.

After dinner with my parents, I went back to Master’s place to wait for my friends to pick me up to take me out. Master and I were in such a goofy mood. We spent an hour just tickle-fighting, making funny faces and doing impressions, hiding and trying to scare each other and being completely ridiculous. It's amazing because even when we act like this, I always feel a sense of being owned. I know I am his. At the same time though, I need this. I need humanity. I need silliness. I need softness and tenderness too.

I actually started to really care for Master the day before I left for summer holiday. We went on a funny, haphazard walk in the forest, and had gelato and he threw me into his pool while I was wearing a dress. Since I can't really swim well, we played around and I kicked and squirmed, and he saved me drowning. It was the first time that I really got that sense of fun and mischief from him. It was the first time where I actually saw that this relationship is not just about commands and obedience, ritual and rules; it is about a dynamic. It is about my constant submission to him, his constant Mastery over me. And this dynamic exists in whatever we do. It doesn’t mean that I have to grovel at his feet twenty-four hours a day; that I am to be used an abused; to be reduced to solely a plaything at all times. It means that I just have to acknowledge his power over me, and while he can exert it in any way he wishes it does not necassarily have to be in a traditional on-my-knees-serving-him sort of way.

I realized then, that we could both have personalities, both have fun, both be ourselves, just complementing each other in our dominance and submission. Since then, more little gestures, and words, and events have just solidified this idea in my mind. I completely love our dynamic. I just can’t believe how lucky I am to get exactly what I was I looking for; to find someone so amazing, and just so good for me. To find someone who is so wonderful, that I actually really admire, and respect and thoroughly adore him.

Anyway, I am sick and pretty achy, tired and stressed out right now, but writing this entry has made me feel pretty happy, so I’m going to go to bed now, while my heart is light.

Mysterious Skin

Master took my ass on Friday.

He came home from work, bent me over the bed and ran his hand down my back. He paused at my ass, at the flared base of the butt plug, and made a surprised noise—as if he was expecting me to forget about wearing it. But I didn’t. I wore it all day: while I was sweeping and mopping his floors, while I washing his dishes, while I was grocery shopping and cooking his dinner, and even when I was doing “me-things” like sitting down to study.

He pulled my underwear down, pulled the plug out. Then, I felt a different hardness press into the newly freed hole; not cold silicone, but something organic and warm. He held my hips and pressed his cock into me slowly, until I could feel his pubic bone against the flesh of my bum. He was inside of me and it happened with warning, or build-up, or drama. Then he pulled my hair back and fucked me hard. He dragged me to the table and although he put his hands under my face, so that his palms cupped my cheek and caught my tears, he did not relent with the force of each thrust.

There was no pain, just nausea, a sensation of uncomfortable fullness and the accompanying need to have a bowel movement. But I was not crying because of the discomfort, I cried because I had now lost so much of my body to him. I wept because now all my holes—my mouth, my cunt, my ass—holes that had never before been used by a man, were now all his. I cried, not because I was upset, but out of disbelief that it had all happened this way. Out of joy that I belonged him.

After expelling a last heavy breath, after his last shudder of pleasure, he took me and my wet, cum-filled asshole to the bathroom. He filled the bathtub and climbed in, so that his back was nestled into the curve at the foot of the tub and his legs were open. I was still crying. He gestured for me to climb it too, and, feeling shy and ashamed, I knelt between his legs with my knees pressed together. I know I’m not supposed to present to him with my legs closed, but I was embarrassed about the tampon I was wearing, about being on my period, about having just been stripped of any semblance of dignity. He commented on my pose but allowed me to stay that way. I stared at his chest because I was too afraid to look up and see what expression he was wearing on his face.

He kept asking me questions in soft and tender tones—if I was okay, why I was crying—and I answered with head nods when I could, and silence when I could not find the words. I tend to talk a lot when I feel safe and comfortable, but in moments weakness I am mute. In moments of great vulnerability, I grow silent even in thought, because emotion floods all other reflection.

So, we sat in silence for a little while, before Master told me to wash him. I was glad to have something to do, so I massaged his stomach and chest with the soap and his scalp with shampoo.

At length I spoke, “I’m really okay, Master.”What I meant was I’m more than okay: I’m happy. I’m yours--all yours--and I’m so lucky to belong to you.

He put my head to his chest and hugged me.

Swallowed in the Rain

On Thursday afternoon, I got home as the temperature was dropping and a gray mist was permeating the sky. Affected by the gloomy pathos, I changed into pyjamas, put my hair up and curled up with my textbooks and a mug of steaming tea. I engrossed myself in the material, both out of necessity and as a distraction from my pining for Master, when my phone rang and I started. I stared at it for a few seconds before begrudgingly answering. I hate being disrupted when I’m in studying mode.

“Hey, I need to go to an earlier lab session, did you still want to trade labs for tomorrow? ”

My annoyance dissolved instantly, I slammed my book shut. “Yes!”

My Friday morning was suddenly free...but I wanted to trade that freedom with a different sort of captivity. Despite the warmth and comfort of my room, the idea of studying on my couch seemed ridiculous when I could be studying on a bus, moving a hundred kilometers in the direction of my dear Master. So when Master gave his permission to come over, I chucked my books into my bag, showered and groomed to make myself look presentable, and haphazardly threw some sweaters into my backpack before calling a cab.

Two weeks without seeing him is too long. When I stepped onto the bus, I sighed in relief. In a few hours, I would be back in his arms.

Unfortunately, my enthusiasm eroded as the bus crawled along the misty roads and my eyes grew tired from reading in the dim light. The nausea and malaise I had been experiencing earlier, unexpectedly turned into my period, and I grew fidgetty from the growing anxiety of seeing Master again. Despite going to bed every night with sighs in my chest from missing him, he still has the power to unnerve me. I was especially anxious because I was returning to him with transgressions against me. On my last visit, I had forgotten to bring my collar and forgotten to carry out Master’s parting instruction of bringing the butt plug back to school, so that I could prepare that hole for him. More than the punishments themselves, I was anxious that Master would be dissapointed in me.

So, when I got to Master’s place late on Thursday night, and he told me to put on my collar, I felt absolutely sick when I rummaged through my backpack and could not find the black leather band. I burst into tears when I told him.

When he reached out and took me by the shoulders, I tensed up and my stomach turned, but he only led me to the bathroom and told me to brush my teeth.

“It’s okay,” he said. I didn’t want to justify my failure, to make excuses for my carelessness. I didn’t have to. Master often speaks my thoughts before I can even gather the wits to verbalize them. “You were in a rush to see me. It’s okay.” He watched me as I brushed my teeth and forced the toothbrush into my throat to work on my gag reflex.

“I’m too soft with you sometimes,” he told me, before kissing the nape of my neck. Sometimes he is. But it’s sometimes exactly what he wants and sometimes exactly what I need.

As Master settled into bed, I put on my wrist and ankle cuffs and the black cotton dress that I’m allowed to wear in the house during the cold season. Then, he called me into bed and pulled me close to him so that we could kiss fervently, with our arms and legs intertwined. As he slowed down his deep kisses to pecks on my lips, he also wrapped his fingers around my naked throat-- filling the void where my collar should have been. “I’ll deal with you tomorrow.”

Then he turned away from me, and laid his head against the pillow. Assuming the position that we often take before sleeping, I curled my legs around his, and pressed my head into his back. The room was dark and silent. I closed my eyes and let my head grow heavy as it almost gave way to sleep.

Almost.

Suddenly, I felt fingers pressing into my neck again. Master was above me, his eyes glinting. “Go get the butt plug.”

I fought the weight of fatigue that sat on my chest, and stumbled to the toy box in the dark to find it. My fingers searched through the familiar shapes, burrowing past rope, a flogger, clothespegs, a tube of lubricant. I paused on the plastic tube, wondering whether to bring that too. As if reading my mind, Master called out through the distance and the darkness: “No lube for you”. I dropped it, as if scared that even touching the plastic surface would get me into trouble. When my fingers finally hooked the flared base and pointing silicone phallus of the butt plug, I pulled it out from the box and brought it to Master.

Master ordered me into bed and tried to insert the plug. The pain seared as he tried to force it into my anus. Unfazed, Master ordered me to stand and turn on the light. He marched me to the table, where he pushed me down and covered my eyes with my hair, as he slathered the plug in lubricant. When he tried to insert it again, the butt plug glided inside me with far more ease, but I still groaned when he pressed his hand against the base and drove it deeper. My vagina was plugged with a tampon, my stomach was cramping, and now, my rectum was being tormented.

“You don’t deserve the lubricant,” he told me, “I expect to be thanked for it.” I thanked him and meant it. I have no doubt that had he really wanted to, he could have pried my anus apart and rammed the silicone into my tender insides. He chose not to. He overwhelms me with his mercy sometimes and it only makes me want to please him more, to prove myself to be a good slave to match his Mastery.

He took me into bed with my holes full. I tried to stay quiet but couldn’t help but growl when he played with the plug; pulling it out and twisting it, before screwing it in, harder and faster, in the opposite direction. He climbed on top of me and put his hands under my ass; driving the plug deeper into me. I started sobbing. He grabbed my breasts, which had become so tender throughout the course of the evening, and pressed into the nipples until I squirmed. He flicked them and with a tight pinch, tugged my breasts from side to side. He thrust his pelvis into mine, knowing that every dip pushed the plug deeper into me. Then he moved his mouth to my right breast and bit down on one of the nipples, while kneading and squeezing the other.

After awhile though, the clamp of his teeth turned into a soft gentle sucking, and his movement on me eased, so that his hard cock was just gently rubbing against my clit through the cotton of our undergarments.

“I love how I can be so soft with you,” he said, and kissed me deeply and ran his hands through my hair, “and then so rough” and his hands became fists, and the jerk of his arm yanked my head back. His other hand assailed my breasts. The cycle repeated and the tears continued before they even had time to stop.

“You are my girl,” he said, “there can be no doubt about that any more.” I wept harder at these words. All of the strong emotions—passion, joy, fear, anxiety, desire—becoming mixed into a cathartic slosh of fluid pouring from my eyes.

“Who owns this?” he asked, as he ran his hands along my curves.

“You do, Master,” I whispered, before burying my head under his chin and into his chest. The tears burned my eyes but he held me, as I wept. When I quieted down, he rolled off me and lay on his back.

“Suck my cock, slave,” he ordered.

I crawled under the blankets, pulled down his underwear, and began to use my mouth. I’m not very good with blowjobs and tried to funnel the rush of emotion into productive energy. But I was too sloppy and couldn’t get into a steady rhythm.

“Stop slurping,” Master said in exasperation as my lips smacked against his cock. “Stop making noises.” More tongue. Deeper. Faster. I tried to follow the instructions, but I couldn’t make him come. Finally, he pushed the blankets away to expose my wet, swollen face. He pulled his underwear up to cover his equally wet and swollen cock, and hooking his hands under my armpits, he dragged me up his body so that our eyes met.

I felt ashamed for not being able to pleasure him and looked away.

“You need practice, doll,” he said matter-of-factly. “You are okay, but you need to get a lot better.” He’s tried to teach me many times, and I still don’t get it. Although there’s exasperation in his voice when he’s yelling out instructions, I know it’s fuelled by the surge of testosterone; fuelled by the frustration of being teased but not relieved. He could have easily and justifiably been angry with me, but he composed himself and exercised his patience. He petted me and reassured me, even though I was the one who had failed him. When he patted the bed, I moved quietly to his side.

“Time to sleep now, we’ll deal with you tomorrow,” he said.

"Yes, Master," I said and I found his hand under the blankets and kissed it.

My stomach was cramping terribly, my butt aching, my head hurting and my eyes itchy, but I was happy that he had told me I was his girl, and handled me so tenderly, that I tried to forget about the pain. I tried to replace the uncomfortable stretching in my bum, with pleasant sensations: Master’s body heat warming my limbs, the feel of his skin brushed against mine, the sound of his heart. But even still, my brain could not block out the visceral pain. I tried to sleep, but I just couldn’t.

Finally, after much shifting throughout the night, Master lifted his head and saw me lying on my stomach, trying to alleviate the pressure in my ass. He touched my shoulders and saw that I was sobbing again.

“Relax Princess,” he said, and placed his hand between my rigid shoulder blades. I felt awful for keeping him up. “Go take the plug out and wash it. You will wear it all day tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Master,” I whimpered. So much grace. So much kindness. So much of what I needed at the moment, without my even having to say it. Without my even having to wish for it.

When I came back to bed, he kept his arm around me for a little while, before he turned his back and I turned mine and we finally drifted to sleep.

Wednesday Woes

I wish I lived in the same city as Master. I'm not going to see him this weekend, and even though that's my own fault, I'm still pretty sad.

Lilac Petals

The day transitioned seamlessly into night, so that when we got up after watching a movie, we were both appalled when we checked the clock. When time passes this effortlessly, I become suddenly aware of every word, every movement, every breath, as if to compensate for the moments I might have missed when I wasn't paying attention.

Master went to the bathroom and I waited for him outside, nestling my body into the corner by the door. When the handle turned and he egressed, I jumped out at him with a squeal. He started violently and recoiled his hands into his chest, while I doubled over with amusement at my little trick. Then, after the brief moment of assessing the situation, he grabbed me and clipped the wrist cuffs behind my back. We both laughed—though my giggles became increasingly hesitant—as he dragged me to the bed, where he lay down and pulled me across his lap. The television screen was flickering and his eyes trailed the moving images, even though his fingers played underneath my knit skirt and jutted into my cunt. I cocked my head toward him.

“Hello,” I said cheerfully when I caught his eye.

We burst into fresh laughter. But when he wiped his wet fingers on my legs, I grew silent and still. I knew he was amused, not angry, but goosebumps hardened along my skin when he brought my skirt over my hips and stroked his palm across my ass.

“Do you need to be reminded about who owns you?” he asked. He raised his palm, ever so slightly, without even moving his fingers, before repositioning it flush against my flesh.

“No, Master.” I turned my head so that he couldn’t see the worry in my eyes.

We lay in silence for a minute longer, until he pushed me off his lap and stood up. My stomach surged with anxiety when he slid his hands through the triangles of my bound arms, hoisted me off the bed and led me to the table. When my hips touched the wooden edge, he pressed his hand firmly into my back, until my stomach, then my breasts, then my cheek were pressed flat against the cool surface. His hand wriggled between my thighs and slapped the insides until I parted my legs and he was satisfied with the distance between them. Then, I waited quietly as he rummaged through the box of toys that I had left out.

The faint scent of manufactured cherry flavour wafted inexplicably through the air, it's source only resolved when I felt Master spread a thick lubricant along the cleavage of ass. Despite the nervous clenching of my stomach, I commanded my muscles to relax and instead of fighting, to welcome the warmth of his touch with the warmth of my rectum. When he slid the anal plug into me, it glided in as effortlessly as the blue sky had dissolved into dusk.

Then, his hands left me and I was left in a pseudo-solitude.

Even though I knew he was nearby, studying me, I could no longer feel his touch or hear his heartbeat. My stomach turned as I contemplated his potential expression and wavered in unsurety about how to fill in the details. Would there be a little smirk, a glinting eye, a furrowed brow? Before I could run through the combinations, he leaned over me and swept away the veil of hair obscuring my eyes.

He smiled.

“I’m proud of you for not crying,” he said.

The gentle upward curve of his lips and the steady blue of his eyes were more beautiful than my mind's illustration could have anticipated. I smiled too.

Only then did the tears start to form. He released my hair, and under the safety of the curtain of black strands, I blinked the moisture back and swallowed the lump that had jumped into my throat. A few months ago, the idea of being owned, of being dependant on another person terrified me. Now, it’s the idea of not being his that frightens me and brings me to tears.

Nightcap

A few quick things before I head to bed:

1. Last weekend, Master said something along the lines of "you aren't so much of a slave as you are a submissive girlfriend". I don't really understand if it was just a casual observation with no underlying insinuations, an indication that he was happy with the way things were turning out, or a note to himself that he wanted me to be more of a 'slave'. But he appeared to be happy with me at the time so I didn't really think too much about it. However, he is constantly saying that he is too lenient with me, and that he thinks he should be more strict. I'm all for him doing what makes him happy. Inevitably, I have my preferences about how I'd like to be treated, but I also realize that while he must meet my basic needs, I don't want this relationship to be centered on my desires. Through retrospective analysis of his comment, I realized that I just want him to be happy. I just want to be the girl he wants me to be.

2. I have a urinary tract infection. I suspected it slightly on the weekend, because my morning urine was cloudy and smelled funny, and I kept getting sudden and urgent needs to pee (I was even whipped for interrupting sex twice: once to pee and once when we were in position that pinched my legs in a way that made my pelvis hurt). Yesterday, I had to go to the toilet constantly, but attributed it to the copious amounts of water that I had been drinking. Today, however, I didn't drink nearly as much but have been peeing just as frequently. However, with less fluid intake, peeing is now accompanied by painful burning and blood involvement. I've never had a UTI before but know it can be common after lots of sex. I'm trying to prevent it from getting worse with water and cranberry juice. If I need antibiotics, then the infection is probably bad enough that I shouldn't be having sex, especially since the antibiotics interfere with the absorption of my birth control pill anyway. I guess this serves me right for being such a needy, begging slut last weekend...and I suppose I will have a lot of oral practise this weekend.

3. I am a lucky girl. I have a really good Master. Yes, a Master, not just a dominant boyfriend. If he wants more from me, he can have more from me.

I recently had a discussion with a close female friend about her boyfriend's obsession with anal sex. Every time a girl acts up, he jokes that the girl deserves to be taken anally to be put in her place. These are pretty graphic words coming from a subdued, nonviolent, vanilla guy. My friend told me that despite being in love with him, she had no desire whatsoever to be taken anally. I told her that this was exactly the point: anal is a submissive act. I told her that if she wanted to give him something for the sheer sake of making him happy, without any benefit to her, she should reframe her thoughts and consider trying it. She pondered it for a bit and told me that she would be open-minded.

This made me feel like a complete hypocrite because not only have I been very negative towards anal play, I also had a giant breakdown when Master tried to put a butt plug in me. Granted, this was the day I got back from my trip and had a general breakdown, so that skews the entire experience. However, preaching submission to vanilla folks has made me realize that I am ready to put Master's pleasure ahead of my fears and try this whole anal thing again. I won't lie, I not-so-secretly hope that he hates it and doesn't want it, but if he doesn't...and he ends up loving it, I'll take comfort in knowing that he is happy. And instead of whining and frowning, I will try to smile and be a good, little slave.

Notes

Sex

- I’ve come to enjoy sex immensely. To the point that I am reduced to begging for it like a little slut: grinding my hips against Master, humping his leg, kissing his neck and ears, rubbing my breasts along his chest, while skimming my hands over his torso and stomach, until he flips me onto my back and fucks me. We had sex so many times this weekend that I lost count. Each position has its unique charm but I’m now fascinated with new discovery of spooning. I’m not actually sure how it is for Master but it’s pretty awesome for me; good stimulation of the frontal wall of the vagina, cuddling, lots of breast and clit action. Master told me that he’ll reserve that for when I’ve been a good girl. Sex, in general, just seems to get better and more comfortable with practice.

- I would like to figure out how to make myself climax just so I know that it’s possible through sex, and so Master can actually control my orgasms—as opposed to my simply being unable to do it. I’d also like to be able to tell when Master is about to come; physically it doesn’t feel different at all when he is reaching climax. Perhaps eliminating the condoms will help.

- I like spooning because it is so gentle…but I also like when Master is really rough. I test him a little bit; I try to move my hands when he’s pinning me down to see if he’s really serious about holding me in place. Recently, I’ve been raising my hips a lot when he’s fucking me on my back—which I’m not allowed to do—to see how he reacts. Yesterday was good, he grabbed my hair and pulled my head back and choked me with his other hand, and fucked me hard as he told me to be his doll and to stop moving. I was hoping he would slap me during sex but he knows I like that, so I think he tries to avoid it.

Pain

- I’m pretty sure I don’t like too many types of pain, but I like roughness, anticipation and feeling controlled. I think these are all confounding factors that contribute to my getting wet every time Master hurts me. Usually spankings come with being pushed into a corner, or thrown against the table, or pulled across Master’s lap and held there. I like the fact that I don’t really like the pain, but I still have no choice about what is to come. I like that Master can hurt me or do whatever he likes with me. I think it’s definitely a mix of factors that get me so wet during punishment. However, I don’t think the pain itself is what arouses me.

- That being said, while certain types of pain are really frightful for me, some can be okay. For instance, I hate stingy pain, ie. from rapidfire spankings, the flogger after about 10 strokes, ruler, wires, the cane…anything that really snaps back, since the momentum stings and burns. I hate pinching pain, mainly the clamps on my breasts and lips of my vagina. However, I do like the duller, heavier sort of pain from slower spankings, where the hand seems to sink in deeper into the flesh and doesn’t reverberate so quickly or even the first, lighter touches of the flogger where the body of the lashes fall, before their tips snap at my skin. I think the place is important too. There are certain areas of my bum that feel good when being smacked. However, hitting the same spot repeatedly obviously hurts. Hitting the less fleshy areas along the sides of my bum and my thighs and calves hurt terribly. My breasts are absolutely terrified of any pain. Context is also important. I like being put into my place, but don’t like it if Master is terribly upset with me. I’d rather be hit for no reason, just because Master knows he can, then have done something bad.

- The cane is awful. Three hard smacks can make me cry. Even when Master is trying to be playful, the lighter taps from it begin to hurt very quickly, just because it’s such a dense material , with a highly concentrated force. At the lighter strokes of the flogger—where the lashes fall as a group and it’s more difficult to discern the edges of each lash—and the full palm spanks, the force is distributing over a larger area and is therefore far more tolerable. However, I can definitely see how the flogger can be bad with heavier, faster strokes. It seems like anything can be be good or bad depending on how it’s used: it’s all about timing, pattern, area, and energy.

Domestic things

- I was initially very resentful about the idea of domestic work. I still can’t foresee doing everything in a long-term relationship because one person doing all the work—especially when both parties are working full-time jobs—is unrealistic, impractical and straining. That being said, I don’t mind it now because I don’t have a job, I have time to wait on him, I can appreciate how hard Master works and think he should relax, and above all, I really like him. If I didn’t care about him so much, I would definitely protest domestic work and would probably require force to do it.

- We’ve been developing routine and slowly working out a stable dynamic. It’s good, it’s comforting, it’s happy. I feel less and less like I have to establish an understanding of baseline normalcy to compare this relationship to. I don’t really care as long as we are both happy. And I’m assuming that unless Master is correcting me and telling that he is not, then we are for now, both content with how things are working out.

Mirror, Sword and Shield

Pt II

Later that night, Master and I went out with one of his friends, which was practice for me acting submissive in public. Master and I have already discussed how this may be a challenge for me. But I didn’t eat until Master gave me a nod, and told me to eat freely, and I didn’t touch my drink unless Master tapped the glass or told me it was okay to. I answered questions, but waited for him to talk. He told me I did well, except for a moment where he tried to show his friend my breasts (in my dress) and I got shy, and curled away. He told me that my body belonged to him, and if he wanted to show me off that I must never refuse. I guess I can handle that...I mean it’s not like he pulled my breasts out in public and told everyone to have a feel. These are just things I have to get used to and I know I will.

On Saturday, Master and I had a bit of a lazy day. We didn’t sleep too well the night before, so the day consisted of showering, going to the mall, getting groceries, naptime, going swimming, watching tv, studying. It doesn’t sound so special but I mention these activities of daily living because I am really enthralled that D/s is compatible with normal life. I know that may sound absolutely ludicrous but when you live with fantasies saturated with bondage, and beatings, and all the usual s&m stuff, it’s really nice to know that being a submissive doesn’t mean I’ll be tied to a whipping post twenty-four hours a day; and that there can still be norlmacy and cuteness, and silliness integrated into a normal life with submissive undertones. Other things from that day: we had sex in Master’s car in an underground parking garage. That was pretty hot—I straddled him in the driver’s seat and we made-out. Then we moved to the backseat but had to leave the doors open because there really wasn’t enough space; and then he climbed on top of me, squishing my arms close to my head. Another car parked behind us towards the end, and that made it all the more exciting. Master realized before I even did that I am quite the exhibitionist. Contradictory to last week’s sex fiasco, I actually found myself badly craving sex this weekend. Later on in the day, I was playing with Master's cock in bed and pressing my body against his. He asked me if I was in heat and wanted to be fucked, and I had to admit it, because I wanted him in me so badly. So he told me to beg. And so I begged; kissing his neck, running my hands over his chest and stomach, playing with his cock and thrusting my pelvis against him, I felt like such a dirty girl.

He then told me that he would only fuck me if I offered my ass to him for a beating. So I fetched the cane, and leaned over and he snapped the dense wood across my ass until I groaned, and he gave me permission to get a condom. At first, he told me to get on top on him, and do all the work; so I slid onto him and pumped up and down, while he closed his eyes. Then, without warning, he grabbed me and pulled me down, and mounted me. “Get back to where you belong”, he told me in his low, serious voice as he encircled my wrists and held them above my head, and fucked me hard. Then, he clapped for me to get on all fours and we moved to the floor. Then he pushed my head down, so my cheek was against the ground and my ass raised to the air, and fucked me hard from behind, while rhythmically slapping me.

I really like that position; it’s quite vulnerable and I can feel Master getting much deeper. It makes me feel so dirty too…in a good way. I really like the mixture of roughness and tenderness of him on top, but doggy-style makes me feel like his plaything, his little whore. On Sunday, Master had to leave in the morning, and of course I got all upset since he hadn’t told me he was going to go so early. I understood why he had to leave and I wanted to be supportive… but once again, I was selfishly annoyed that he hadn’t told me yesterday so that I could have timed an earlier bus home, or made plans to visit friends, or do something where I wasn’t being left alone when I didn't want to be alone. But what was I to say? I didn't want to upset him and I knew he had to go, so I kissed him goodbye, and I made his lunches and cleaned up his apartment. I started to write this journal--I'm supposed to journal immediately after seeing him--but I was kind of pissed and didn't want to taint what was otherwise, a really good weekend...so I thought it was better to wait. When I went to catch my bus but it was full, and I couldn’t get on, so I wandered around downtown for a few hours until the next bus. I was alternating between being frustrated, but then just feeling bad for being bitter because I ultimately don’t want to have any hard feelings against Master, especially for stupid little things, when I know he cares about me and has done a lot for me.

Now, I’m struggling through this week. Once upon a time, I used to have such good control of my life and I was so happy because I had meaning and goals, and lots of things to keep me occupied. I was working, and studying, and volunteering, running councils and events, playing sports, working out, doing all my artsy stuff. In retrospect, it was overkill because I was managing relationships through highly formalized scheduling, and I wasn’t sleeping at all. However, I was really, really happy because at the end of it, I was still doing everything I wanted to do. Right now, I’m just doing the bare minimum to get by…but I think I need to get back to that baseline satisfaction with life, because I think it’s going to have a big impact on my submission to Master. Right now, I feel like I’m not really good at anything; all my talents, interests and hobbies have sort of just withered and died within the last year. On top of that, I feel like I’m not really a good submissive yet, and I think the recent lack of sense-of-self is precluding me from growing in my submission, since I don't want slavery to be the only thing that defines me. In general, I think I really need to get back to finding purpose and meaning, since self-confidence and security are really going to help me in this relationship, prevent me from getting so emotional and taking everything so personally.

Wow, I didn’t realize all of that until I started writing.

Anyway, this journal was supposed to be really happy because I had an amazing weekend with Master. I’m not sure if that’s actually the feel you get from reading it, just because I tend to write more about things that are bothering me, even if they are just a small fraction of the things that are happy and good. Anyway, only a few more days until I see Master again! I’m off to organize my life.

Mirror, Sword and Shield

Pt I

The emotional strain of last week is long gone; replaced by a sense of happiness and gentle quietude. There were a few factors that I didn’t account for at the time: jet-lag, fatigue from a convoluted journey home, anxiety about returning to school, and the general drop that accompanies the end of a holiday, or a big move, or any large change of pace. I was distressed because I hadn’t been touched intimately in so long, I was fighting so many strong but varied emotions and my thoughts were in-between different mindsets. I was tired and instead of realizing this, I started inventing rationales for problems that didn’t actually exist.

This weekend felt completely different; relaxing, exciting and just so happy.

It started, however, with me getting overwhelmed by school. I got to school late on Tuesday night, after a couple of good friends helped me move up. After two months of travelling and constantly having to change settings, put on my ultra-extroverted personality and befriend new people, I was desperately seeking familiarity and some semblance of routine. It felt very good to have old friends accompany me back to school, but when they went back home and I was left in a house of strangers and circumstances where I was surrounded by hoardes of new people, I had a small freak out and decided I needed to leave. I know I sound crazy but I swear I’m not antisocial, I don’t suffer from social anxiety, I’m not scared of people …I’ve just had enough of introductions, and small talk, and expending energy to get know new people, so I skipped school and ran away to Master.

Running away is no easy feat when the journey to my appointed safe haven was three hours away, but I finally made it to Master’s house late on Thursday night. As per his mandate, I got into his place, stripped away my clothes and donned my wrist and ankle cuffs (a new acquisition), before he pulled me into bed and I fell asleep, nestled into his body and relishing in the comfort of it all.

On Friday morning, I woke up with him and we showered together in our usual fashion—kneeling before him in the tub and lathering him. When he was clean, he shampooed my hair while I was kneeling and rubbed suds over my breasts, and chest, and back before instructing me to rise and bend over so that he could examine, and wash my thighs and bum and cunt. After we were done, we got out of the tub and he brushed his teeth. As per our usual protocol, as I knelt behind him, my cheek nestled into his bum as I ran my hands along his thighs and between his legs as a gentle massage.

After he had dressed and was ready to leave for work, he held me, and kissed me and told me he didn’t want to go, but eventually freed me from the position he was holding me in--bent over at the table. Before he left, he gave me permission to use the furniture, study, eat and leave the house freely (although I was not permitted to remove my collar, wrist or ankle cuffs). Being in a quiet, reflective mood, I decided I really didn’t want to leave the house so I just stayed in, studied and cleaned up for him.

Master estimated he’d be home around 5:00pm, so at ten to five, I put on the schoolgirl outfit he had requested I wear, and knelt by the door. I think the worst part about being a slave is waiting—I get very impatient and agitated—and I know I have to work on it. I was getting quite annoyed when 5:00pm rolled around, then 5:20, then 5:40. I need practice kneeling; it’s hard for me to stay put for so long and it definitely contributes to my agitation. I shifted and squirmed a lot, which I’m sure Master would have not approved of…but finally, at ten to six, Master turned the door handle and entered. And when he smiled, most of the resentment just slipped away.

Master was understandably tired from work, so he went to lie down and made me kneel at the bedside as he closed his eyes. I understood his fatigue and wanted him to rest, but like a silly little dog, eagerly anticipating its Master’s return, I longed for some sort of small acknowledgement that I had been waiting on my knees for an hour, any tiny gesture of approval. I was a little crushed when he just pointed to the side of the bed, and snapped once for me to kneel again. I didn’t realize that I was externalizing my thoughts in my disposition but Master is very perceptive, and when he opened his eyes, he looked at me, gently touched my face and asked me what was wrong.

I didn’t really want to explain since I knew I was being a baby so I just told him I was okay. He hugged and kissed me and comforted me anyway…and I suddenly felt really bad, because a good slave would have made an effort to let her Master rest instead of worrying him with her unexplained tears. But I’m not a good slave yet. When I get really close to people, I go exceptionally out of my way to do things for them to make them happy, and I know my feelings for Master are deepening very quickly…but unfortuantely, there are still many times when I am selfish. I’m cannot express how thankful I am for having such a caring Master…for finding someone who is so concerned for my welfare and perceptive enough to understand when I am feeling a bit down. Strangely enough, however, his concern about my selfish needs, makes me just like him more and makes me want to do better to actually serve him.

Anyway, after he had petted me, he told me to give him a massage so I gleefully pulled out the massage oils I had brought for him--being allowed to touch him and actually do something useful is infinitely better than kneeling and waiting--and worked my way down his body, deep into his muscles, as he rested. After a long massage and a bit of a nap, he got me to practice my blowjob skills. I tried for a long time to make him come, trying my hardest to get his penis far into my throat. The brushing exercise he had given me in the summer has helped me improve my gag reflex substantially…but not completely. I still have difficulty with his cock as it is is significantly larger than the width of the three fingers I stick down my throat to practice. I also have great, great difficulty when I am trying to go very quickly because the rapidity violently triggers my gag reflex and makes me sputter. It’s pretty awful since every time I gag it just increases my salivary output and my eyes and nose get runny (I know, I know…extremely unattractive) and I end up sniffling and slobbering all over Master.

It's so awful that I can’t pleasure him well. I’m concerned about it and am blindly hoping that practice does make perfect because I don't have any other tangible solutions. I really want to get better since the very idea of a slave who cannot gratify her Master orally is ridiculous to me; I should be able to gratify him orally and pleasure him. I don’t know what I can do to practice and make it better for him; all the research and discussions I’ve had on this subject has not seemed to help me at all. The academic in me hates not being able to transfer theory to reality, the perfectionist in me hates being bad at something, but most strongly of all, the submissive in me absolutely hates the idea of not being able to please such a kind and wonderful Master, who takes such good care of me.

When Master saw me struggling so much and I couldn’t make him come, he pulled me up and told me that was enough practice for now. He unbuttoned a couple of the buttons of the dress shirt, enough to expose my bra and pull my breasts out of the cups of my bra. Then after some playful making out, he led me over to the table and blindfolded me. I could see blurry movement out of one corner of the blindfold and I saw a streak of white moving towards my breasts, I knew they were the clothespegs and I jerked away instinctively. He grabbed and yanked me back and gave me an unimpressed lecture about how I should know better than to pull away. I knew I shouldn’t have, but it’s been such an awfully long time since I’ve had those clamps on my nipples and I was absolutely terrified.

There was no escaping though and he pinned them onto me, and led me to a corner of the house, where he attached my cuffs overhead. What followed was pretty hot: if I had seen it in a movie, it would have easily become my favourite sex scenes (despite the fact that there was technically no sex).

After suspending my wrist overhead, Master got down, and hoisted me up so that my legs were on his shoulders and my weight was being supported partially by his strength and partially by the restraints above dragging my arms upwards. I was wearing my schoolgirl kilt, and I could feel his head rising underneath the fabric, the gentle brush of his nose against my mons, and then the warmth of his breath tickling my nether lips. He then proceeded to lay his mouth over my cunt, and flick his tongue over my clit until I shuddered with pleasure. He sucked my clit gently and ran his mouth tenderly at the lips, eventually pushing his tongue into me; sucking and flickering in a deliberate steady rhythm. The sensations just exploded into my stomach and when Master lifted his head up from under the fabric and set me back down, he told me that was a reward for being such a good girl and cleaning his house so well.

He left for a moment and when he returned, I felt the rim of a cool glass at my lips, and water trickling over my tongue. When the water dribbled over my lips and Master could tell I'd had enough, he moved the glass away. Then, in a moment, I felt the splash of the water against my face and chest, and squealed. After I heard the clink of the glass being set down, I in the darkness of my blindoflded world, sensed Master hovering over me. In a moment, I felt a strong grip around my throat, his fingers digging into my neck like a warm collar, as his palm pushed me hard into the wall. He began to kiss me so fiercely and deeply that I felt like he was stealing my breath. Between the kisses he clamped and unclamped the pegs from my nipples, and his tongue passed into my mouth to silence my moans. He ran his hands under the kilt, grabbing my ass in rough pulses before he finally, with one smooth movement, yanked me up so that my legs were around his hips. He thrust me against the wall, looped his hand around my hair and pulled my head back as he kissed my mouth and throat. He ran his hands down my buttoned white shirt—heavy touches that ended with both hands under the fabric, grasping the material in a tight fist. The sound of tearing fabric and buttons clinking against the floor coincided with a aggressive kiss that pushed my head and back further into the wall. He ripped my bra and his hands moved down the newly exposed flesh as my now ragged dress shirt dangled from my suspended arms.

Master dropped me purposely, and I stumbled as I landed precariously on my feet. One of his hands grabbed my cheeks and pinched them together, the other one moved again towards my hair and pulled me back. He pursed my lips with his fingers and pulled my head back and kissed and pushed me around in the corner, pulling me with hard, jerking touches mixed with a gentle movement of his fingers across my face and the comfort of his lips against mine. “I love owning this body,” he said as he forced me against the wall and made me struggle for balance, “that I can do whatever I want,” and he removed a clamp, and then squeezed it tightly against me again, “knowing that you’ll still come back for more.”

He swung me around so that the rope ahead tightened and I had to tiptoe a bit. He pulled the skirt over my bum, and began to swat ferociously. No warm up, just quick, rapidfire smacks along the sides of my bum, the outside of my thighs, between my legs—so fast and quick that I could barely register what was going on where it not for the burning enveloping the lower half of my body.

When he was done, Master turned me around again, removed the nipple clamps and blindfold before he began to play with my clit and finger me. He then brought the vibrating dildo and put it into me, attaching it to my legs. He told me to call him when I was ready to come and left me. I have issues with orgasms. I can definitely have an orgasm, but it requires being very relaxed because I tend to fight them since I think they are quite painful (not the same kind of pure pain like being hit but a weird mix of pleasure and pain sensation that scares me because it’s so intense). I also can’t orgasm from penetration alone; I can with just clitoral stimulation but I have to be really relaxed, and it’s usually best with a mix of clitoral stimulation and penetration.

So, I’m still suspended by the wrists, with this vibrating dildo inside of me at the highest setting possible. It feels good because it’s vibrating and rotating, but it’s also making me very sore and I know there is no way on earth I’m going to come. So I stand for maybe ten to fifteen minutes. Master thinks I’m crazy because there have been times where he’s left the dildo in for longer than an hour and I just can’t climax. I'll squirm and clench and get really close sometimes, but it just won't happen because I'm terrified of orgasms. So eventually, Master takes the dildo out, tells me that I'm impossible, but didn't look too upset. He clipped my wrist cuffs together behind me and then snapped once.

I knelt in the corner as he closed in over me and put his cock in my mouth. He grabbed my head and he pushed in slowly, but deeply, so that his cock was really going far into my throat. In moments where I couldn't breathe and began to sputter, he gently told me to relax--although his grip on my head was unrelenting. He slowly began to thrust into my throat, until my gag reflex really couldn't take it any more. I did feel very bad that I couldn't make him come, but he commanded me to keep my mouth open as he jerked himself off and he finished himself off as him cum exploded into my mouth and I tasted him for the first time that day.

I was very dissapointed in myself for not being able to make him come. I think he may have been dissapointed in me too, but he is so patient that I can hardly believe it. He took me by the hand afterwards and told me to clean up, and that afterwards, we would go for a swim.

Home

I am suddenly distressed about sex.

Everything else about the reunion with Master yesterday was so good. I was afraid that I had wasted so much time missing him, and pining over him, and putting him on a pedestal, that actually seeing again would be anticlimatic. I was worried that all these supposed feelings might not manifest themselves when I finally saw him again. I think maybe Master was worried about the same thing, but it's harder to tell, as he masks vulnerability through joking, and sarcasm.

But either way, despite the nerves, everything was good. There was none of that awkwardness that sometimes occurs when two people haven't seen each other in a long time. We talked, and he showed me pictures of his trip, and he took me on his new scooter, we joked, we laughed, we played around in the pool, he held me and kissed me and I felt so glad to be back.

But when it came to sex, I was actually a mess. When Master entered me for the first time that night, I felt nothing but pain. This had never been an issue in the past. Despite being soaking wet with my own fluid, the pain was deep and heavy and constant--stemming not from mechanical force or friction--but rather surging and gurgling in my abdomen and spreading into my chest, strangling my breath. It was one of the strangest, most uncomfortable sensations I’ve ever experienced. It was all the more shocking because it was so unexpected.

The second time he had sex with me that evening, it was immeasurably worse. It was so painful that I felt so scared and weak and vulnerable, that I just started sobbing and sobbing and couldn't stop. I cried on and off as he drove me home, and cried more at home.

Sex has suddenly become very confusing. Because I was really trying to detatch myself from Master before, I tried to think less of sex as this mystical thing and more as an action; a natural act, a normal progression. If it didn't feel amazingly great, I just chalked that up to needing more practise...especially if Master seemed to be fine. But now, I'm remembering all the emotional reasons for which I have avoided sex and wanted to keep avoiding it.

Despite having convinced myself that it was all very normal, I do in fact feel very open and exposed. I've been in complete denial for the last two months that I'd even had sex. It's really hard for me...I basically went from no experience...to suddenly being diving into a relationship that is heavily based around sexuality.

And I know that this relationship extends to more than just sexuality, like any relationship it is also about getting know someone and about companionship, but because this is a somewhat recent acknowledgement, it's still hard. I'm dissapointed in myself for not knowing myself well enough. And I'm dissapointed in myself for weeping as if Master had intentionally hurt me although he has been nothing but good and supportive to me, for worrying Master, for getting frustrated with external situations when it really does seem like all the problems are just coming from my own head.

I don't know if I'm taking a step backward right now, but I think I'm realizing that I can't lie to myself. If something is difficult for me, I need to acknowedge it immediately, instead of pretending it is not an issue and then panicking when two months later, I finally realize how emotionally strained I am.

Drinking from Foxgloves

The other night, I shared a hotel room with four people I didn't know very well, so to pass the time, we decided to do something completely awkward and unbalanced: psychoanalyze each other’s personalities. Those who understand anything about body language and personality cannot resist this game, even at the risk of making others uncomfortable and causing people to turn on each other.

However, when it came down to me, the others said exactly what I expected: “You seem like a warm, fun girl, which compels people to try to befriend you. But once they attempt to know you, they realize that you have very restrictive boundaries and won’t let people in.”

It’s true. With most people, I stick to very superficial topics of conversation. I’ll make jokes, be silly, encourage mischief, and we’ll have fun…but that’s it. We won’t keep in touch, we won’t stay friends. I tend to have many acquaintances; people with whom I can eat, study, travel, go to the bar or party (because it often isn’t socially acceptable to do things by yourself)…but who ultimately know nothing about me. Many end up telling me their stories and secrets because I am willing to listen to and reflect with them, but I won’t reveal anything about myself. I choose the people I want in my life selectively, and those few tend to know everything. But that level of friendship takes either time, or occasionally, an intuitive sense of trust in a person.

Master was one of those people that I intuitively felt that I could trust, but being so guarded, wasn’t sure that I wanted to. I told myself I’d give the Dom-sub dynamic a trial run, I would try my best at being submissive to see if I liked it but I would disassociate myself from what was happening and tell myself none of it was special or what I was ultimately looking for. I didn’t want to get emotionally attached because I wanted the option of walking away unscathed if the arrangement became too inconvenient.

For a long time, I didn’t see anything but a small fling coming out of it; I couldn’t see it lasting for summer, let alone wrapping my head around the possibility of a long-term relationship. Even at the point where we had sex, I told myself I’d do it because it was too idealistic to wait for love before sex, and that if the situation was safe and comfortable—as it had become—then I wouldn’t regret it in the grand scheme of things. However, this feeling of safety and comfort became paradoxical for me. Despite all my justifications that I didn’t need any of this and that I was not necessarily a submissive girl, nothing about being with Master felt wrong. In fact, everything felt smooth, normal, even pleasant.

The last day I spent with Master before he left, however, transcended the generalized contentment that comes from a sense of comfort. That day epitomized my ideal dating situation: fun and happy, feeling owned but at the same time, cherished. For the first time, I didn’t just feel fine, I felt joyous, giddy, bursting from the seams with happy energy. After that point, I was forced to examine why prior to this nothing had felt so amazing.

It took going away--and the reflection accompanied by a change of pace--to realize the only reason I hadn’t been happy was because I wasn’t allowing myself to be happy. In theory, everything I’d ever hoped for was happening, but instead of embracing it, I was sabotaging it and throwing dark shades over the rose-coloured light that would otherwise perfuse the events that have come to pass.

It took being away from Master to confront myself. Now, I am at the point where I truly want to be Master’s and my desire to obey stems from the need to be with him and make a relationship work; not out of a desire to play silly mind-games. Master might not be aware of the thought process behind the change of heart, but he knows that because something within me has changed, we can now transition to a new level.

In acknowledging this growth, Master has been talking of—and I have been gladly accepting—upping my training when I return, increasing my pain tolerance so that he can beat me thoroughly, deepening my servitude and intensifying his sexual usage of my body. Because I have purged my self-inflicted poison from my mind, I’m fine with these things and do wish to please him better. However, I still manage to frighten myself because my best memories are when Master is tender and gentle with me, and while I want to feel owned, small, helpless, I ultimately wish to be treasured and cared for. Before our first date, Master said to me: “I want to take care of you…if only you allow me to.”

I think about that all the time.

I have finally reached the point where I want to entrust myself to Master. It is frightening that reaching this level has been met predominantly with talk of challenges—of beatings and increased training—without explicitly vocalizing the other end of it: a reminder to me, of his desire to take care of me. However, when I spoke to Master last night, he said something so beautiful that just encapsulated everything I needed to hear and reminded me of why I want to be his. I read the lines over and over and thought of them as he gave me permission to touch myself:

“I only want to beat and whip you so that at the end of it, you will collapse into my arms, and say “I am still yours Master”. That would be the ultimate. But I don’t think I would enjoy beating you so much…I hate it when you cry. I treasure you too much to treat you badly.”

This was everything I needed to hear. No one can be selfless. I have learned enough about Master to know that I want to be with him, and be a good slave and companion for him. However, I likewise need both a Master and a companion. I need a lover, a teacher, a friend, a boyfriend…and I can only give him what he needs, if he is also willing to be there for me. We are moving towards a new beginning. We need time for this relationship to grow and develop and see what this dynamic turns into.

Like all relationships, it is impossible to foresee what the future holds for us, but in dismissing my poisonous thoughts and being able to at least fathom a future, I can finally be happy and serve Master. I finally see that this could be something wonderful and I’m eager for the next stage to begin; for continued explorations with a more open and willing frame of mind.