Monday, June 30, 2008

The Earth Laughs in Flowers


This weekend, I lost my virginity to Master.

I thought it would change everything; that it would change me.

It didn't.

In my head, I thought it would be like crossing over from the land of innocence and naivety, of rainbows and unicorns, into a world illuminated with a harsher light. In reality, there is no difference. The colour of the world, our relationship, my expectations, and my feelings towards Master are exactly the same.

My primary theory for this lack of trauma is that the act of submission was more important to me than sex itself. For many vanilla couples, sex represents the height of physical and emotional intimacy. Partners feel exposed because often this is the only time they are physically exposed and emotionally vulnerable. If I was in a vanilla relationship, the first-time act of intercourse would represent the most vulnerable I would ever be in the entire context of that relationship. Without the openly-stated power distribution of a D/s dynamic, first-time sex could also be confusing due to uncertainty about roles and expectations. However, I knew that sex in the D/s context (at least in the first-time setting where Master had promised to be gentle with me) would not be the height of my vulnerability. There are so many other ways in which Master may and likely will challenge me. There are already times where I have felt completely helpless around him, so I didn't feel like sex was the first time I was opening myself up to Master. At the point where I felt I was ready for it, I merely saw it as a natural progression to an already established power dynamic.

Today, I still feel perfectly normal about everything. I've been turbulently emotional in recent days, and yet this recent state of duress did not exacerbate my post-coital emotion. The act of intercourse itself was fine: no pain, discomfort or bleeding, with minimal mechanical issues. Emotionally, I was fine. I teared up a little...but I have sobbed many times around Master for lesser things, so I didn't see this as extraordinary.

When I get back, Master has guarenteed that he will be taking me whenever he wants and how he pleases. I look forward to learning and being used by him in whatever way he sees fit.


On Friday, I got to his house, and as per instructions, knelt on a cushion by the door and waited for an hour until he got home. When he returned, he blindfolded me, lay me on the bed then covered me with chocolate sauce and whipped cream before he proceeded to sensually lick the sweetness from my breasts, my stomach, my cunt. We kissed--cute, silly kisses among mouthfuls of foamy cream. However, interspersed with this tenderness were two plastic clothespegs, with a firm, tight grip that he continuously clamped, unclamped and twisted my nipples with. Sometimes our mouths met in laughter, and other times, his mouth crushed upon mine in moments where I parted my lips to moan in agony.

After he was done, he took me into the shower to clean me off. Then, he showed me the surprise that he had gotten: a thin black collar that fit snugly around my neck and a little pet tag inscribed with 'Slave X owned by Master Y' (X,Y=our initials). I thought this was sweet, and he told me that I should put the tag on my keychain and keep it with me while I'm travelling in the summer, so I can think of him. He also gave me the assignment of wearing the collar in Europe and snapping pictures of myself--collar on--at famous destinations.


Later that day, we went to the mall, and he shopped a bit. While he was trying stuff on, he instructed me to enter the changeroom with him. He got me to kneel on the ledge, and hold things for him as he was changing. Then, after playing with my bum for a bit, he quite unexpectedly forced an unlubricated finger up my ass. Because of the relative ease of getting anal beads in my ass on previous days, this was surpringly painful sensation. So much so, that I kept complaining as we walked back to the car. Before I got into the passenger's seat, he told me not to frown when discussing anal training, and spanked me a few times in the parking lot. I would love it if we were in some public place where we were both guarenteed not to know anyone, and if I was mishaving, he would just throw me against the wall and spank me in front of everyone. I think we have determined that I am a little bit of an exhibitionist.

In the evening, Master went out with his friends and I cleaned his apartment. I don't view myself as domestic at all (ie. I don't cook, or clean, or wait upon others) and so, there was a natural conflict inside of me, between wanting to do a good job and please him, and being annoyed that I was being left all alone to clean while he went out to have fun. I finished around 7pm and Master wasn't home yet, like he said he would be, so I started getting a bit anxious.

I curled up on some pillows on the floor, since he told me I wasn't allwoed to use the furniture and watched some tv (which he said was okay) as I waited for him to come home.


Around 9.30pm, Master came to get me, and take me out with his friends. These are the friends that witnessed him "picking me up from a bar" the week prior, so they continued to be astounded that we were still seeing each other and assailed me with questions. Master also continued to degrade me, which floored his friends because he'd make sexually-innapropriate remarks to me, and instead of being apalled, I would just laugh and go along with them. There were moments, of course, where my pride would kick in and the humiliation would hit a nerve. In those moments, I'd experience glimpses of resentment for essentially waiting for his advent at home like an eager, little puppy only to be taken out just to be portrayed as a bit of a slut to his friends. However, I think that's probably my job to overcome that pride since, where strangers or casual friends are concerned, all that matters is what he thinks of me.


On Friday, Master told me to tell him why I liked him. I couldn't verbalize anything, but here's my retrospective list, the many seeds:


I think Master is so handsome when he's not smiling and adorable when he is-- I wish he'd smile more often. I never tell him this though. I don't tell him that his eyes are amazing, or that his lips are beautiful, or how much I enjoy the curve of his back, his sculpted ass, his slim but athletic build.

Mastery of himself

You cannot be a Dom, cannot control another person, if you cannot control yourself. I hate people who deal with frustration, anger and inadequacy by projecting their weaknesses on others, finding flaws in everything, failing to see their own weaknesses, and using uncontrolled techniques like shouting-matches, to inflate their own sense of self-worth.

Master has impeccable control. He has a good understanding of himself and his thoughts and emotions. He doesn’t get angry. If I disobey, he explains and punishes, but is always in absolute control of himself. Not only would I not respect a man without this kind of control, I would downright not feel safe in the hands of someone who would beat me senseleslessly in his anger. There is a big difference in administering a controlled beating as punishment versus getting extremely worked up and just pummeling a slave without really thinking. It is because of his self-control, that I trust in his control of me.


As an extension of the above, Master is very patient. He has put up with my sexual inexperience. He repeats commands if I legitimately don't hear them, he explains things when I don't understand. He can sense when I am having difficulty with a task and is willing to teach me.


Master has a clear sense of self. Not everyone gets to understand themselves, and depending on one's stage of life, this understanding can falter. However, it is important to know oneself to stay consistent in one's convictions. In addition, self-understanding manifests in true self-confidence and not the facade of self-confidence that many cocky people put on as a front. Master appears to have a good understanding of himself. There is still much for me to learn about learn about how his life experiences have influenced the person he is today. But even with an incomplete picture, one can see that he his a good understanding of himself, his past, who he is now. There are so many people who never seem to come to terms with who they are, so I do admire him for this.


I see a lot of people with wasted potential; people who don't try, who don't hone their skills or foster their interests. Those who live life with a sense of mediocrity. I could never, ever submit to a man like that. I would have no respect for him. Master, on the other hand, is a man of many talents. It is becoming more and more apparent to me that he is naturally very athletic and intelligent, but while he is confident in his skills, he does not just take them for granted but also puts them to use. When I first saw how confident he was, I was initially skeptical because as I mentioned before, a lot of weak people put on a facade of cockiness to disguise their insecurities. It seems though, as I get to know Master, that confidence comes from real skill and talent and legitimate self-assurance, and this continues to increase my respect for him. In addition, I find that untalented people, or moreso, people who waste their potential, get very jealous of talented people. While my talents do not necassarily overlap with Master's, I do consider myself to have a lot of good skills, and I find when people are not secure with their own sucesses they can easily become resentful of those who are using their skill. Since Master and I have different skillsets, but are both well-rounded, intelligent people, I can respect him and he can appreciate who I am without ever feeling undermined.


For the most part, Master cracks me up. I don't always get his sense of sarcasm but for the most part, he can make me laugh.


It's probably a mix of well roundness and humour, but Master is interesting. He's interesting when he's telling a story but he's also interesting to watch and observe and learn about. He's my current enigma and I'm trying to piece the puzzle together slowly. He likes to mix things up, keep me on my toes. He's an interesting man, multi-faceted, many-layered, and I'm so happy to have met him and to get to know him even more.


This trait, extending beyond the world of bdsm, fits into it when he suddenly starts seeing unobtrusive objects used in daily living as instruments of torture.


Master has a good concept of fantasy versus reality. He takes time to understand what I am capable of, so that he can challenge but not actually hurt me. He hits himself on the arm with the ruler before beating me with it. He put the clothespegs he pinned me with on his lip and fingers. He was bent over the other day and told me to smack him (so weird, felt so wrong to me). And yes, he is by no means experiencing the same sensation of the ruler slashing my breasts and thighs, or those clothespegs pulling my nipples, or the humiliation of being bent over and exposed and spanked...but I do appreciate his little doses of maintaing humanity and not trying to completely objectify me. He sometimes thanks me for completing an order and I appreciate that.


Master is reasonable and fair. For the most part, he doesn’t try to trap me just so that he can punish me. He has admitted to wanting me to slip up, so he can humiliate me…but I mean, at least he’s open about it. He lays rules out. He doesn’t expect me to follow rules that have never been made.

An example:

The other day he went out around noon and told me he’d be back at around 5:00pm. I was feeling so lonely, especially after being left alone after being intimate for the first time, so when a friend called me at 12:30pm and wanted to have lunch, I thought it was a good way to pass time. I removed my wristcuffs to go out. Now, there is a rule that I must always put them on when I am at his place, unless told otherwise, but nothing really about what happens when I leave.

However, before he left me he did tell me that I had free reign. After I had decided to go out with my friend, it did cross my mind to call him and ask him if I was even allowed to go out and to make sure I know for certain what time he’d be home, so I could back on time. It did cross my mind to ask about expectations with my wristcuffs and collar, but I figured that he had ballparked a time of arrival and given me free reign, so I figured I should be okay with a quick meeting with a friend sans writcuffs.

So, I took off the wrist cuffs (kept the collar on) and went on my merry way. The first thing I told my friend was that I should be back at home by 5:00, since Master would get home then (we’ve discussed bdsm at length before, so I gave her glossed over explanation of our Dom/sub dynamic when she asked specific questions after noting my collar). Nonetheless, instead of a quick lunch, we somehow we just ended up having this huge heart-to-heart and she ended up confessing to me all this stuff that was going on in her life. I was keeping track of the time, and my heart was seriously palpitating because I didn’t want to cut her off, but I didn’t want to not be home when Master was getting back. Especially since I didn’t tell him what I was up to. I was really getting nervous because I thought I might upset him. I debated even leaving her to call him and explain…but she was really pouring her heart out, so I ultimately decided to not cut her off, and instead, tried to prepare myself mentally for the potential disappointment and punishment I would face when I got home.

Master called me at 5:15pm to see where I was. I told him I was with a friend and that I would come home soon. He said he’d see me later. I still felt a bit nervous, because he while he didn’t sound disapproving, he didn’t give approval either. My friend asked me to stay with her until 6:00pm, so I did, and then I headed back. Oh my goodness, anxiety just kept building in my chest on the train ride back. I sped walked from the subway to Master’s home because I couldn't take the anticipation.

When I got there, I knocked tentatively and Master was just lying down. He asked conversationally where I had gone etc. but wasn’t reproachful at all. I was so relieved. I think, but I’m not sure, that he felt bad for having to leave me at home earlier. I think he could tell that I was actually a little bit sad to actually be left alone, so I think that’s why he was okay with me going out. I think though, even if he hadn’t, if I had told him the story, he might have understood. But honestly, it was a huge relief, since my pulse was racing the entire way home. I really couldn’t bear the thought of upsetting him, especially when he had given me so much freedom, like permission to sit on the furniture etc.

However, I think that because of a mixture of reason, humanity, perception to my feelings, he was kind. I don’t know, but it made my heart swell with gratitude and appreciation and adoration…which is why I’m writing about it…because he would otherwise not know about the panic running through my head throughout that entire afternoon and my subsequent relief, when he requested I just kneel beside his bed, and he touched my face gently.

Now, later on in the evening, somehow I ended up in a situation where I was pinned down on the bed with his hand was firmly pressed against my throat. He asked me who had given me permission to remove the wrist cuffs. I was silent. I really thought I was in big trouble. He told me that I need to ask permission about removing them. I braced myself because I thought he was going to punish me...but after a pause (no doubt for dramatic effect)....he told me that he knew that I didn’t know, and that the rule had not been firmly established--though it was now--and that I must follow it for the next time.


Just a few things that I am having trouble with:

- I'm not really sure how to respond to questions at times. I usually go with the "whatever you want to do, Master" and sometimes I get a "no, I'm actually asking you to tell me what you think". Other times, when asked for an opinion, I'll give my answer, then be told that it's actually whatever Master wants. I get confused. I think sometimes when Master wants my actual opinion, he thinks I am very silly and indecisive. I can make decisions but I'm not entirely sure which is expected and when. I am perfectly fine taking his lead, leaving things up to him. I'm also perfectly fine making decisions. However, I have no idea when each approach is appropriate. It is also hard for me to switch to crtical thinking mode, when it's that highly analytical part of me that I often have to shut down so that I'm not resisting submission.

In general, I'm not sure whether I'm supposed to be an active or passive slave. The other day I gave him head and later on, Master complained that he was thirsty. He told me that I should have anticipated his thirst after he had lost so much fluid, and that I should have offered him some water. He told me that he didn't want a brainless slave. However, sometimes when I anticipate and asks him if he wants something done, he tells me to be quiet and just do as I'm told. I get confused. I'm not at the point where I can detect his exact frame of mind, and just know which way to act in the moment.

- Master's honesty sometimes unnerves me. He tends to point out physical imperfections on both other people and me. I'm pretty secure, I can handle honest criticism. However, while he mostly tells me very nice things that me blush...his occasional criticisms make me am I going to fix that for him? For example, he is not a fan of my feet. Now, I'm not really sure how serious this repulsion actually is but I'm not really sure how to improve them. Stretch marks? What can possible be done about those? Nothing! With aspects of my physical appearance that are not under my control to manipulate, I'm not really sure what I can do to improve the situation.

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

Adventures in Swallowing

Master gave me the assignment of overcoming my gag reflex. With some research, he discovered that by locating the trigger point of the gag reflex on one's tongue, and brushing that point--side to side--one can move the trigger point back. By brushing further and further back over time, one can significantly diminish the gag reflex.

I did this yesterday and today, but because I'm impatient and want quick results, I tried to find some better ways. After some follow-up research, it seems like this is actually the best way to naturally and safely do it; it is jsut annoying because it supposedly takes weeks to months to acheive. So, I am embarking on my journey of less gagging and better blowjobs...since all the porn in the world and advice from well-meaning girlfriends alone does not seem to be helping.

Aside from my awful gag reflex, I also need to work on coordination. I get that I should be playing with his balls, and milking and sucking, and using tongue...but when it gets down to it, I can't do it all at once in any coordinated manner, I can't get to the speeds that he likes and I'm so unattractively sloppy. I despise mediocrity and I feel like I've plateaued there, when I really need to be improving. :(

I think some people have fantasies about violating nice, innocent virgins...but it doesn't end up being so great, because we need a lot of work to train. I'm ever so thankful that master thinks I'm worth the time and effort to train.

Monday, June 23, 2008

The Lily Whispers

I ended up bringing my collar and cuffs home since I was wearing them when Master dropped me off, and he did not want to keep them in his car. So last night when my friends finally left my house and I was all alone, I stripped down and put them on, before crawling into bed. Pathetic? Maybe just a bit.

I wish it would stop raining. I find the colour of the sky is oft reflected in our moods.

Sunday, June 22, 2008



Master picked me up on Friday night and brought me to his to place to get ready. Then we headed out again. He went into a bar to meet his friends as I waited in his car. Then, at his signal, I entered the scene and he picked me up again.

Essentially, Master had a social event with his friends that night. Prior to the actual evening, he had made a bet with his friends that he would pick up a pretty girl that night and get her to do a few things, like have her bum spanked. Of course, I was recruited to be said girl. In order to deflect suspicion, Master and I had discussed a good set-up in advance, givin me time to get into character.

So, when Master called me and told me to come to the bar, I put on a coy smile and entered the venue. Though I noted him out of the corner of my eye, I glided past his friends and him, without a hint of acknowledgement or recognition. I slid through the crowd, until I found a pocket of a empty space, where I ordered a drink. Then I played with my cell phone, as if expecting a text or a call from my friends, until Master and his entourage made his way over to me.

Master was pretending to be very tipsy. He started to tell me that they had been talking about me and discussing my ethnic background. His friends looked mortified that he was acting so rambunctiously and asking me abrasive questions. Initially, I acted very cold and stand-offish. Everytime he made a motion to come closer to me, or even brush a hand against my arm, I stepped away quickly and scowled at him. In fact, I was so taken aback by and unimpressed with him, that his friends had to step in quite a few times to 'save me'. They kept apologizing for his unruly behaviour. However, they did tell me that Master was actually a really great guy and that he was just a little drunk. I kept reassuring them that while I wasn't impressed, I could see that he was harmless and to not worry.

Because I told them that I was from out-of-town and that I was supposed to meet my friends but had mixed up the venue and didn't know the city well enough to wander around, their group was receptive to keeping me company for the night. Master kept wandering back and forth between assorted peers, and then to flirt with me. Initially, I kept an arm-length's away but tried to show progressive, gradual interest over the course of the night. It was interesting for me though, because while Master was socializing, I got to talk to his friends, who were willing and ready to offer up stories about him. Learning about his friends, and their perception of Master, gave me some interesting insight.

I really like Master in isolation, but it is difficult to gauge someone's personality until you see them around their friends. I was relieved because even through the play-acting, I saw some Master's social personality come out and it was pretty much what I expected. In addition, his friends did end up vouching for his character--even though they all looked like they wanted to crawl up in a hole and die, everytime he opened his mouth and said something awful to me--ND this showed me that he is a well-liked character.

Master really kept up his act and despite our gradually depeening flirtation, kept "forgetting my name". In his friend's eyes, he seemed very flaky. One minute he would be calling my beautiful and trying to dance with me, and the next minute he would leave me with some of his friends to chat with, as he ran away to talk to someone new. Obviously, I knew it was an act, but his friends could not fathom why I was starting to show interest in him when he appeared to be so fickle in his interect and kept ditching me.

At the end the night, I went home with Master. This baffled his friends. In their eyes, I went from initially recoiling at his advances, freaking out everytime he even tried to touch me and giving him the dirtiest looks whenever he said something practically eating out of his hand at the end of the night--dancing with him, being kissed by him, letting him touch my ass and lead me around. Absolutely baffled. They seemed to be congratulating him as I left the bar with him; no one was really being subtle with their amazement. It was hilarious.

Of course, not everyone approved. One of Master's friends was a bit older and thought I was a dear, sweet, young thing. He had a talk with me at the end of the night, telling me that even though my friends ditched me in a strange citythat I was too nice a girl to tolerate being degraded and humiliated and treated like crap by a random drunken stranger. He was so concerned for my well-being that he didn't think I should be subjecting myself to Master's behaviour. Of course, I told him how much I appreciated his advice and concern, and he seemed flattered. Then he gave me the dirtiest look ever, when Master sauntered over after a long dissapearance and told me he was going home...and I accepted taking a ride with him. Apparently, this friend talked shit about me afterwards and said I had acted very slutty. I really wish that conversation hadn't happened. I really don't like it when people worry about me; and I really don't like that it spurred this guy to shit-talk Master.

Aside from that though, I thought the whole thing was highly amusing. Master had a great time and continued to build up onto his legendary status among his friends.
I enjoy play-acting and social experiments (my friends and I often set up social experiments to test people's reactions) but I feel a little bad about setting up Master's friends. However, Master was happy, so I embraced his mood and didn't let other things bothers me.

We went home afterwards and were both tired, so he undressed me and put me in my cuffs and collar, and he allowed me to sleep in his bed with him. This is a great honour for me, to be allowed to sleep alongside him, to have him hold me, so that I feel so tiny and helpless and well, his. He always tells me he can't keep his hands off me. I can't keep my hands off of him either (when they aren't bound or pinned or ordered to be kept in a certain place). I want to hold his hand all the time, I try to hold him when he's asleep (which I probably shouldn't do because I think it disrupts his sleep...and will likely get me banished from the bed). I want to be with him all the time. I want to be his. I find myself just staring at him sometimes...I can't help it. It's maddening, absolutely maddening, to not be around him. Or when I'm with him, and turned away from him and I'm not allowed to even look at him. I wish I had a frame of reference, so I could know if this was all normal or not, because I'm slipping away so quickly and it's exhilarating and frightening all at once.


Saturday was spent hanging out with Master. It was a bit of a lazy day because it takes us so long to do anything. Waking up, is always a process that takes a few hours. Starting at dawn, it's marked with us slipping in and out of sleep, and in the moments of waking consciousness, peppered with cuddling, kissing, licking, nuzzling and Master biting, fondling, teasing me, pulling me in and out of positions that are comfortable for him. We fall asleep with our legs tangled, my arms knotted in his...then we wake up and shift...then repeat for hours. It's a torturous, taunting sleep but I can't help but enjoy it. He drives me crazy. My favourite position is when we're spooning; he's behind me and I'm tucked into his body. I can feel his hard penis on my bum, my back against his chest, my head tucked under his chin. Sometimes he pins one of my arms behind me, so that it's wedged between my back and his chest. He wraps one of his arms around my breasts and another around my neck and he squeezes tight, so that I can barely breathe. In the moment though, I feel like don't even need air, just his warmth. Goodness, I feel so giddy and gushy and girly right now. I'm writing in aliteration, which is sound indication that I'm loosing my mind.

Anyway, we showered together, which I can see is a favoured activity of his. I can't complain either, I thoroughly enjoy him bathing me, his hands lathering me. I love to explore his body with handfuls of foamy soap. Then, we watched a few episodes of the The Wire as I massaged him or he cuddled me, and then went grocery shopping. Of course, thanks to fine writers of the show, Master practised his ghetto-speak the entire time, and went on randomly binges of profanity. So here's a big thank you to good folks at HBO, for inspiring a day filled with "why you be all up in ma grill, dumbass mothafuckas". After groceries, Master took me on a tour of the neighbourhood where he grew up.

Hearing about childhoods make me feel nostalgic. There's something so magical about childhood; it's so short, it makes up a tiny percentage of our entire life, and yet, it shapes our very personality. Even small events, which would have no bearing on us if they occured in the semming-perpetuity of our adult lives, can change a child's entire perception of the world and turn the child into a different person. For this reason, I find that delving into people's childhood gives you that much better an appreciation of the adult. So, it was very interesting to me to hear childhood stories, to see where he grew up, and to see the clever, excitable child in his eyes.

Later on, he got me to pick up some photo albums he had left with a previous girl he used to date. Leafing through the albums evoked more nostalgia and some really, really adorable pictures of him. I really like learning more about him and I'm so happy and honoured that he is sharing parts of his life with me.

Between running a few errands and eating, we spent much of the day at home, just playing around. At one point, he blindfolded me and bent me over a chair and tied my wrists, and taped my thighs to each leg of the chair. Then, he lifted up my dress and inserted anal beads into my ass and dripped hot candle wax onto my back. When he was done, he shoved an ice cube into my cunt and as the water melted and dripped onto the floor, he told me that he was going over to a friends and that he would leave me tied up for a few hours. Like a good slave, I said "Yes, Master" and he kissed me on the head, and I heard the front door open and close. I couldn't help but just yelp to myself when I thought I was alone. The position wasn't awful; as far as being tied up and immobile goes, I was doing okay. But the thought of being alone like that made me a little miserable.

However, after a few minutes, Master quietly came to me and removed my blindfold; he had just been playing with my mind. With my vision back, he showed me that he had tied my knots fairly loosely and that I could get out of them. He challenged me to get out of them, and started to spank me until I got out. He wasn't very brutal with his spankings, but it did give me motivation to work the cords away and pull the tape off from my thighs. It's a weird sensation being spanked with something up your bum too.

Anyway, as far as the anal stuff goes...I have had fantasies about being taken up the bum before. Master explained the rationale subsequently; that it is the ultimate Dom fantasy because there is nothing in anal penetration that is particularly pleasant or rewarding for a female sub. She is just at Master's disposal. And he put into words the context of my previous fantasies. Of course though, in most of my fantasties...I am jsut a third party watching a Dom/sub couple because I like to detach myself from fantasy and not actually imagine thing sbeing done to me. I feel like even in fantasy, that makes me too vulnerable. So yes, fantasizing seems to be very different from the harsh reality of life. As much as I wish to please Master, my desire to serve him does not yet outweight my dread and fear for things being shoven up my rectum. Nevertheless, hearing the context from his mouth, has actually made me wish to please him more and opened my mind--if not my poor bum--to the thought of anal training for his pleasure.

Later that night, were actually supposed to go out to a fetish event but he didn't really feel like and I was exhausted, so we ended up watching tv and I just fell asleep in his arms. It was pretty early in the night, but for some reason I was feeling dehydrated and drained, that despite my efforts to stay awake, I ended up zonking out.

After napping for a little while, I woke up to a wretched, all-consuming feeling of anxiety. I felt like I was lying in a giant pool of thick foam and I was sinking into it slowly. I felt like the foam was growing around me and slowly engulfing me and climbing over my body as my own weight drove me into it's depths. Initially, I told myself in my head that the matress was jsut sinking. We had broken Master's bed a couple of weeks earlier and he had patched it in my head, I just justified to myself that the bed was just sagging in one spot and that everything was okay. Then I felt a deep pain in my chest, like someone was sitting on me and physically crushing my heart, and I felt very short of breath and unable to move or breathe. I was frozen for a little while and panicking in my head, but I've had panic attacks in the past, and knew that I jsut had to force myself to breathe and consciously tell myself to wake up. I woke up, gasping and teary-eyed.

Master was just turning off the lights and getting ready to go to bed himself, and noted the tears. I told him it was he laid down beside me and petted me, before turning his back to me so that he could sleep. Anyway, I couldn't stop feeling so unsettled so I curled up into his back, and put my head into his neck. I couldn't help it, but the tears started to pour out and he woke up, a little taken aback. He had been nothing but kind and gentle the entire weekend; he had not beaten or punished me, or treated me poorly (not that he ever does) so there was absolutely no reason for me to be crying. But somehow, with thunder booming in the background and rain drumming against the windows, I could not help but just cry and cry, without being able to find the words to explain myself. I think a less patient dom would have smacked me for being so childish and silly; for not even trying to explain what I was feeling. But Master held me, and as if reading my thoughts, told me to stop worrying about the future and tried to dispel the very insecurities I've been feeling about our relationship.

I haven't had a panic attack in years. I've been emotionally stable, psychologically fulfilled, mentally when I woke up feeling like that last night, I was seriously thinking...what the fuck?

But I guess it's just my body's way of freaking out sometimes. I've never fully recovered from the devestation of a highschool ex comitting suicide, and for this reason, the idea of relationships really bug me. At first I thought it was handling the whole dom/sub dynamic that was bugging me...but now I see that it's just the general fear of being dependant on anyone other than myself; and the fear that I wiill somehow end up hurting the other person, as well as myself. I worked in health crisis center for a few years subsequently, to try to ease the guilt and justify to myself that I was making a difference, even though I had screwed up in the past. It helped in a way, but seeing how so much distress, anguish, fear, and even the desire to stop living, was rooted in problems with relationships--with the difficult changes in going from being alone, to dependant on another, to being alone again--made me fear relationships very, very deeply.

Now, I'm a logical person, I understand this is just a case of being exposed to a sample with limited generalizability...but whatever I do to convince myself logically, sensibility still overrules. I think being in any relationship, vanilla, kinky, otherwise, would freak me out. Being with Master however, freaks me because I see the potential for major dependancy to occur. Well, actually, that's probably the entire point of the D/s achieve that level of dependance and thus, intimacy. I know I need to get over these fears, but it is difficult because they affect me on an entirely different plane than logic.

In additon, Master told me earlier in the day that he thought I was ready to have sex...and because he thought I was ready, it would no longer be in my hands, but rather, he'd determine when and where. I was hesitant but told him that this was okay, that I was willing to be his.

The hesitation is not from the act of intercourse itself. I got my birth control. I need him to go get STI tested, on principle...and I need to hear the results eventually, but at this point I don't even need to wait to get them back. I jsut want him to do it because although I trust him, I am vigilant about my health and refuse to be a hypocrite and not practise what I preach. Anyway, the act itself doesn't bother me. He is my Master, and it's going to happen with him. It's just the timing that worries me.

We are each going away for the summer and I can't think of anything worse than have him fuck me, and then leave. Even if it temporary distance, and even though I'm going away too, it still feels too unsteady for me to deal with. I know that cirucumstances change very quickly, and I have some insecurities because of this realization of how volatile life can be. A lot can change in a month and a half. I believe him when he tells me that I am special to him now. I don't doubt it, but I also don't doubt that things change. I've seen people fall in love and get engaged within a month. I've seen people at their lowest peak transcend to the highest, and vice versa, within the course of a month. Things change. It's not that I don't trust's that life is so unpredictable and I don't want to be shortsighted. I don't think I will be emotionally stable if he fucks me right before we're apart for such a long period of time.

It's all so bloody frustrating. It's immeasurably frustrating that I think so much, that my body and my heart and my emotions are all at odds with each other. I'm not too worried about
our relationship for the short-term, after we get back from summer. I have a flexible schedule. I don't go to classes, and even if I decide to start going, I still have weekends. All it takes for this to work in the forseeable future is time-management and that's not usually a problem for me. Master talked about this to me and we both want this to work out, so the action-plan for September all seems very reasonable.

Nonetheless, I couldn't help but be overwhelmed last night and irritated that my own body was reacting against me. I'm okay now. Things should be okay. I will see Master again this upcoming weekend. Life is going to be okay. I will just continue to reassure myself and stop stressing myself out.

On a lighter note, I also have a small confession. I like when Master slaps me. Well, not the really hard, heavy hitting, full-palm slaps...but the briefer, stingier ones from the palm up and across my lower cheek and mouth. Weirdly enough, these slaps make me feel like I am so owned by him without making me feel like he is angry with me and trying to punish me.

Sunday, June 15, 2008

Assorted Toffees

Today, I saw Master for a few hours. It takes me around an hour to get from my place to his and because I have to take the bus, I wore underwear. There’s no way I’m going to take public transit without underwear; one accidental movement of my skirt could put my genitals in direct contact with public transit seating, and I could do without avoidable disease. If you think I’m neurotic and paranoid, it’s because I am. If I’m with Master, fine, I’ll do the no underwear thing...especially since then I will be standing, or kneeling, or at most sitting on "safer" surfaces like his car. If he decides to make an exhibitionist of me, and flash my parts, I am ultimately fine with this because I know he is there. He knows what he’s doing, he won’t let randoms just come over and take advantage. However, for the sake of modesty, propriety and not wanting to attract negative attention when alone and using public transit, I wear underwear.

But I digress...the point is, I was wearing underwear when I saw master. It was a thong, which I still usually wouldn’t wear under a flimsy dress, but I was trying to compromise. In the car, he tried to play with me and wasn’t pleased with the underwear situation. To remedy it, he attempted to just tear it off. Not good for me. The result was the worst abrasion ever; my lips and perineum are still really swollen and tender. After my groans of pain and practically jumping out of my seat, he continued tugging at the underwear. When it still refused to rip off, despite the worst wedgie ever, he ordered me to remove them and to hand them over to him. I did this with some embarrassment. He held them and contemplated for mere few seconds before he rolled down the window and chucked them out of a moving car. They flew onto a beautifully manicured lawn.

We went back to Master’s place, and as usual, he stripped me naked and put on my cuffs and collar. Earlier he had been chastising me about not blogging about last weekend, even though he had been reminding me all week. So, when I was dressed in my collar and cuffs, he decided to punish me for my transgressions.

He blindfolded me and put clothespins on my nipples and on the lip of my vagina. That hurt a lot. My vagina is also badly irritated because the first time I shaved it for Master, I had no clue how to do that properly, and I created deep irritation. This exacerbated the pinching of the peg. Master made me kneel, bound me wrists behind me and shoved a vibrating dildo in my mouth. Of course, my gag reflex is still awful, so I kept retching but it was lodged far down in my mouth and I couldn't do anything about it. He made me kneel like that for some indeterminate amount of time.

I know I must sound like a pretty useless sub…I’m a giant baby when it comes to pain. I really can’t deal with it. I can’t dull my gag reflex. I couldn’t sit there quietly and take it. I kept whimpering and crying, despite the gag in my mouth. Finally, Master removed the dildo. He pulled me up and brought me to the bed. He sat up, and made me sit on his thigh. This was awful, because the peg was still on my swollen labia. I kept resisting and trying to stand, but he made me sit. I got really wet and came all over his leg. This makes no sense to me because I was in a lot of pain and I just really, really wanted it to all stop. It’s not like I orgasm or had any of the pleasant physiological reactions associated with sexual stimulation, and yet I was wet enough to embarrassingly cover his leg with discharge. Master tells me that my body betrays me and that I really am a painslut because of these aroused reactions to the pain.

I really don’t know what to make of it. I’ve never thought of pain as arousing before. I avoid pain at all costs. The idea of a spanking is only arousing to me because of the fact that Master is touching me, and moving me to position he wants, and getting his way. Master can get hard from just hitting me, and the idea of him getting hard by just pushing me around, excites me. I wonder if this physiological arousal to the pain stems from my desire to submit to him and be under his control, or if I really like the pain. I somehow don’t think I do. I mean, I really dread when he pulls and twists on my breasts. I actually think this is the worst pain. And when I think about him really pulling hard on my breasts, it makes me very anxious and I have to force myself not to think about it, or I’ll get frightened about what he can do to me.

I really don’t think I like pain, I just think I like being under Master’s control. I just think I have to learn how to handle the pain more graciously, so that he can actually do what he likes without having me whimpering and complaining.

After my punishment was over, he let me lie with him in bed. I’m always so cautious and frightened after punishments. I don’t like being humiliated. I don’t like pain. Those things in themselves distress me. However, I most of all, don’t want master to be displeased with me. I need him to remind me that he is just training me to be the way he wants, and that he doesn’t hate me just because he’s punishing me. It’s hard for me to grasp. I’ve never been punished in my vanilla life. I don’t get the idea of loving discipline. So, when master hurts me, I need to be reminded that he’s not being malicious. He still cares about me. He knows I need this and he reminds me and wipes away the tears. Being with him is so cathartic, so liberating. I’m so afraid to screw things up though. I don’t ever want him to get tired of me, or so frustrated with me that he gives up on me.

Earlier in the evening, master had taken me to a sex toy store, and sent me inside, by myself, to get an anal plug, since he wants to have anal sex eventually. I’m not really sure when I agreed to this whole anal sex business when we talked about limits at the beginning but it seems that because I didn’t have a freak-out earlier, I don’t have a choice at this point. The whole idea of it makes me nervous. The thought of tangibly having a penis in my bum disgusts me. Poo comes out from there. Poo is waste material, it's full of bacteria. It can make you sick. Poo is not good. I don't really understand why master would want to still his cock in a hole that is often filled with poo.

But anyway, I went to go get this butt plug, but the guy who runs the store didn’t speak English properly, so I was forced to fend for myself. I got these round bead things. So at some point in the later evening, master made me kneel and bent me over. He rubbed lube all over me—and because he used too much, ended up rubbing it all over my breasts and stomach just for fun—and shoved all of these beads up my ass. It was a weird sensation. I’ve used a suppository once and it just feels like that. It stimulates your smooth muscles reflexes and makes you feel like you have to poo. Of course, I realized this and since I had no desire to have a bowel movement previous to the insertion, I figured it was just the beads and didn’t make a fuss. I was surprised at the ease though. I think something bigger is possible but I still cringe to think of some of those massive plugs. And master’s cock in my ass. I really do not need a perforated rectum.

But, I guess if we do it properly, and we don’t end up tearing my poor intestines, it could be okay. I think poo is gross. I don’t personally want to associate any of my other organs or appendages with poo, but I guess it’s Master’s penis and he can do with it what he likes. I’m just going to hope we do this carefully and safely, so I don’t have to deal with torn intestines.

Okay, back to the narrative. At this point in the evening, I was covered with raspberry lube. Anyhow, to remedy the global lube problem, master brought me to the bathroom, made me kneel in the shower and sat on the edge of the tub as he lathered me up and rinsed me. I do really like it when master bathes me. I like being his doll, his plaything. Though now, whenever I see a little boy playing with a female doll, I’m going to now suspect that he will grow up to be a dom.

It's late, and I haven’t been telling this story properly at all, so now I will just list random things:

- Initially I thought cum tasted very bad. Now, I eagerly anticipate the moment that Master comes, when I am giving him head. I like the taste of him in my mouth, so much so that I can—and do—imagine the smell and taste of him when he’s not around. Gad, I feel so corrupt writing that. I think I’m getting better with this whole business but I still have some coordination issues. I guess practice makes perfect.
- Master is so handsome. He has amazing eyes, and a beautiful mouth and a perfect nose, and whenever he furrows his eyebrows at me I want to please him so that they smooth out. I melt when he smiles. I shiver when he touches me. I get all tingly when he kisses me. I love his firm body pressed against me.
- Master was on top of me at some point and casually threw in that he was going to get STI tested. We had talked about this last week and he really, really seemed opposed to this, which worried me. It’s not that I don’t trust him. If he says he has had X amount of partners, I believe him. I do think he’s probably fine, but really…I’m a virgin, I’m hyper vigilant with my health, I’m so cautious about everything. I adore master, but my health is so important to me. You can never be too careful and it’s always good to check these things, so I really wanted him to do it. He seemed really resistant to it, and we didn’t actually come to a conclusion at the end of the discussion about what would be done. I went home and actually worried about how I was going to convince him. Anyway, he threw it in there today and I was so happy that he’s willing to do it for me—I mean, he should be doing it for himself as safe practice—but I’m so grateful that he came to this conclusion anyway. I was so overcome with happiness and gratitude that he just conceded to it without extensive badgering.
- I decided during the week that I was going to go on birth control. After extensive convos with girlfriends about various forms, they all had a talk with me about not rushing etc. It’s sweet…everyone knows my extremely idealistic position on sex and the importance of valuing it, so although many of my friends don’t really agree with my stance, it’s sweet that made sure to check that I was being true to my own values. It surprises me how understanding people are sometimes. Anyway, I was advised to just go on it, but not tell Master…so that if I wanted to, I could have sex…and if I didn’t want to, he wouldn’t know about the birth control and this wouldn’t create unnecessary pressure. Master kept telling me early on I’d lose it to him and that he’d wait…but in the back of my head, I was still like…whatever, it’s my choice, I can get out of this if I want to. But I guess, at some point this week, I decided that I would without even really realizing it, since I just blurted out to him that I was going on birth control even though I was going to not divulge that. So yeah, I guess it’s going to happen. I’m not going to think about this further, because comparing realties to my twisted idealizations of how my world should be will just confuse me. We’re going to make preparations for safety and then, when it happens, it’ll happen.

Margins and Discipline

This entry was written in bits throughout the week and as such, some of it no longer reflects my current feelings. But I got in trouble for not posting, so here it is:

Preface (written June 8th, the day after I saw master)

I sat on the porch swing this morning and rocked back and forth untl I was nauseous from the motion and the heat. My best friend came out with two glasses of cheap, fruity wine. We didn’t talk but she took the seat next to me and we swayed as the chilled wine moistened our lips, the sun lightened our hair and the wind touched the hems of our dresses and made them flit around our knees. Youth is so beautiful; the very idea of it slipping away makes me want to mourn it with the same fervor as if it had already passed. It’s narcissistic and selfish but I can’t help but love it, even to the point where I am missing it preemptively. I’m at this wonderful stage of my life, where I’m free to try anything that I want and I don’t have any major social obligations to tie me down.

It is this very reasoning that makes me paradoxically torn about this whole business of a D/s relationship. It’s something I’ve always wanted to try and now I have my chance to live it. However, I am terrified that it is something that will tie me down. Literally and figuratively.

I feel awful writing this because it is by no means a reflection of how I feel towards Master himself. In so little time, I care about him deeply. However, having never been in any relationship before, I have no frame of reference; I’m not sure where vanilla expectations end and where D/s expectations begin. In watching vanilla relationships, I can clearly see that power dynamics exist—and have to exist, in order to achieve balance—but the exchanges are just subtle, unspoken, and in some cases, shifting. This observation forces me to wonder if simply taking on a more submissive role in a vanilla relationship would satisfy me and if I could just be happy with bedroom-submission instead of lifestyle-submission. It’s impossible to know, without more exploration, if the submissive me is the real me, or a phase of me that I have to temporarily unleash before I can understand who I really am.

In the present moment, however, I am happy. I am excited. I enjoy the time I spend with Master and miss him greatly when we are apart. I just feel anxious and guilty because in some ways, I feel like I am taking advantage of Master’s kindness and patience, as I explore and discover where I belong on the spectrum. It seems grotesquely unfair that he has to deal with my uncertainty. He has been already been so good to me; so tolerant and understanding—that beyond my anxiety about getting emotionally hurt—I’m also terrified that I’m going to hurt and disappoint him.

Portions for Foxes (written over the week)

I wasn’t in a very submissive mind frame when on Thursday night, I made the trip to see Master. One of his rules was not to wear pants in his presence and I thought about this as I made my way to the bus station, wearing the leggings and long tunic I had been wearing the whole day. In my eyes it was impractical to wear a skirt on a three and a half hour bus ride and the idea of wearing a dress while travelling alone at night didn’t sit well with me. However, out of respect for his rules, I could have at least asked him for permission to wear leggings. But I didn’t. I was worried that I would displease him, but at the end of it, I didn’t want to ask for permission only to be denied. I’m sure he noticed but didn’t say anything. My thoughts are so muddled up sometimes: I want to be dominated but I don’t want to surrender little freedoms. I’ve resisted authority my entire life, I’ve been raised with so much freedom and the opportunity to make unquestioned decisions, that despite my yearning to submit to someone, I sometimes can’t even bear the idea of the shift from fantasy to reality.

The next day with master was full of slip-ups. I wasn’t trying to be bratty but I wasn’t going out of my way to be a good sub either. Don’t get me wrong, I really wanted to see Master. I mean, I changed around my schedule to see him; I missed my friend’s engagement party so I could spend Thursday night with him, even though I knew he’d likely want to get to bed early. He didn’t tell me to—I just did so I could be with him for one night more. So yes, I wanted to see him but I couldn’t get into a steady submissive frame of mind. As such, on Friday I kept speaking out of line and not really thinking of or being aware of my place. Nonetheless, Master was very patient, and kept pointing out my slip-ups and absentmindedness without punishing me.

I was grateful for this leniency. Usually gratitude pushes me to be a better person. Instead, I continued to be dazed and just lack awareness in what was going on. At previous meals, Master has given me permission to eat and drink freely and I guess I never really understood what the implications of what it meant to not be given that freedom. On Friday night, Master did not give me that permission but I kept absentmindedly taking sips from my drink. He had to tell me multiple times to stop and wait until I was given permission.

I wasn’t trying to purposely piss him off, but sometimes in life, it doesn’t matter if you aren’t trying to be rude or malicious, sometimes not doing your best—not even trying—is malicious. So Master got upset with me and told me to leave the restaurant and approach three people on the street and tell them that Master says I’ve been a very bad girl. I was mortified. Absolutely mortified. I sat there and looked at him in disbelief and gave him what he calls my puppy-dog eyes. He told me to leave.

I eventually did. For awhile, I wandered up and down the crowded streets. I hadn’t even done anything crazy yet but people on patios were looking at me, probably because of my all too apparent look of distress. I’m not very good at hiding my expressions. It took me awhile before I finally mustered up some courage to complete my task. A man in his 30s walked by. He was walking briskly, like he had somewhere to go, so I chose him. He didn’t even stop as I approached him, and as he walked by I muttered my line very quickly to him. I thought for a minute he didn’t hear, but he turned back to look at me in confusion. Living in big cities, you always get the occasional crazy who wanders up to you and says random things that make you feel very uncomfortable. It was humiliating being one of those crazies. Here I was—attractive, reasonably dressed, seemingly normal—making nice, vanilla folk uncomfortable on the street.

I was not looking forward to doing this again. The next man I chose was probably in his 50s, slightly balding. He didn’t look particularly friendly, but a lot of the people walking were part of groups or couples and I really didn’t want to draw the kind of attention. He was sort of meandering so I couldn’t just spit my line out quickly. He paused in his walk to listen to me and sort of opened his much as if to say something. Then he just sort of shook his head and continued to walk on. I didn’t watch him. I’m sure he glanced back a few times, but I really didn’t want to see his expression.

I waited, looking for another potential but no one came along and I had had enough, so I went back inside and told Master what I had done. He was not impressed that I hadn’t managed to do three and sent me back out again, much to my dismay. You’d be surprised at how few single men are wandering around on Friday evening because it took awhile for anyone to come by.

Finally two young guys came by, probably high school seniors or college kids. I went up to them and delivered my line. One of them laughed. The other asked if I needed a spanking. I freaked out and said ‘no’. They seemed confused as to whether I was trying to flirt or if I was just an unbalanced random. I quickly said, ‘Umm, that’s all.’ and started walking in the opposite direction they were coming from. Unfortunately, the restaurant that Master was waiting for me at was in the direction they were walking, so I had to wait a few minutes before I could turn around and rush back to the restaurant, trying to hide amongst other people so they wouldn’t turn around and think I was following them.

Maybe it was exacerbated by my paranoia, but people in the patios lining the street were definitely looking at me. Understandably, I guess. I mean I was pacing up and down the side-walk, looking ever so hesitant and picking on random men to talk to. Maybe if I hadn’t looked so horrified I wouldn’t have drawn attention but I really couldn’t help it. I went back to find Master and he didn’t seem pleased or forgiving, although I had completed my task.

He told me that the next time I just disregarded his rules he would put a sign on me and put me out on a street corner. I didn’t have anything to say. Even if I did, I would have kept my mouth shut. I felt terrible. Not only because of the embarrassment but just because he was so displeased with me. I’m mostly sensible and kind and try to resolve trouble instead of making it, so I was angry at myself. Then I got angry for being angry at myself. In my head, I suddenly asked myself what I was doing…why was I even upset for upsetting this man? Why did it even matter? I couldn’t really understand or justify it, but in the end it did matter to me.

Even though he held my hand as we walked through the streets, I felt ashamed of myself for displeasing him. On the walk back to the car, I started to tear up. It’s just who I am: constantly emotional. I'm one of those people who everyone goes to for all their problems and I'm in a career where it's easy to get emotionally involved. As such, because I'm always putting up emoitonal barriers, I find that when I don't have to think about putting up a front, like with Master, I'm excessively emotional.

He told me that he wasn’t angry, just disappointed and told me to stop worrying, my punishment was over, and that he hoped I had learned my lesson. However, to me, disappointment is far worse than anger. At least when someone is angry, you see the emotion and when this emotion is spent, a new calmness emerges. With disappointment, even when the upset parties claim to be appeased, disappointment tends to colour the way they interact with you and subsequently treat you. Anger tends to peak and resolve. Disappointment lingers.

It did linger. Although my punishment was over, Master did continue to tell me on the car-ride home how upset he was, and how he had just wanted to slap me in front of all those people. He played with me a little and it felt so dirty because I didn’t deserve that—the comfort of his fingers in me, juxtaposed with his disapproval and my shame, made me feel sick.

As we approached his place, he told me to do something to show that I was sorry and to prove my submission to him. I couldn’t think of anything and it’s because I didn’t know what kinds of things he meant. I thought he wanted some huge and elaborate gesture and I couldn’t formulate a grandiose plan in my head. I asked him to explain what he meant. He told me that I could kiss his hand, or put my head on his shoulder. I felt very overwhelmed in that moment. Such little gestures were all that he desired to show my submission to him. Sometimes, I build it all up in my head and get scared by how exacting and dominating he might turn out to be, and I get very upset and scared and think I can’t handle any of it, but instead, he always turns out to be firm but fair.

After we got back, Master put my collar and cuffs on sent me to the corner store to fetch something. I was initially rather self conscious, especially since the store was surprisingly busy and there was a line. However, I ended up conversing with the woman ahead of me in line. It was more awkward to try to hide my cuffs, so I didn’t. At most, she glanced at them but had a normal conversation with me. I think that in being unabashed, I definitely created less reason for her mind to wander than if I had seemed distressed or embarrassed.

When I got back to Master’s place, I stripped naked and he put me in bondage. He blindfolded me, tied my feet together and bound my hands behind my back before dragging me to the bed and laying me on my stomach. He then tied my arms together above my elbows, and my thighs together and then joined my wrist bindings to the bindings around my ankles, so that my legs were up in the air. I had to push back my shoulder blades to alleviate the tension of the rope around my upper arms. He left me like this for some time. Time stops having meaning when you don’t even have a timeframe to expect. If someone tells you they’ll be back in 10 minutes, your internal clock turns on its timer. When you are given nothing to work with, minutes and hours no longer matter. You start waiting for an indefinite event, an inconceivable endpoint. Chronology is lost.

When I next felt his touch, it was so cold it made me shiver. He rolled the ice in his hand down my back, across the cheeks of my bum, between them, around my rectum and left it in the crack to melt. He rolled another cube down my back, between my shoulder blades, down my spine. Another across the insides of my thigh, around the lips of my cunt, along the clitoris, into my vagina—as I moaned and squealed from the cold—and he let it melt inside of me. More ice came; he rolled me onto my side and traced the cubes along my breasts and stomach, until I was trembling, along my genitals again, until they were cold and tingling. Sliding the ice along the outer curves, until he was ready to, with a swift and unexpected motion, push the pieces into my cunt, so that my own wetness could mingle with the melting ice.

The Morning After

In the morning, Master and I cuddled and kissed. He pulled me onto his lap and spanked me until my bum was flushed and tender. He had bitten and marked one of my ass cheeks the day before, and it was still bruised and sore. He has a way of moving me around, where he holds on between my legs and lifts, and turns, and manipulates me, and my stomach surges with excitement in feeling so powerless and tiny.

After he had played we me again, he led me to the bathroom. I was very nervous because in previous days, he had talked at length about bad experiences with cold pools, and had smirked at me when he told me how terrible it was to just get dunked repeatedly into cold water. I had gone to bed, wearing only my wristcuffs and a chain-collar and so this was all I was wearing when I was led to the shower.

He gestured for me to get into the bathtub and snapped once, so that I was kneeling. I braced myself as I waited in horror, for the torrent of freezing water to assault me. However, the water that covered my face and breasts was warm. He undressed and got in the shower too, and he began to bathe me. His hands were so tender as they ran over my breasts, my back, my stomach and thighs, lathering me before the stream of water hit me. He ran his hands gently through my hair, massaging my scalp before moving the nozzle over my head and holding me as the water poured over my head and rolled along my skin. I hate how I look right after a shower; all red and wrinkly, dishevelled and non-presentable. As I mentioned earlier, I'm vain and proud and like to have my space to get ready and make myself look nice before I go out in public. I try not to take showers when people are around, so that I don't have to deal with the awkwardness of seeing someone in the hallway as I go to my room. So, obviously, bathing with master made me feel pretty vulnerable. However, to be cared for by him, even in this state, makes me feel very special and very grateful to him.

After my wash, it was my turn to bathe him. He snapped once, and I knelt in the bathtub. He turned his back to me and I lathered his legs, his ass, his back. He has a wonderful body but I’m not sure when I’m allowed to touch him. When he's cuddling me in bed, it seems that I am often given liberty with my hands and allowed to explore and touch him. However, sometimes when he's playing with me and I try to hold him, he tells me that he is holding me and that I'm not to hold him. However, there have been no explicit rules about when I am and not allowed to do it, which has--I suspect, intentionally--created uncertainty on my part about how I am allowed to act and react. As such, I relish the moments where I know that I am allowed to touch him and explore his body. After I was done with his back, he turned around, and I lathered his stomach, and chest, and penis before he stepped into the water and let it wash all the soap away.

After he had rinsed, he started filling the tub. He sat down and motioned for me to sit in front of him. We sat in the warm water as he held me, fondled me, and splashed me. It was comforting, just to sit there, between his legs, with his arms around me.

Finally, he told me to drain the water, and after I stood up, he dried me off and dried himself off. He calls me his doll, and I certainly feel like it. I feel like a beloved little doll. When I was little it was my favourite dolls that I would toss around and play with heavily. The same dolls that would get into adventures that got them battered and made their stuffing spill out with wear, were the same lucky dolls that went everywhere with me, had their hair brushed, slept in my bed and were best loved. I feel like one of those dolls right now, and it makes me feel warm and fuzzy.

We didn’t do too much for the rest of the day after our shower. We just hung around and talked. We made sandwiches and master put my plate on the floor as he played on the computer. I didn't touch any of the food this time without his permission and probably won't for a very long time.

Tuesday, June 3, 2008

Give the Dog a Bone

On Saturday night after coming home from drinks, I gave Master a massage. He was drifting in and out of sleep, and after I was finished he called me to him and we cuddled for a bit. Then, he motioned to the pillow and sleeping bag on the floor and told me to go to bed. Neither of us had slept well the previous night, when we were sharing a bed, so from a practical aspect it made sense for me to be on the floor. Even if it hadn't been practical, I would have moved to the floor unquestioningly anyway. He told me to go sleep for a little while, and he'd bring me to the bed later.

So I went to sleep. But I couldn't help drifting in and out of my own sleep, always looking up, wondering if Master would wake up at some point and call me into bed. He didn't. So sighing to myself, I would just put my head back into the pillow and fall asleep again. In the morning, he did call for me, and my heart just leapt. It's already so needy, my desire to be near him. You would never believe my general level independance if you saw how quickly I rushed to him at that moment. It's almost unfathomable to me though, that in so little time, I'd be so starved for him. So full of desire that I couldn't sleep for want of his touch, that I derived excitement from so small a gesture of his summoning.

Sunday, June 1, 2008


I have the body of a twenty-one year old, the mind of a jaded, middle-aged woman, and the sexual ineptitude of a young adolescent; a combination that gives rise to acute states of doubtful crises and made this weekend with Master exceedingly emotional.

On Friday, Master took me to the drive-in but we were early for the movie, so he took me to the parking lot of a grocery store. He parked far enough from other cars but close enough to potential human contact to keep me on edge when he started playing with me. I was wearing my collar and wrist cuffs, a skirt and no underwear. In the car, he pinned me down in various positions, while he played with me and fingered my cunt, continuously but unpredictably alternating from tender to rough. All was well until I slipped up and failed to address him properly when he asked me a question. His response was a series of hard, unfaltering slaps. He has slapped me before—firmly and precisely with his palm at the square of my jaw and his fingers extending towards my temple—however, these slaps were different and far more unnerving. This time his palm hit me higher cheekbone and his fingers whipped across my ear. I don’t know if the change of technique was intentional but the momentum of a swift rush of air bouncing against the eardrum is very painful—a deep, visceral pain that hurts differently from the comparatively superficial pain caused by stimulating the nerve endings in skin. Not only are these kinds of slap physically painful, but because they affect your ear they make you acutely dizzy. Worse than feeling very off balance, however, was the displeasure in Master's voice when he started lecturing me on the respect and obedience he demanded of me. I tried blinking back the tears that were forming in my eyes but they betrayed me and began to spill out.

Master understood immediately, without any verbal explanation, that I wasn’t crying because I was scared or seriously hurt. He recognized that I was crying because I wanted to please him and thought that he was dissapointed in me. He gently told me that he wasn’t upset and that he realized that learning new behaviours, like speaking properly, took time. He explained that these slaps were a correction—an indication of his unhappiness at the behavior—and not of his unhappiness with me. He told me that he enjoys slapping me, but that his motivations are not anger or hatred, rather because it is a demonstration of his ownership of me. An ownership that goes hand in hand with his care for me. He then brushed away the tears from the cheeks and kissed my eyelids before sucking away the tears from my eyes--which I thought was funny and which we ended up laughing about it. It’s such a rollercoaster with him...going from contentment, to uncertainty, to fear, back to smiles and laughter. I think it is the constant shifts in emotion that make this entire experience so rewarding, but similarly so emotionally draining.

So much happened this weekend but I think I need a good night's sleep to let my subconscious mind process the information, before my conscious mind can take over and write about it coherently.

Call it a rush-candle

Master has some non-verbal commands for me based on the number of times he snaps his fingers:

1 snap- Kneel
2 snaps- Stand
3 snaps- Kiss Master's hand
4 snaps- Take Master's cock in my mouth

He made it clear, however, that if there is a situation that involves dancing-induced finger-snapping, more then 5 snaps negates any protocol. :p