For My Master

Moving Journals

2009-05-14T23:12:00.003-04:00

I haven't written here in so long -- so I extend my deepest apologies if I do still have readers. Unfortunately, due to privacy issues, I am moving my journal to a friends only journal at http://www.livejournal.com/.

If you would like to friend me, my username is: thorn_circlet.

Looking back at the entries here, I am thankful for everyone who dropped by and for all of your support and insight. Hopefully, I'll still see some of you over at livejournal. :)

Rising slope

2009-04-06T02:52:00.008-04:00

I didn't believe in love before I met Master; not even the abstract, theoretical, whimsical notion of it.

It's strange because I devour fairytales, and always saw beauty in relationships and companionship and commitment. But I just never believed that romantic love was real -- thinking it was just a gross exaggerration of that soothing comfort of friendship or familial love.

It seems unbelievable to suddenly experience this whole world of feelings I never knew before. It's ridiculous to me, that I used to debate whether this thing existed, when now it's not only obvious, it's persistant and encompassing.

And it amazes me, just amazes me, that it is still growing and growing with no sign of declining, or even plateauing, soon.

Self-Reflection

2009-03-27T03:15:00.006-04:00

I had an inappropriate emotional reaction last weekend. I am really embarrassed about it, but I will reflect on my behavior and explain my thought processes to Master.

The incident occurred while meeting Master’s best friend, X, for the first time. Master and X have been friends from childhood but they haven’t seen each other in a while. X has a wife: Y. We went out for dinner with X and Y, and then we went back to their place.

Y's conversations were centered around domestic life: the baby, family, the house, décor, organizing, cooking, cleaning etc. Whenever she mentioned some domestic task that she needed to attend to, Master would automatically chime and volunteer my services. Although he was joking, his persistent: “she’ll come over and clean for you whenever you want” really started to irritate me.

When Y noted that she hadn’t gone grocery shopping and didn’t have any food in the house, Master volunteered me to go with her to the store and help her pick up what she needed.

This is where I got really frustrated and worked up and my eyes started tearing up like a bratty, little child. Thank goodness no one but Master saw. He was, however, thoroughly perplexed by my reaction.

In retrospect, I know I overreacted, but for sake of explanation here are three reasons why this incident upset me so much:

1. I was annoyed by Master’s offering of my domestic services. My first thoughts jumped how he had 'no right' to do that; to offer me out to others, to reduce me to a maid. I felt devalued, embarrassed.

It took me a few breaths to regain my composure and evaluate the situation. I was upset at the time, but I later realized that I was overreacting. I have trouble obeying orders when they don’t align with my desires. However, I do realize that being an owned woman, means doing what Master wants. It’s easy when his commands are sexual in nature, or if I get gratification from a task; it’s harder when tasks are uncomfortable or inconvenient. However, as a submissive, I should not be allowed to pick and chose what I want to obey. Belonging to him means doing whatever he wants, even if I’m not thrilled about it.

Beyond this, I should be thrilled to serve him and obey him. Master is very good to me, and makes a lot of sacrifices and compromises for me. Even without the D/s dynamic, just within the context of a loving, vanilla relationship, I should be giving back to him with an open heart. I love him and a lot and want to please him, but to do that I must stop being self-centered and think more about serving him.

2. Alongside anger, I was upset by the fact that Master was sending me away from him. Prior to his offer of my assistance, I was sitting by his side. He was chatting to X, I was chatting to Y. I wasn’t interrupting his conversation, or being a nuisance. And yet, despite promises to keep me close that weekend (see previous post) he was very quick to dismiss me. Being in a particularly needy mood, this really upset me.

Later, when I looked at the situation from Y’s and Master’s point of views, I realized once again that I was in the wrong.

Y needed to get a few things from the grocery store. It would have been very rude of us to all stay behind, and let her go by herself. It would have made her feel isolated and, had I been in her shoes, I would have been annoyed. I was in a very selfish mood and wanted to stay close to Master but I should have actually volunteered myself—like a polite, well-mannered girl—instead of being told by Master. I was so focused on my need to cling to Master that my basic etiquette disappeared.

From Master’s perspective, Master and X hadn’t seen each other in a long time. If I had been thinking about Master’s needs, I would have realized that he might want some time to just chat with X. Going out to the store gave them the perfect opportunity to bond, while I bonded with Y. I realize that I should not cling to Master in order to fulfill my own need for attention, and that I should take more time to consider the needs of others.

3. I was frustrated about the concept of the men staying behind, and chatting, and relaxing, and watching sports while the women had to go out—baby in tow!—and do the domestic stuff. Master and X could have insisted that Y should just stay and relax, and that the groceries weren’t important at this very moment. Instead, they seemed perfectly happy with sending us on our way. I hate the idea of being relegated to women’s work. I also got a little freaked out by a hypothetical glimpse at our future: Master reclining on a chair, watching TV…perfectly oblivious to me as I fussed over a baby, and cleaned the house. Ugh. The imagery makes my skin crawl.

Anyway, I got over this one just by talking to Master and hearing him reaffirm his belief system about domestic life, reaffirming that he wants to be an involved husband and father. I have to realize that ordering me to do isolated domestic task does not mean that he will one day trap me in the house and refuse to let me do anything by cook, clean and have his babies.

I have to remember that there is a reason why Master and I get along so well; and it’s because we have similar core beliefs. I have to remember that the reason why I’m still submitting to him, is because I trust him to make good decisions for us and to act in our best interests. And it is in neither of our best interests to relegate me to the world of traditional women’s work and stop me from having a life beyond the home.

***

After we left X and Y’s place, Master asked me why I had gotten upset—asked me if he had said something inconsiderate. While Master’s words made me upset and frustrated, he was not in the wrong. It was me who was being hypersensitive and inconsiderate. I love him for not getting upset at me, for trying to tease out the reasoning behind my reaction, for wanting to make things better.

I love him an awful lot, so much that my heart swells just thinking of him. I am so ready to get back to serving him properly.

Restraint

2009-03-26T00:23:00.010-04:00

He often refers to sex with me as “taking me” or “having me”. Poetry, without euphemism. And I can’t help but love something as subtle as his diction.

***

Last weekend I was emotional, clingy, needy.

On Friday night, after a long week of studying, Master brought me to his place for the weekend.
It was late when we got in and after I had changed into my slip and cuffs and collar, I found him lying in bed, on his stomach, with his eyes closed. Without even looking up, he instructed me to give him a massage. There was nothing unusual about his request, but on that night, he may as well have locked me away in a cupboard. I was crushed by his decision.

I knelt up on the bed and as I glided my hands over the oil-slathered muscles, I chastised myself in my head. I had no right to be so disappointed just because he didn’t feel like hugging, or kissing, or petting me at the moment. I had no right to be disappointed because he wanted to relax and wanted me to serve him.

I kissed his body, and worked my hands down his calves, but when I came to the soles of his feet, I just felt so far away from him and tears welled up in my eyes. I tried to blink them back, so that he wouldn’t see me being so silly or selfish. But even though his head was down, and my back was turned to him, and my tears were silent, he still sensed that something was wrong.

He turned on his side, and called me to sit by him. I looked away, embarrassed by my outburst. He pulled me down onto my back, and climbed on top of me. At first he held me, and I wrapped my arms around him as he kissed my cheeks and eyelids. Then, he put one hand around my neck and with his other hand, slapped me. The blow was not terrible, but it was unexpected, and I cried more.

“I can do what I want with you,” he told me.

“Yes Master,” I squeaked, although I wished—in my heart—for him to stop hurting me.

He attempted to fuck me—which told me a lot about his sexual need at the moment—since he is usually extremely reluctant to have sex when I’m on my period. But between my period, and a lingering yeast infection, I tensed up as he tried to push his cock inside of me.

“Relax your legs,” he said, as he pushed my raised knees down. I tried, but when he pushed himself in again, I howled and clenched all my muscles.

“Relax,” he repeated, his voice now low and growling, “relax your legs now.”

But this was now deep, real, visceral pain and my silent tears became choking, breathy sobs. “It hurts Master, I’m sorry, it hurts so much.”

“I’m going to have you,” he said, “and you'll stop complaining and take it.”

He made a motion to drive his cock into me again, but all of a sudden, as if some unforseen force had jerked him back, he stopped. In the pause, the snarl on his face slowly disappeared and he unclenched his fists and composed himself. “No, I’m not,” he said, “Not when it’s hurting you this badly.”

He went to the bathroom to clean up, leaving me spread out on the bed. When he came back, he scooped me up in his arms.

“I’m so sorry, Master.”

He kissed my forehead. We lay together for a few minutes, before he responded. “I think it would be a good idea for me to be strict with you this weekend; you are stressed and I think it will give you some release.”

In retrospect, I can see how it was a good thought, but at the time, my eyes widened and the reluctance showed in my voice, even though I responded with: “Whatever you want, Master.”

We were both quiet.

“Hmm,” he said, after evaluating the situation. “I have a better idea.” He got up and brought back a short length of white, nylon rope. “I’ll tie you to me; so you’ll never be more than a couple of feet away from me this weekend.”

I smiled and gigled, as he tied the rope to my wrist cuff and then to him.

“Thank you Master,” I said and kissed his hands, before we fell asleep, curled and bound together.

***

There are a few points I want to make, related to the above story:

Later on in the weekend, I felt like my period was lightening up and my vagina was generally feeling better, so asked Master if he would fuck me. He said no—just in case it was still too painful. He explained to me that it took a lot of willpower for him to stop, when he is already inside me. “The testosterone makes me even more aggressive,” he explained, “and it makes me want to just shut you up and show you who’s boss.” I didn’t fully appreciate the amount of willpower it took for him to withdraw when I was in pain, the willpower it took for him to comfort me instead of finding another means of indulging himself. His self-control astounds and awes me—especially since I acted exactly the opposite; giving in to my rampant hormones and emotion.
In retrospect, typing up the above anecdote (up until the painful part) and his little statement about wanting to shut me up and show me who’s boss, really aroused me. I think feeling physically unwell at the time really amplified my negative emotional response. I can’t wait for this studying crunch time to be over and my maladies to resolve, so that I can focus on him and he can focus on using me in whatever way he sees fit. I want him to be strict with me, and put me in my place, and hit me when I’m bad, and hit me even when I’m not, and shut me up when I whine. I want him to objectify me, and use me, and parade me around like a toy. I want him to be the one to make me cry. I want to be on my knees until they ache, wear the nipple clamps in public, dress scandalously, dress and act as his slave publicly, do everything and anything he wants, serve him endlessly. And I know that I will have moments of crankiness, and aversion to pain or humiliation or domestic tasks, but I want him to hold me to me duties and remind me of my place. He is a amazing Master, an incredible man, the love of my life, and he deserves nothing less.

I was sure I had a third point when I started this. I tend to cluster things in threes because I’m anal retentive. Even though, I can’t remember what I was going to say, I'm leaving this completely unnecessary third paragraph here for aesthetic purposes.

Love

2009-03-19T17:51:00.001-04:00

I suspect the next month’s posts will be majorly composed of uninteresting writing. I apologize for anyone who happens to be following this journal; while things are going splendidly with Master, I just don’t have the energy to transcribe it all. One quick point:

He came to visit me at home after I spent the whole day studying. We retreated to my bedroom and I sucked his cock, while trying to block out the chatter of my family downstairs and the fear of somehow being “checked up on”. I know that it’s not ideal that I’m staying at my parent’s house, or that I’m spending my break studying and not with him.

But, after he came, he pulled me up from my knees and kissed me.

“You aren’t taking from me,” he said to me, in reference to my last journal post, “I am giving to you and I’m happy to do it. You don’t have to worry about upsetting me. I love you and am happy with the way things are with us.”

I wrapped my arms around his waist and squeezed him hard. He squeezed me even harder and we swayed back and forth in our tightening grips, until our arm muscles pulsed and gave out.

Points

2009-03-16T02:23:00.004-04:00

Too tired to synthesize full paragraphs:

Home for a week
- preemptive fear of explosive arguements
- surprising twist: parents seem to have accepted the fact that I am an adult
- atmosphere surprisingly normal, relaxed, low stress
- immense sense of relief
- normal, rational convos with parents
- acceptance of Master and my South Africa trip this summer (good, I can start getting excited)
- acceptance, even (dare I say) excitement (?) re: our proposal/marriage timeline
- even greater sense of relief

Random ailments
- Stress, bad night time nausea and stomach pains
- lack of sleep
- general fatigue, feelings of crappiness
- today, also vaginal itching and stinging with peeing
- Master playing with me worsens itching/burning/pain
- On inspection, Master notes bumps, redness, white discharge
- yeast infection
- I am annoyed and cranky

Master
- I am needy and whiny and bratty
- not feeling very submissive at all
- simultaneously feeling guilty
- feel like recently, I've just been taking and taking from him
- realize more and more how amazing Master is to me
- feel even guiltier for being so useless

Time to sleep. Slight fever, exhausted

Paradigm Shift

2009-03-11T15:49:00.003-04:00

Uncertainty makes me uncomfortable. I hate games where the risk of winning or losing is based on chance alone and I can’t do anything to modify the outcome. For me, uncertainty is anxiety.

For a long time I saw my relationship with Master as a source of uncertainty because I did not know how it would fare through hard or busy times.

Now, I realize that this perception is skewed. The sustainability of our relationship is not based on chance alone—and while it may be influenced by external circumstances—its success is predominantly based on the effort invested by both parties. Since we are both committed to each other, I am now realizing that our relationship should not be viewed a source of uncertainty but rather, a source of stability and comfort.

I am constantly surprised—pleasantly surprised—at the dynamic nature of this thing called love.

Healing Touch

2009-03-04T11:45:00.007-05:00

Every touch between us is special and beautiful, but my favourite, is his kiss on my forehead. There is nothing that makes me feel so safe and secure--so completely protected--as this gesture of tenderness.

I also love when he runs a hand down my back to comfort me; it may seem minute, but this small action is immensely soothing to me. One night last weekend, I was thrashing around in bed because I couldn’t sleep. Apparently I was whining and talking nonsense—which I don’t remember. What I do remember, however, is the gentle motion of his hand along my back to calm me down.

There are so many touches between us; the rough touches of play, bear hugs, playful touches and tickles and even headlocks, loving touches of arms wrapped together, palms touching, fingers locked. Beyond the flesh wrapped around flesh, there’s the touch of lips and tongues, and the variant pressures of lying together, over each other. It’s all so wonderful, all so good. But it’s easier to remember and pay tribute the strong and unyielding sensations: the grip of his hands around my wrist and neck, his hand fisted in my hair and fingers gliding over sensitive areas, bringing moans of pleasure. Its easier to take for granted all the other touches that bind me to him.

It’s easier to miss the gentle brush across my cheek, or his arm around my waist, his hand running down my back, his lips upon my forehead. So now, I want to honour all the little touches that I delight in; those little touches, which show that I belong to him in so many ways and contexts and senses.

More Thoughts

2009-02-25T00:42:00.003-05:00

I’m not sure what to focus on in this entry.

I could write about how I had a giant meltdown last weekend and how Master held me and refocused me and brought me sunshine to dry my flood of tears.

I could write about how I push him away under stress, but instead of getting upset with me, he just draws me back into his arms. He reminds me that I belong with him and to him—not with force or threat—but by showing me how wonderful and compassionate he is, which further re-enforces my love for him, my need to be with him, my desire to serve him.

I could write about the way he explained his Mastery over me; gave me the framework of ‘guided inquiry’ to show me that while I am accountable to him, he does not want to remove ounce of my autonomy or hinder my goals or break down my personality. He wants me to serve him, but in a way that works for both of us, so that in the end I’ll always want to serve him and always feel like this was a choice that I freely and happily made.

I could write more about how he called me his soulmate today, and then predictably downplayed it, when I “oohhhed and awwwed”. I could write about all the little ways that we match and come together like pieces in a puzzle. I could mention our shared quirks and fascinations; our shared wonderment for so many of life’s little nuances.

And if I wanted to talk about sex, I could write about how I love when he just nestles into my chest and suckles on my breasts. How, I am surprisingly bad at this no eye-contact rule when I wear my collar—but how I love feeling powerless. I could talk about how much I want him in me all time, but also enjoy the fact that he can deny me pleasure at his whim. It just makes me crave him more.

I could write about how he tied me to his door two weekends ago, and clamped my nipples and flogged me soundly. About how I wish he had an instrument that he could hit me with at his full force so that neither of us feels like he’s holding back, but at the same time doesn’t injure me. I really don’t think I could handle him whipping me at full force with the flogger—and I would pass out at full force with the cane—but I think it would feel oh-so-good to have him really going at it with something that was pushing my limits, but still allowing me to withstand the pain.

I could write about how much we jokingly role-play—like he we once stood in the shower and recreated the kissing scene from The Notebook, or how we pretend that we’re breaking up in public to freak people out, or how we’ll have conversations in different characters at a restaurant just for fun. And I could write how much I like it and how interesting I think it would be to do full-out sexual scenes. Or how greatly aroused I am by the whole prison warden/inmate scenario.

Or, I could write in more depth about how I feel when we’re just sitting on the couch together and we’re on our different computers, doing our own separate thing…and how amazing he is, for enjoying spending even that kind of time with me. I could write about his immense faith for our future, and while I was once worried that it was blind faith—I once feared that his reassurances were not completely genuine or well thought-out—I can now see the strong commitment to working on things together and making both our dreams com true.

And I’m sure there’s even more to to touch upon, but this is my start, held together by one resounding theme: I love you, Master!

Look Down

2009-02-17T19:59:00.003-05:00

I wrote an angst-filled entry here last night but have decided to revoke it. My stress is, in turn, stressing Master and causing him to inadvertently put more pressure on me about getting things done. However, my problem isn’t lack of motivation or procrastination. I do everything I have to do, I just tend to worry about outcomes in the process. But worrying Master in the process of venting has only worsened the situation.

So, let’s forget that. This past weekend was good, as usual. I studied, we went out, we played.

A new rule was made: no eye contact when I’m wearing my collar. I like the concept. These days, I rarely feel helpless when we play since I can easily look into his eyes and plead silently for his mercy. And because he loves me, and fears that he may be really hurting me, he often gives in. This rule is good for our play; it lets him watch and enjoy my expressions while removing any power I had over him, when I inadvertently begged with puppy-dog eyes. I like it. I want to feel helpless again; I trust his judgement and want to give up power to him.

Lust and Greed

2009-02-02T11:35:00.000-05:00

On our way home from a movie on Friday night, Master whispered to me—out of earshot of his friends in the backseat of the car—“black slip, collar and cuffs”. After dropping our passengers off, we entered his apartment and I stripped silently before re-dressing—for the first time, in a long while—as his slave.

I passed my naked arms through the thin straps of the slip he had requested and let the silk glide over my body, until the fabric pulled over my breasts and grazed my upper thigh with its lace trimming. I smoothed the black material flat against my stomach and played with the slit that carved a path of exposed flesh under the material. Then, I fastened the leather cuffs tight around my wrists and ankles and secured a thick black collar around my neck.

I caught my reflection in the mirrored backing of the cabinet where he keeps his books, and I saw myself—not as the put-together woman I try to be—but a small, shy girl. His little pet. My clit began to tingle at the mere notion of it.

I grew suddenly timid when he gestured for me and snapped once. I knelt before him, between his open legs. He didn’t tell me to look away, but feeling coy, I kept turned my eyes down as I waited for instruction. He didn’t speak, but rather, pulled the hair-elastic down my ponytail to loosen the dark strands over my shoulders. His touch was rough, perhaps disapproving, but without seeing his face, I couldn’t be sure. I stole an upwards glance and was relieved to see him smiling. Not a carefree, playful grin—the curve of his lips were far more subtle—but there was still a glimmer in his eyes. And that, along with the bulge that grew between his legs and pressed into my chest, was enough to convince me that he was pleased. My clit began to throb.

He snapped his fingers twice and I stood up at the command. He got up too, and I followed him to where the toys were kept, watched him pull out the butt plug and lubricant. He gestured to the bed.

I placed my hands and face on the mattress, but kept my bottom raised. The silk slithered down my back and exposed my ass to him. He ran a palm over the cheeks, then his finger along the crack.

“Spread your cheeks with your hands and hold them open” he commanded.

I shifted my weight, and leaned into the bed with my chest, pressing the side of my face into the sheets to stabilize myself as I moved my hands to my backside and pried open my asscheeks for him. I could hear him squirting the lubricant out of the tube, coating the plug.

I felt the silicone press into me slowly, until it was sitting comfortably inside. Then, he pressed the base of the plug, plunging it in deeper than was comfortable, and driving a sharp jolt into my abdomen. He pulled the plug out slowly, before he twisted it deep into me. I moaned. Not in agony, but in delight, as warmth spread inside my cunt and waves of moisture coated my insides. He pushed me onto the mattress and flipped me over so that I could see him as he stood over me at the edge of the bed.

I watched him take his pants off. I watched the material fall away, to expose his sturdy legs, the dimple where his thigh met his ass, the shadows across his hip bones. I watched his underwear peel away to expose the smooth, round head of his cock, and the beautifully engorged shaft whose central vein was throbbing to the same rhythm as my little clit.

“Sit up,” he demanded, and I did, forcing the butt plug erect inside me. He moved toward me. “Play with me, slave.”

I reached out longingly and cupped his hardened balls in my hands, caressing them between my rotating fingers, making the outer skin of the scrotum glide over the firm testes inside. Cocooning his balls with one hand, I brushed my other hand—lightly, breathlessly—from the base of his cock, up along the shaft, finally tickling the head with my fingers. Then I wrapped my fingers around his shaft, and slid my hand down, up, around the head. My thumb and fingers massaged, flickered, tensed, eased, stroked. I lowered my mouth over the crown of his cock’s smooth head, my tongue varying it's pressure as I sucked, and then moving in hard, sharp flicks across its lines and curves and gentle indentations. I didn’t look up at him, I sucked greedily, while one hand trickled its fingers along his balls and the other milked his shaft. I could feel his length, ever-growing, the rushing blood beating like a second heart in my hands.

Finally, he took my hair, and pulled my mouth away. He pushed me back, so that I was flat against the bed. With one of his hands digging into my hip and the fingers of his other hand hooked inside my cunt, he dragged me into the center of the bed. There, he straddled me, raised my arms over my head and clipped my wrist cuffs together.

He moved his hands down my body: pausing at the place when my collarbones met underneath the collar, the mounds of my breasts, my nipples, my waist, my hips. Then, he reached between my legs to part the silk and expose my cunt. Fluid pooled inside me. My cunt was weeping; begging to be used.

I wanted him inside of me so badly. I wanted to raise my hips toward him, to plead for him to touch my clit, to enter me, to pound me like the dirty, little whore that I was. But I knew that he would probably punish me for begging without permission, so I lay still as he smirked at me, holding his cock in his hands.

Finally, he turned my head so that my chin touched my shoulder and I could no longer stare at him. He moved over me and brought his cock into me. As he pounded into me, he wriggled his hands under my bum and moved his fingers to synchronously drill the butt plug into me with his every thrust. I closed my eyes and relished in the pressure building in so many places—the mattress against my back, his solid body over mine, the leather encircling my wrists, and ankles and neck. I squeezed my eyes shut and became overwhelmed by the sensation of pulsing from every direction—his cock in my cunt, the butt plug in my ass, the oscillating pressure of his hips against mine, the thud of our chests together, the heaving gasps of air moving in and out of our lungs.

I wanted so badly to move under him, to rotate my hips, to rub my clit vigorously against his body. I was getting wetter and wetter, spiraling into a dizzy wave of sensation. I wanted to complete it with his friction over my clit, with the eruption of an orgasm. But I restrained my need and wondered what he must be feeling.

I wondered if he, even though he was not the one subjected to this wide array of stimulation, of fullness from within and weight in all directions, if he was feeling the same joy and exhilaration as I was. I wondered if he was experiencing the same arousal from using me, that I was feeling from being used by him.

I wanted to move, to take more, to force more pleasure for myself. But I lay still and let him fuck me with his cock, as his hands alternated from fucking my ass with the plug, to jerking my hair back, to squeezing his fingers into my breasts, and pushing down into my nipples.

I wanted relief from the building pressure— the beautiful, wonderful but overwhelming pressure. I wanted to relieve all the agonizing tension growing within, to move, to take control, to search for an orgasm, to actively create that final release. But instead, I stayed still and hoped that he was enjoying himself as much I was, that he was finding pleasure from my body, my obedience, my restrained need.

I willed myself still and despite the tormenting waves of physical pleasure, I found relief and delight and a calm, steady pleasure from the acceptance of being motionless underneath his body; from being helpless, used, controlled. Owned.

Thoughts

2009-01-27T00:12:00.002-05:00

I love him. I love that he loves me. I love that his love for me deters him from wanting to hurt me.

For this reason, I'm afraid to admit to him that I sometimes want him to hurt me, that I want him to still be firm with me, to have expectations of me, to punish me if I slip up. I am afraid to tell him that I welcome discipline, sometimes crave it. I am afraid to admit it, because I think that if he does start hurting me, if he starts wanting to hurt or punish me, it will be the marker that he no longer loves me in the same way he does now. I want him to to use me, to keep me in my place...but at the same time, I don't want to lose this sense of love.

Recently, I have been pushing boundaries. Sometimes he'll tell me to do something, and I'll whine or take a long time to do it. I'll move under him when he's fucking me, and even when he commands me to be still, I don't restrain my need. At times, I ask to go to the bathroom and I just assume the answer will be yes, and start to go before he gives me his reply. Sometimes he'll gesture for me to kneel, but I won't feel like it, so if he isn't really paying attention I'll just sit on the ground. They are little things. I am afraid to admit them because I don't want him to think that I am acting out because I desire constant strictness, or rituals, or seriousness.

I don't want high protocols; I like what we have, I like that we can talk and laugh and play. I like his flexibility. But overall, I do want him to keep me in line. I don't want to forget my boundaries. I don't want lines of basic respect to be lost. I think we work very well in our dynamic and I'd like to maintain that. I don't want him to let me get away so much with little things, that it turns into me not feeling very submissive to him, or him not feeling in control of me.

I think the challenge, however, is that although I want to preserve the dynamic, although I want him to challenge me and demand things from me, I still want to feel treasured. I still want his compassion, and most of all, I never want him to stop loving me the way he does now.

Pain

2009-01-18T21:58:00.002-05:00

Kneeling on the middle of my bed, I watched him untie the bow that held together the white curtains of the canopy. I offered him my hands, and he bound them together in the red and gold organza ribbon, before pushing my back against the mattress and attaching my wrists to the footpost of the bed. He threw a sweater over my eyes, and stepped off the mattress. I could hear him rummaging through drawers and bags, so turned my head toward the noise and the sweater slipped away from my eyes. When he climbed onto the bed again, he made a sound of disaproval when he saw my half-exposed face, but pulled the sweater away entirely.

My eyes were now free to watch him straddle me with a sly grin on his face and a belt in his hand. He drew the purple fabric of my dress up around my waist and began to stroke my clit with his free fingers. At first, slow, winding movements. Then quick, sharp flicks. Then, his thumb found itself inside me, and rotated within me, as his other fingers teased the outer areas of my cunt. He leaned over me, then into me, and his lips met, then swallowed mine. His lips traced my lips, the angle of my jaw, my chin, my neck.

And then, he pulled his body away, and with his folded belt in hand, made a motion toward my cunt. I closed my legs instinctively, but he inserted his hands between my thighs them and forced them open. He sat on the inside of my right leg, pinning it against the mattress, and pressed his weight against my left leg, which was bent at the knee, with my foot firmly planted in the bed. Then, after regaining his balance, he commanded the belt to bend, and brought it down against my mons pubis with a sharp snap. He repeated the motion but changed the target; the next snap tore across those nether lips, then the inside of my thighs, the lips again, the mons.

He pulled my breasts out from over the neckline of my dress, and smacked the nipples with the belt. I watched it snap up, fall back down. The pain was slightly delayed, inconsistent with the actual fall of each stroke; stinging only after the belt has lifted it's tongue from my skin. The first stroke would hurt mildly, but everytime he repeated a slash over the same tender flesh, my skin burned and I moaned.

He alternated hitting me, and kissing me, and rubbing my clit. And although I whined everytime that belt broke it's momentum against me, I grew wetter and wetter and wished for another lash. And each time my wish was granted, I resented it immediately and wished for a kiss instead. But when the sting wore off, and was replaced with the throbbing in my clit, I begged, in my head, for another stroke.

A strange cycle indeed. I'm not much of a masochist, but somehow, I like the idea of being challenged by him; of him knowing that he is hurting me but forcing me to take more just for him.

A Natural History of Love

2009-01-12T02:12:00.000-05:00

Last week, he asked me when I starting waiting for him to say “I love you”— an indirect way of asking me when I started loving him. I couldn’t answer because I couldn’t pinpoint a date or time. It happened gradually, with the very definition and understanding of my love changing as our relationship progressed. Even if I had could discern the exact moment, I would have considered playing dumb to save myself from admitting that I had fallen for him long before he had for me.

He admits to being more stressed out about this term, even though the distance and the routine are exactly the same. The only difference is that now he’s exposed his vulnerability, allowed himself to admit to feelings that may have been lurking under the surface; he’s allowed this relationship to mean more to him. I’m so much calmer now because he feels this way. Now, I feel like we’re really in this together and I’m not the only one trying to hold to on.

***

He first said those three words over the Christmas holidays. A Wednesday night. We went to the basketball game, and when we got back home, we chatted in bed before we fell asleep.

“So,” he asked me at length, “what do the little hearts at the end of your notes mean?”

I had in recent weeks, taken to signing emails and notes with a heart beside my name.

I knew then what he was getting to and I didn’t want to make it so easy for him. I thought I had felt this way for him for a while now and I didn’t want to offer that admission.

“They mean ‘fuck you Master’," I teased.

We laughed and the subject shifted. At length he paused.

“Girl…” he started before trailing off.

“Yes Master?”

“Never mind, I was going to tell you something but…”

“Oh Master! Please tell me!”

Somehow my begging, and his resistance, turned into a tickle fight, which turned into wrestling, then into his hands tugging down the thin, black straps of the silk slip clinging to body. Somehow, my pleas to hear his secret turned into his parted lips making silent words along the curves of breasts and over my nipples. Somehow, my appeals to him turned into his hands grasped around my wrists, pinning my hands over my head. Somehow, his cock found its way inside me and pulsated inside as he thrust his hips against mine and pounded hard into my body. When pulled my hair back and asked me: “Who owns this girl?”, I suspected as I responded: “You do, Master”, that if he said those long-awaited words tonight, he would reserve them for the height of passion. He would rely on the testosterone and the aggression of sex to drive the words out of him, to compensate for the potential vulnerability he might otherwise reveal.

I was partially right but he was much gentler that I expected.

He moved his arms around me—freeing mine, so that I could wrap them around his back. It was as he slowed his cock into long, gentle dips into me, and changed the pattern of his kisses into softer brushes, that he whispered:

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” I blurted out, without hesitation or deliberation. I had been anticipating his words, so I had no reason to reflect before giving my response.

We squeezed each other tightly, and as he came, he pressed his rough cheek into mine and his heavy breaths into my neck.

***

Having never been in love before, I wasn’t sure what it would feel like and if it would be as crazy or grand as the centuries of art and texts and film and song have suggested. It turned out not to be crazy and it started out far more subtley than I had expected; starting with a gradual buildup that required initial pushing before steadily gaining its own momentum, then tumbling so quickly that I was forced, by its velocity, to roll along.

When I started falling for him, there was nothing I wanted more in the world than to know if he was feeling these same things for me. I wanted to know if I was becoming to him—as he was for me—not just an important person, but something almost vital. Something that, when removed even for a few days, made life feel a little off. I wanted so much for him to feel everything I was feeling, to verify my ideas, to confirm my suspicions. I was glad that he decided to.

So after sex that night, he spoke and I listened intently. I have this journal to vent and analyze but there is little opportunity for me to hear his thought-processes, his deep reflections. He told me of many sweet reasons for his words of love, but in passing he also said something along the lines of: “I really didn’t think this would work out, that you were ready or mature enough, but I’m glad it did.”

And because it was a night of emotional outpour, of courage on his end, I did not press him on this little phrase although it bothered me greatly.

***

The next evening, after going we went out with his friends, we resumed our nighttime chatter as we settled into bed.

“Master,” I asked him, “What did you mean yesterday when you told me about all the doubts you had about us?”

I phrased it like a question, as if I was welcoming discussion and open, honest answers. But I wasn't. I was holding an interview—I wanted him to give the job—but I needed him to mention all the keywords so that I could justify giving him the position.

I was hurt by what he had said the previous day and I wanted a satisfying explanation. I was hurt by the previous day's statements because I had invested a lot of myself early in the relationship; I had given him my submission almost instantly, my virginity relatively easily. I had invested time and emotion into the idea of him, even though I knew from the start that it would be full of the strain of long distance. I took these risks because he had been taken great interest in me, he had reassured me, he had somehow convinced me that everything would be fine.

Only on that night of I loves you, did he finally tell me how unsure he really had been; about all of his doubts; about conversations he had with his friends about me, about us. He waited until this night, to tell me that he didn’t think it work and his words--although open and honest--made me feel so violated, so cheated. I felt that if he had been as openly wary as I was, I might not have taken so many risks. I felt like if he had shared his thoughts with me earlier, I might not have opened myself up so quickly to potential heartbreak.

I felt like it was by pure happenstance that it did end up working out for the best, and not because of core compatibility, not out of a true desire to make things work. It frustrated me that he thought me to be immature, when from the beginning I had told him about my age, my sexual inexperience and it was he, who convinced me that this would not be a problem. It was he that promised that if there was potential between us, he would guide me through the inexperience and take care of me. And while he has done all those things, hearing his doubts, made me believe that there were times when he really didn’t see long-term potential and that he was willing to risk my feelings, my involvement, my time, my commitment, everything, on something that he wasn’t sure could ever have meaning.

In retrospect, I don’t think that’s what he meant when he expressed all his hidden doubts on that Wednesday night, alongside of I love yous. But at the time, this is how I interpreted his words. It was hard for me to hear that he—my Master—who appeared to be ever stoic and certain, who had convinced me to let my guard down and act in ways that were sometimes counterintuitive to my own logic, was perhaps more uncertain than I had ever been.

So that Thursday night, when I asked him for clarification of his words, I wanted him to say that he had his doubts because every new relationship involves large doses of healthy skepticism as a mechanism for self-protection. I wanted him to tell me that even though he was scared, he had always wanted it to work out, because he had liked me from the beginning and started to care deeply for me early on. I wanted him to tell me that despite the uncertainty, he at least had a hunch, a feeling, that this would be special and not that I was just some experiment that happened—by chance alone—to work out.

However, his answers to my questions that night didn’t alleviate any of my fears. Instead, he just ended up telling me about more of his doubts, about the conversations he had to others about me, that he probably should have had with me instead.

Upset, I wriggled away from him as he was talking. He kept trying to hold me and asking me to stop being upset, but I couldn’t put together all my muddled thoughts and I kept fighting him. I wanted him to keep trying to hold me, to suddenly understand why I was so upset and tell me everything I needed to hear. But as intuitive as he generally is, as well as he has come to know me, my silent demands were unreasonable and impossible.

We said our goodnights and we went to sleep, still touching but not curled together, not with the sound of his heartbeat in my right ear.

***

Our morning rituals were the same as they had been for the preceding days of the work-week. We cuddled as the morning light crept into the room during the twenty minutes before Master had to get up. Then, Master got up before his alarm went off and tucked the blankets around me before heading to bathroom to get ready. After dressing and packing his bag for work, he peeled away the blankets and prodded me to wake up. Then, when I had stretched and sat up, he gestured for me to kneel high on the bed, as he stood by the edge—so that we could speak to each other almost at eye level.

He told me that he would be late coming home from work today, and he ran his hands through my knotty hair and kissed me. I smiled and wished him a good day at work. It's hard for me to stay angry for a long time, and here, sleep had dissolved most of the uneasy feelings while his tenderness and patience dissolved the remainder.

“I’m glad to see your smiling and happy again, girl,” he told me as he was leaving. “I didn’t like those crocodile tears from last night.”

But those words fuelled my resentment. Last night’s tears were by no means false in any way and I hated that he dismissed them as such. That night had probably been the single most frustrating night I have ever spent with him—where I wanted more than anything to be loved by him, to bask in the happiness that being in love could mean, but simultaneously antagonized by the perception that he had once played with me so carelessly, and the fear that he would continue to do so.

But I didn’t want to cause a fuss before work and ruin his entire day, so I kissed him and waved goodbye as he walked through the door.

***

The day was long.

I was trapped in the house by my own misery, which grew conveniently alongside the perfect scapegoat of a snowstorm. The friends I was supposed to see cancelled plans due to the inclement weather, so I stayed inside all day. I felt agitated but with no means to expend my energy other than formulating my reasons for being upset. And when I had thought of all the things I wanted to say to Master, I just wanted him to come home so that we could talk, so that I could get it out of my system and get back to the happy place we should be in now.

Even with his forewarning that he would be late, waiting for him to come home—a usually manageable task—became excruciating.

Then, when he called me and told me to come downstairs, that we were going out, I frustrated that our talk would be postponed. But I figured there was no point in sulking, so I got ready and met him. He had friends in the car, so I put on a smile and made small talk and tried to not let on that I was feeling down.

The minute they were gone though, Master immediately recognized that something was wrong, but when he told me we were going to his parent’s house for a little bit, to avoid negative feelings before the visit, I simply blamed my listlessness on the storm.

I think I was able to put on a good show at his parent’s house. They had guests over that night, so we all chatted. But Master saw an underlying sadness in my eyes and asked me if I was okay, every time there was a free moment.

We left late that night, and the roads were still unploughed and piled high with thick, gray snow. We drove in silence for a while, as I looked out of the window, watching the fog make dim halos of light around the street lights.

“You seem sad,” he said.

I shrugged.

“Are you tired?” he asked.

"No," I said flatly.

“Are you starting your period?”

"No."

“Did I say something stupid tonight?”

"No."

A pause.

“Should I stop asking right now?”

I nodded.

The drive continued but we did not hold hands as we usually do, since he rightfully needed both his hands on the wheel to navigate the slippery, snow-saturated path.

At a red light, he took my hand and looked at me.

“Are we okay?" He squeezed my hand. "Because this doesn’t feel okay.” There was a plea in his eyes--deeper, more powerful than his words and glazed by a film of tears.

He had said I love you two nights ago, and instead of being elated, I had for the last few days been bogged down with analysis. I should have been happy that he had finally exposed himself to me but I was worried that despite three words he hadn’t really let down his guard at all. I was worried that even after those three words, he still would still hide himself from me in the way that he had before: that he would not trust me enough to tell me his thoughts, and discuss with me his fears.

It was that look, however, that silent appeal that begged for everything be okay, for us to go back to being happy, for me to love him back, that pushed me to talk.

I told him how much it was hurting me to learn that while I was increasingly giving myself up to him, as he reassuring me and encouraging my vulnerablity to him, he had been maintaining his own walls, refusing to budge, refusing to let me in, refusing to share with me. I told him that I wanted him so badly to trust me, to be able to tell me things, for us to be able to make decisions together.

He explained his side a little more: his difficulty in opening up, the necessity for this relationship to have developed slowly in order for him to understand these feelings, and the promise that he was now ready to share more of himself with me.

I sobbed all through the ride...even after he had said all the words I needed to hear and we told each other that we were okay.

“Why are you still crying?” he asked me after time had elapsed and tears were still streaming down my cheeks.

Through staccato breaths, I managed to answer, “I don’t know anymore Master, I’m happy now, but it won’t stop.”

“I think” he said to me, as we pulled into his parking spot, “That you are crying for me, all the tears that I can’t shed.”

I turned to him with a smile. There was still a film of water in his eyes, and I was joyous to see it, for the unformed tears was the token of emotion, of affection, that I had been searching for. He is often steely and composed and calm, but that hint of emotion peeking from the surface gave credence to his words, convinced me that we could indeed be feeling the same feelings for each other.

It was that night, when he told me how much I had come to mean to him and I could see in his eyes and hear in his voice, what he actually meant by the I love you, that I finally let myself feel happy. Happy, and relieved, and comforted, and blessed that I had found him. So happy that I had found this wonderful man, and that he did want me just as much as I wanted him.

That night, I realized that all of the affection and need I had felt prior to this night may not have been love. Or perhaps it was the early stages of love, growing in its preliminary form. I realized that while I had started falling for him a long time ago, the feeling that I had called love was amorphous and ever changing. It didn't matter though, labels were trivial at that point. All that mattered was that on that night, my feelings for him—that baby love, budding inside me—blossomed into a thousand glorious flowers.

***

Three weeks has passed—how the time flies! Here we are settling into a new routine, or rather, the same routine...but infused with different meaning. Here we are, both nervous in our own ways because we have admitted to ourselves, and each other, and inadvertently to the world, the seriousness of this relationship and all that we hope it becomes.

Fear still exists because we are both pragmatic enough to realize that nothing in life is certain. We are both frightened because we fear that poor circumstances or newly discovered personality flaws will challenge our compatibility, our willingness to be together. However, I think we also both realize that this is a worry that all couples must face when starting a journey together.

I feel ecstatic though because I really do feel like we are journeying together. I feel better knowing how he feels and to know that it is reflected in how I feel. I makes me feel so good, so happy, to have him in my life.

Insomnia

2009-01-06T04:35:00.000-05:00

On New Year's Eve, we hung out at my parent's house but by dinner time, I was getting inexplicably drowsy and cranky. As a result, I was short with my parents and my brothers. Because they are used to my antics, no one protested, but as he led me into the kitchen, Master squeezed my arm. "Behave yourself," he told me softly.

Initially, I was annoyed. I was tired, this was my family and if no one else had noticed, who was he to tell me I was being too snippy? I made a snarky comment, and he subtly gripped my arm, and raised his eyebrow and told me to behave again. Then, he put his arm around me and kissed my head, and lead me to the table. Something about the mixture of his command and that gentleness, that understanding, woke me up a little and made me feel ashamed of my behaviour.

I didn't want to be cranky, and hurt other people's feelings. I didn't want to be annoying. I just wanted everyone to be happy. I also appreciated that Master also wanted to keep things that way. So, at his prompting, I livened up a bit and tried to behave.

One of my biggest fears about our relationship is that I am entering a new career, where the next few years will be busy, sleepless, and emotionally exhausting. I am worried that despite my love for him, stress will spur me to be selfish and needy, and I don't want to drain him him with my emotional fatigue.

I can only hope that Master will continue to be patient with me, and be a calming force in my life. I hope that he will continue to remind me when I am being illogical and silly and stepping out of line. I need him to support me, to not ask me for the impossible, but simply to remind me to behave and be a good girl, so that we don't have to waste life being unecassarily upset or distraught. So that we can continue to enjoy being together in the way that we do now.

New Year

2009-01-02T14:01:00.001-05:00

Since I customarily write to relieve myself of vexation and anguish, it is difficult for me to share happy moments in text. I fear that every translation of a pretty memory to written word will diminish its magnitude, its power, its hold over my heart. I am afraid that sharing my happiness will somehow dilute it—when all I want is for it to rumble within me, to thunder beneath my skin, to underlie the excitement in my smile and the sparkle in my eyes. I don’t want to write down every detail for my records, because I don't want to risk letting any of these feelings escape. I don't want my only memories to be on paper, I'm desperate to keep them bottled within.

I will write more in the new year, both out of necessity and at Master's request, but for now I am truly enjoying everything for what it is.

Daisies

2008-12-23T03:56:00.000-05:00

He loves me!

Wrench

2008-12-04T21:06:00.000-05:00

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!

2008-12-03T22:10:00.001-05:00

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

2008-11-27T05:00:00.000-05:00

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

2008-11-25T22:39:00.001-05:00

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

2008-11-24T03:55:00.000-05:00

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

2008-11-23T23:02:00.001-05:00

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

2008-11-22T23:41:00.002-05:00

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

2008-11-20T00:18:00.000-05:00

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

2008-11-19T00:00:00.000-05:00

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

2008-11-11T01:04:00.000-05:00

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

2008-11-10T19:01:00.001-05:00

“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

2008-11-06T00:58:00.000-05:00

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

2008-11-04T23:33:00.000-05:00

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

2008-10-25T17:48:00.000-04:00

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

2008-10-21T02:28:00.000-04:00

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

2008-10-16T02:20:00.000-04:00

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

2008-10-08T17:24:00.000-04:00

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

2008-10-07T01:46:00.000-04:00

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

2008-09-25T02:32:00.000-04:00

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

2008-09-22T22:43:00.000-04:00

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

2008-09-17T01:16:00.000-04:00

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

2008-09-15T13:02:00.000-04:00

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

2008-09-13T15:23:00.000-04:00

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

2008-09-07T05:07:00.000-04:00

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

2008-08-31T21:51:00.000-04:00

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

2008-08-19T06:28:00.000-04:00

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.

Clicking my Heels

2008-08-14T18:33:00.000-04:00

After a long period of limited communication with Master, I had the opportunity to speak with him last night; a massive relief!

While he has been giving me assignments, there has been virtually no opportunity for feedback upon completion of the tasks, making me exceedingly anxious, since my foremost concern is to know if he is satisfied and happy with his little girl’s efforts. It has been wildly lonely to not know what he is thinking.

The best I’ve been doing to feel close to him is reviewing the past—replaying moments together in my head, re-reading texts and emails from him— and thinking of the future. However, these thoughts have all been tainted by the uncertainty of his current feelings. I would hope that he hadn’t forgotten me, that he was happy with me, and still wanted to be with me as much as I wanted to be with him.

So, when we finally spoke, I was predictably very emotional when he told me of how much thought of me over his trip, told me that I had been a good girl (for the most part) and that he was happy with his slave.

Despite my joy, however, I managed to let my sleep-deprivation and emotionally-straining workdays get to me; when he gave me a new task, instead of accepting it readily, I resisted, questioned him, and asked him to postpone the tasks. He told me that I was pushing my luck—which I acknowledged but without desisting—and we warned me that if I was with him, he would by punishing me severely. In the moment where he began to express his disapproval, I already began to regret my words. I had pined for so long for Master’s approbation, to hear pretty words and to feel a happy connection with him, and now this: after finally getting to talk to him, I was upsetting him!

However, before I could try to explain myself, he told me that in light of everything that was going on, he would chalk up my insolence to my not having slept in a few days and sadness from not being with him, and thus would forgive my bad behaviour. I was overcome by his understanding and kept apologizing for my silliness. He told me there was no need to; all was well, he wasn’t mad at me and that instead of worrying, I should go to bed, rest, and feel happy. After I thanked him and was about to leave, he told me to “stop crying... you are more mine since you left than when you were here.”

He’s right.

I feel so wanted right now and even though it is hard to be apart for a few more weeks I do feel re-connected with him, and thus, immensely happy.

Pathetic Fallacy

2008-08-09T07:30:00.000-04:00

Limbs tangled among bedsheets, I laid in the vapid light. With half-open eyes, I watched the shadows of raindrops paint an animated mural across the cold, white walls. Between the crashing of droplets on the window’s glass panels, my phone rang and I brushed my hand across mechanically the nightstand to pick it up.

A message from Master read: "Where is my picture of my doll wearing her sign?" I sighed and curled into a ball under the sheets, pressing my phone under my chin in contemplation. I had procrastinated in completing his assignment for the past week, with plenty of self-justification: post-work fatigue, inclement weather, social obligations, inappropriate timing.

However, I knew I had to finally do it or risk Master's displeasure. After a moment of begging my headache to leave me, I kicked the covers off. I got up, and grew dizzy from the sudden movement but instead of pressing my cheek back against the down-filled pillow, I rose, washed up, and dressed. Once attired in a black skirt and stockings, I put Master's ownership tag on my collar and wrapped the leather around my neck. Then I donned the handmade sign with Master's message on it. As if by omen, the sky cleared once I had made myself presentable, and although my window was streaked with water, it no longer vibrated with the angry drumming of raindrops.

I didn't have an umbrella--its backbone was snapped by a windstorm earlier in the week--so I ventured into the murky gray of the between-storm calmness and walked to the high street. Master gave me specific instructions for his photo: I was to wear a dress, wear a sign with his message on it, have someone else take the photo, have evidence in the photo that I was in a public place where other people could see the sign.

The rain had herded most sensible people inside, so I walked for quite some time before I finally happened upon a road sprinkled with people moving between the convenience stores and tiny bars tucked between residential apartments. I stopped a young woman and asked her to take a photo, explaining my assignment as a friendly dare. She tried her best, but the wind pushed my hair into my face and the sign flapped around so that the paper curled and obscured the writing, but because she appeared harried--she too lacked an umbrella--I didn't ask her to try again.

I moved on. After a few poor attempts at a photo, the sky darkened from a slate gray to charcoal—a minute difference, but enough to change the ambiance and foreshadow a new surge in the storm. Growing desperate, I resorted to asking a scruffy pre-teenage boy to take a photo, praying that he wouldn't instead take my camera and maybe try to snatch my purse. He did a most reasonable job though, and although there was no clear evidence of passers-by in the photo, I knew that I would do no better when the rain began; so I thanked him, shoved my camera into my purse, and turned on my heel towards home.

There was no gradual build-up in the storm that proceeded. The clouds were torn apart by angry hands and from their seams fell, not droplets, but spears of sharp rain that slashed my face and stung my cheeks and lips. In minutes, my clothes were clinging to my body and my hair clawing at my face. Despite the gusts of wind that rushed at me, my clothes were too heavy with water to move with its force, and so the furious torrents sheathed my wet body with cold, until I was trembling and my knees were knocking each other.

The roads here are winding and difficult to differentiate even on a clear afternoon, but behind sheets of rain, the quaint and already camouflaged street signs completely disappeared. I slipped along the cobblestone, wishing for any semblance of the familiar. When the thunder began to boom, all the frustration that had been building swelled into my throat and forced tears out of my eyes. They mingled with the rain and rolled down the edges of my cheeks and chin.

I realized that the paper sign was still pressed into my chest, the ink dribbling down the paper. Suddenly, feeling cold and angry and deserted, I pulled it off my chest, flung the wad of paper upon the ground and smashed it with an angry stomp.

I walked on, fuelled by sudden rage. I contemplated searching for refuge and waiting for a reprieve from the rain's angry lashings, but I knew that cold and wet as I was, it was too late for any shelter to do me any good. I walked for forty minutes, with only my anger to both warm and motivate me.

When I got into my apartment, a friend was waiting by my door, looking for me. We had cancelled our day plans because of the intensity of the rain, so she furrowed her eyebrows at me when I stopped at the doorframe, and water pooled around my feet.

“What possessed you to brave that mess?” she asked incredulously, as she watched my numb fingers fumble with the key in the door.

I shrugged and as my shoulders dropped, the anger I had been carrying melted away. “I had some errands I remembered I had to do.”

“And they were so important, they couldn’t wait until tomorrow?” She was staring at me, confused by my erratic behavior, but sensing that I didn’t want to elaborate.

“No, I guess not,” I replied.

She left me to get warmed up and changed. I peeled off my clothes but despite the moisture of wet leather and cold metal against my throat, I did not remove my collar. I was so sad; I was doing a task for Master and yet, instead of feeling closer to him, it had served to amplify my loneliness. I was not angry anymore; I knew it was irrational to be angry. After all, Master had not asked me to go and shiver in the rain. However, I was sad because I had done it anyway, out of desire for his approval, but despite it all, I was at that moment, alone. Forgotten, unacknowledged, invisible. I slithered between the covers, curled up to warm myself and closed my eyes. When I opened them, the pillow was wetter than my clothes had been.

Ulcerated Tongue

2008-07-30T17:30:00.001-04:00

I am over-tired. Haven't slept in over 24 hours now, but past the point of exhaustion and just want to stay in this dazed lull.

Anyway, the other day, I accidentally bit my tongue. For whatever faults I have with coordination, I can usually eat normally. However, this bite was so unexpectedly hard and sharp that it punctured my tongue, to the point where it has been throbbing constantly.

Growing up, my Mummy would always tell us a silly superstition that if you bite your tongue accidentally, someone is thinking of you. I feel like Master is thinking about me, inflicting pain on me, from so far away. I told him this and he sent me a text:

"It is me thinking of you and violating my property every moment that I am not busy. I own you and your body slave. :)"

Cuteness.

Triste

2008-07-28T16:33:00.000-04:00

I have been having an amazing trip packed with lots of fun adventures but I miss Master so much that it makes my chest ache, and my stomach clench in the same way that I feel at the beginning of the drop on a large rollercoaster. These feelings are so foreign to me; moreso than of the places I am visiting, or the new people I am meeting. It's so frustrating to know I will not see him for another 5 weeks. :(

Leaving on a jet plane

2008-07-13T08:02:00.001-04:00

I am leaving the country tonight and still scrambling to pack and sort out my documents. I have no clue where I am living in August. I have a general itinerary for this trip, but I'm unclear on the specifics of what we're actually doing or even who is showing up to travel with me. Plans keep changing. Usually I'd be in a frenzy, but for some reason, I am not panicked by this chaos. I'm just going to show up in Europe and take things as they come.

I've been using this week to see people, especially friends that I won't otherwise see until Christmas. Those who I haven't seen in a long time tell me that I look so happy and relaxed these days. That's nice to hear; I am often happy but I never feel relaxed, let alone look it.

It's all because life is flowing perfectly right now.

It's a good feeling to know that I am owned woman, a collared slave. Of course, I'm a bit nervous about coming back, forgetting my training, slipping up, struggling to get back into the sub-mindset...but to tell you the truth, even though I think I'm going to need some reminders and discipline, I don't think anything can make me forget that I am Master's slave.

Sweet Sorrow

2008-07-06T18:12:00.000-04:00

I spent yesterday with Master and we had great fun-- it was the type of day that would have me smiling for a week as I eagerly waited for the upcoming weekend to roll around. Unfortunately, there will be no "next weekend" to anticipate, as Master and I will be apart for the next two months. So, at the end of the day, smiles were replaced by tears as we said our goodbyes.

The day started as usual for us. I couldn't sleep over, so Master told me to get to his place early. When I got there at quarter to nine, he was still in bed, but he allowed me to climb in so that he could hold me. We started his day with the usual morning blow-job, then he had me kneel outside the bathroom as he got ready.

We spent the morning running errands. The first one involved cleaning out his car--which may not sound all that exciting--but was surprisingly amusing. I'm beginning to realize how good company can make humdrum activities bearable, if not fun. It's also surprising how much public humiliation Master can throw into these little tasks. When I was bent over, picking up loose change from the floor of the car, Master would lift my skirt--and I'm not allowed to wear underwear--and would smack me. It's also very surprising how people, standing a mere few metres away in the parking lot, did not even notice. Master also couldn't resist trying out the high-power suction of the car vacuum on my breasts, though he was dissapointmented that it failed to leave a bruise.

After errands, we went back to his place and lay in bed and watched some tv. When it came time for lunch, we went out to eat. He had a late breakfast, and ordered me some toast and water--a prisoner's meal he joked--but what a lucky prisoner I am! He tried to put some ice into my cunt when no one was looking, but since it seemed a little conspicuous for him to be hovering around me, he made me do it. We had a pleasant lunch, talking, analyzing our respective psychopathy as the ice melted in me and turned my white dress transparent.

After lunch, we walked around and took a turn into a wooded area. Master elected not to take the path, so he held my hand as I struggled to climb the steep, rock-encrusted hill in my sandals and dress. At a steep point, he ordered me to hug a thin tree jutting out of the slope at an angle, lifted my skirt over my hips and spanked me so that my pelvis banged into the tree trunk with every blow. When he was done, he pushed me down onto the twig-strewn soil and straddled me. I knew he wanted to fuck me in the forest, but after a moment of hesitation--prompted by feeling sorry for my white dress--he pulled me up and brushed me off and continued our walk. He decided that we needed flat terrain and better equipment for proper outdoor bondage adventures. I'm sure I'll have some sort of intimate encounter with nature to look forward to sometime when I return. The heat amplified throughout the afternoon, and on the way home, Master got us some ice-cream as a treat. Master is so very good to me.

I think one of the hardest parts about relationships is not knowing if the other person is moving at the same pace as I am; wondering where we are respectively placed along the gradient of affection. Years of designing experiments has made me crave quantitative values but I'm slowly learning to accept that uncertainty is a natural part of life, of being a sub, of trusting another person. I do feel that he cares for me though, and it makes me feel so happy and so lucky.

Anyway, after our pseudo-hike and ice cream, we went back home and he fucked me on the bed. A gift. Master has incredible stamina, so we changed positions a few times: on my back with my hands pinned above my head, from behind, me on top as Master slapped my face and breasts. I like the feel of Master in me, of him having his way with me. I don't think I can orgasm just from penetration alone, though I can with clitoral stimulation. As perplexed as I am by my body's selective approach to orgasms, I don't mind if sex feels unfinished for me. Sex is not about me anyway, it is about Master's pleasure. As long as he is satisfied, I am happy.

Anyway, after finishing with me, Master decided we should go swimming. I didn't have a bathing suit, or even underwear, but I followed Master anyway...unsure about his intentions. The pool, unfortunately, was being used by a couple of other people, so I initially sat by the wall and watched Master as he dipped into the water. Master kept mouthing things to me as he surfaced. and at length, called me to the edge, repeated his jesting words, then tried to pull me in. At first, I resisted his tugging and shot him a very uncertain and dissaproving look. This made Master turn serious, very quickly. He tightened his grip on my arms, warned me that he was annoyed with my noncompliance and that if I didn't get in, I would pay for it. I think even without this speech, the transition of his curved lips to a taut, unyielding line, made me slide into the water. I sunk, realized I couldn't touch the bottom, and panicking, grasped onto him as the fabric of my dress ballooned up to the surface, leaving my cunt exposed underwater.

Now, I can't really swim well. Or at least that's how I described my swimming abilities in the days where I could at least "kind-of" swim. I've regressed. This time, I mostly flailed my arms and legs, trying not to get tangled in fabric of my skirt as I thrashed about. Master found my vulnerability amusing but held and supported me. We spent some time as he just stood in the deep end, with my legs wrapped around his waist, and my arms wrapped around his torso. We then splashed around and played in the water. He wrapped my skirt around my thighs, to hide my cunt from the other swimmers and dragged me around. He dunked me into the water, and lifted me into the air and threw me, so that I flew a few metres before splashing into the pool. He held me, and fondled me, and we kissed and frolicked and played. I had so much fun even without being able to swim. I probably had more fun because I couldn't swim, and I needed to trust in Master's support to play around. I'm sure we sickened and confused a few people with our public displays of affection, and the perplexing imagery of a girl in a long, flowery dress squealing and being pulled around in the water. However, it was really a great deal of fun.

Since we were being goofy, Master held me tightly at one point, slicked my hair back and out of my eyes, and kissed my brow. He told me that just because we could have fun, this did not mean that he also couldn't be serious and that I should never forget my place. I took this to heart. I would never mistake Master's kindness for weakness. I rejoice in the tenderness, but should not expect it or feel that it is owed to me. I am his, to do with as he pleases.

After our swim, Master took me back to his place. I hung my dress out on the balcony to dry and Master gave me a shirt to wear, when he noticed a used condom on the floor from earlier. He had told me to clean up, and I had looked around, rearranged the discarded pillows and the rumpled bedsheets, but I had clearly missed the crumpled latex at the side of the bed. He told me that when I am told to do something, I need to take my time and do a good job. Displeased with me, he clothespegged the inner lips of my vagina after I had thrown out the condom, but allowed me to stay in bed to massage his balls. The pegs may have been on my nether lips, but they, nevertheless, kept me silent and stoic and repentant. After getting him hard, he removed the peg from my lips and placed it onto my nipple. He told me he was going to fuck me again, and this time he expected me to clean up properly.

After he was done, he gave me a pair of pants and told me that we needed to go to the grocery store to fetch some things for dinner. I was in complete dishabille--braless and lost in his clothes; skin dried and eyes reddened from the chlorine; hair puffy and wild. Master told me that I looked ridiculous and teased me about how ugly I was. He was clearly joking, but I started tearing up. I know I'm attractive, and I'm generally self-assured, so it was absolutely ridiculous for me to be affected by blatantly exaggerated teasing. However, if you can follow my convoluted train of thought, I was just feeling sensitive because of the going away, and the thought of him maybe deciding that I wasn't worth the wait, and moving on etc. All ridiculous thoughts, considering the number of times he's reassured me about where I stand with him, but I can't help but get weepy at that thought of things changing over the next couple of months.

He held my hand as he drove to the grocery store, and left me in the car as he ran in to pick up a few things. Then, we went back home and he prepared food as I, at his command, knelt in the kitchen waiting for him, or lay prostrate on the ground, worshiping his feet. I may regret saying this at some point, but being around him makes me wish I were a bit more domestic. I have this strange urge to keep things neat and tidy for him, and wait on him, and even--strangely enough--overcome my disdain for the kitchen and learn how to cook for him. When the food was ready, Master sat down to eat, and as usual put a plate on the floor for me. I usually sit or kneel on the ground as he eats. Sometimes he feeds me, but this time he gave me permission to eat and drink freely.

After eating, we watched a little bit of TV. Master lay back in bed, and I knelt beside him with a bowl of strawberries. He picked the strawberries up, and I sprayed them with whipped cream, and he ate them or offered me one to take from my fingers with my mouth. Then, he covered his penis in whipped cream, and told me to lick it off.

The day was hot and humid, and because we had a lot of fun in the pool and it had cooled us down, Master decided we should go back...so I put on my newly-dried dress to reprise the adventure. This time, a few kids were roughhousing in the water, so Master was hesitant to pull me in, but I ended up in the pool anyway. There was less throwing me around to prevent wardrobe malfunctions and exposure, but we played around again and laughed and found more amusement in my inability to hold my breath underwater, which was especially challenged by Master continuously dunking my head in, until I was forced to admit to witchcraft.

We went back to his place again and were lying in bed as my dress dried for the second time. I was playing with Master's cock, and after he grew hard, he snapped his fingers four times, and I moved from his side to his penis to use my mouth. I sucked, and I sucked for quite sometime. He tried to shove his cock further down my throat. I was getting tired and frustrated that he wouldn't come, so I was relieved when he order me onto the floor and he clapped twice to order me onto my back (new commands: 1 clap=all four, 2 claps=on my back, with promises of more clapping commands and positions to come). He then proceeded to fuck me. Master has so much stamina, and he can really control himself, so it took a long time before he came.

As he was fucking me on the floor though, he told me of all the ways he would have me when I get back at the end of summer. He told me how he owned my mouth, and my cunt, and soon he would take my ass too. He told me I was his slut, his fucktoy, his plaything. But when he was done, he put in his face into my neck and his arms around me. He held me as the light began to fade and I started to cry because the I knew it was time to go home. When he pulled out and sat up, he brought me into his lap and held me as I wrapped my arms around him and buried my head in his chest.

Again, he reassured me that things are going to be okay for these upcoming months; that he'd be there when I return and that even though we will miss each other, we'll each be busy and that I should stop worrying about him loosing interest or moving on. I was still sniffling, but eventually he helped me up and brought me my dress as I tried to calm my tears.

I got dressed and he drove me home. We kissed in the driveway, as twilight's gray began to smother the sun. Master told me to go before I started crying again, so I did. I paused on the steps to my doorway, and though the untrimmed branches of the mulberry tree obscured his face as he drove away, I saw his hand--that strong, firm hand--waving to me. I have my collar, my owenership tag. He has strands of my long hair--I may be a hypoallergenic pet but I do shed a little--scattered in his apartment.

We'll be okay.

Snippets

2008-07-03T00:57:00.000-04:00

I saw Master for a couple of hours today. We went out for food, which involved a slew of little games in the restaurant: Master heating a fork over the candle and pressing it into my hand, startling me by blowing water at me through a straw when no one was looking, discreetly unbuttoning my blouse to expose my bra, sliding ice cubes down my shirt and under my skirt, between my thighs. I felt rather disheveled by the time we left.

At Master's place, he taped my hands together and secured them behind my head before unbuttoning my blouse, hiking my skirt up and pulling my breasts out of the cups of my bra. I stayed still as he wrapped the tape around my wrists, then between my wrists and then pulled it down over the back of my blouse and around my torso; I stayed still even though the tape caught massive chunks of my hair. However, when he pulled out the infamous plastic clothespegs, I couldn't help but flinch and back away. He grabbed my waist and jerked me toward him, then slapped me and warned me to never back away from him again.

I squeezed my eyes tight as he clamped the pegs over my nipples. The initial pain was sharp and seared through my torso for a few moments, before the pain dulled to a steady hum. I'm sure Master was aware of this drop in intensity, because as he pushed me onto the bed and proceeded to fuck me, he continued to clamp, unclamp, twist and reclamp the pegs. Each jolt of pain made me shake and cry out, but he said that despite the complaint, I got increasingly wet with every new, crisp bite. As he fucked me, my hips rose, eager to meet his cock but he told me to lie still and simply be in his fuckdoll.

We moved from the bed to the floor of his balcony, where he fucked me in the cool evening air and smothered my mouth to silence my moans. Then we moved back to the bed, where he finished, with my left ear gripped tightly in his teeth and his hands underneath my ass, pulling me closer to him.

The Earth Laughs in Flowers

2008-06-30T19:16:00.006-04:00

Cherries

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.

Strawberries

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.

Apples

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.

Oranges

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.

Pomegranate

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:

Attraction

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.

Patience

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.

Self-understanding

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 Master...to 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.

Talent

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.

Humour

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.

Interesting

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.

Creative/resourceful

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.

Level-headedness

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.

Reasonable

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.

Grapefruit

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 go...fuck...how 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.

Adventures in Swallowing

2008-06-24T05:41:00.000-04:00

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.

The Lily Whispers

2008-06-23T14:19:00.000-04:00

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.

Duet

2008-06-22T13:44:00.000-04:00

Primo

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 crude...to 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.

Secundo

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 up...so 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 nothing...so 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 content...so 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 dynamic...to 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 him...it'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.

Assorted Toffees

2008-06-15T03:07:00.000-04:00

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

2008-06-15T01:25:00.000-04:00

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.

Give the Dog a Bone

2008-06-03T11:24:00.000-04:00

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.

Dysphemia

2008-06-01T23:08:00.000-04:00

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

2008-06-01T18:03:00.000-04:00

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

Be it Moon or Sun

2008-05-29T22:59:00.000-04:00

The rules I must obey, thus far, are as follow:

1. I must address Master as "Master" at all times, unless in the presence of others.
2. My cunt belongs to Master and must be shaven at all times.
3. I'm not allowed to wear pants in Master's presence unless I ask and am given permission.
4. Upon entry to Master's house, I am to immediately strip naked and put on the outfit he has laid out for me (if any) and put on my cuffs and collar.
5. I must ask permission before I orgasm.
6. I must keep my legs open at all times, and knees spread apart when I am kneeling.

The penalties for infractions of the corresponding rules are as follow:
1. I will receive a slap on my face. If I continue to slip-up, Master will resort to humiliation tactics.
2. I will be bound and have the hairs forcibly removed by tweezer.
3-6. Will resort in serious, currently unnamed consequences.

Sleepless Dreams

2008-05-29T05:32:00.000-04:00

It's 2:30am and I'm wide awake even though I have no desire to be. I have to be at work at 7:00am. This nervous energy just won't let me rest during the nights before I see Master.

The Big Salad

2008-05-28T02:05:00.000-04:00

Master told me to research the fine art of fellatio in preparation for the upcoming weekend. The instructions on the how-to websites are fairly standard:

- cover teeth with lips,don't bite
- suck hard, create a tight seal
- move tongue around
- flicker tongue at the frenulum and head of the penis
- get really into it; make eye contact with him

From a reductionist perspective, this doesn't sound very difficult...but I somehow don't think reality is so cut and dry. In addition, many sites advocate for hand use to prevent jaw fatigue and the wicked gag reflexes of those who can't make their way down to the base of the shaft. Because Master doesn't want me to use my hands--I have a feeling that they will be tied up a lot--I think that overcoming my gag reflex is going to be an important part of pleasing him.

I've also been watching some blowjob videos, courtesy of youporn.com. I'm hoping that visual memory will help me, so that the next time I'm presented with his cock, I'll just instinctively know what to do. I'm not entirely sure if this rationale will work though. Watching other people do stuff is a good start for getting an overview but doesn't really inform my own technique. I have to pick up some groceries tomorrow so I'll likely be spending some time in the produce isle. Bananas, cucumbers, carrots--oh my!

Coxsackie, without the rash

2008-05-28T01:15:00.000-04:00

For me, thoughts of submission evoke images of a woman worshipping a man’s feet or hands. Don’t get me wrong, I am nothing of a foot or hand fetishist. Nothing about the shape, texture, smell or identifying factors of these extremities are intrinsically exciting to me. My fascination is entirely dependent on context. For instance, a picture of a man’s foot in isolation would not arouse me, no matter how elegantly proportionate that foot was, how perfectly shaped the digits, how clean and well kempt the nails. However, to give me a picture of a woman’s lips upon that very foot would give me shivers. The same is true for hands. In general, I have a greater admiration for hands; especially large, firms ones that make mine feel tiny in comparison. And while I am more apt to appreciate the strength and implied masculinity of a strong pair of hands, the idea of my kissing those hands and worshipping and glorifying their strength is what really gets me excited.

The image of a submissive woman kissing her Master’s hands in utmost reverence is very powerful to me, especially if this hand-kissing occurs after a particularily exacting bondage session or a difficult punishment. I see it as a sign of her devotion and appreciation of what those hands are capable of, her way of saying that she respects those hands even if she sometimes fears them. It is very different from the kiss of a vanilla man on the hand of the female he loves. These male kisses on a female's hand represent tenderness, acknowledgement of her delicacy, the desire to protect her. I value and enjoy these types of kisses in their own right, but they are completely and utterly different in connotation than a slave's kiss of her Master’s hand. For me the submissive woman's kiss represents her promise to worship and adore him, to be compliant to his will and to yield to the power of his hands. It is her way of telling him that she will respond willingly to his every gesture, his every touch, regardless of whether he is providing pleasure or punishment. One of my all-time favourite D/s related images involves a hand-kiss and comes from the Submissive Loving (http://www.submissiveloving.com/) postcard page:

Now, onto the matter of feet. Feet are dirty, they are often neglected and accumulate the scars, calluses and bruises from heavy, daily wear. In biblical times, washing the worn and dirty sandaled feet of guests was an act reserved for the lowliest of slaves. It has long been seen as an act of humility, devotion, veneration. To put my lips to my Master’s foot and gently kiss them would showcase my understanding that even the parts of him that might be considered the most neglected and soiled, are still of great importance to me. To me, this act the submissive's desire to worship all aspects of her Master and to hold even his feet in great regard, above her pride, above her comfort. The idea of the spontaneous foot kiss is also powerful for me; the act of falling to one's knees to kiss the feet of a benefactor, to show appreciation and devotion, especially when it hasn't specifically been demanded. I really like that kind of stuff; rituals and rites to showcase humility and deference to one’s Master.

Simple acts have the greatest impact on me. It is the integration of such acts into encounters with my Master that have recently driven my fantasies.

A Pretty Penny

2008-05-28T01:09:00.000-04:00

Master asked me to post the email I sent him on Saturday night, after our eyeopening session together:

"Hi Master,
I realize now that my concern about tonight was not from anything that we tried. I ean the spanking hurt more than anticipated, but I have no doubt that with time my body will become conditioned to it. I learned that I'm not much of a masochist at all. My arousal is in any pleasure you derive from doing whatever you want to me. I want to please and serve you. My only concern was the misunderstanding about my current state of inexperience. I thought you knew, and so I went along with the [blowjob] since I figured you'd take me through it slowly. When I started getting a sense that you didn't realize the extent of my inexperience...I knew I probably should have spoken up...but I didn't. Anyway, I'm not uneasy, unhappy about the act itself but I'm worried about the miscommunication. Ultimately, it didn't hurt either of us (unless maybe my poor technique did hurt you)...but it concerned me because it was a piece of information that could have changed decision-making.

Ideally for me, that would have happened more slowly and come with more instructions. I was so terrified and confused...and I don't want to be when I am supposed to be pleasuring you. I'm not blaming you for the miscommunciation...the convo we had about this was a couple of weeks ago and over [instant messenger] and I know it's easy to get things mixed up online.I also know that I had responsibility for speaking up and voicing concern, so I think we just need to establish ways of communciating critical info. I have no doubt that this will come in time though.

I had fun tonight [and though I was] emotional, I still want very much to be yours."

Deep Shadows and Brilliant Highlights

2008-05-26T00:42:00.000-04:00

Part I: Highlights

Master prefaced the encounter by telling me that Saturday was the day when he would exert his complete ownership of me. I couldn’t help but get wet at thought of being completely owned, even though I could not preemptively imagine what this date could entail. Ah, the joys of being submissive—to get completely excited by abstract concepts! In each free moment of the preceeding week, and even in not-so-free moments, my attention was captured by thoughts of waiting for him on my knees and the initial excitement when he finally entered the room and placed his hands on my trembling body. My stomach clenched thinking about the moment where I’d be at his complete disposal. He often asks me to describe the thoughts I have of him but I haven’t been able to give him any specifics since my recent fantasies are never fully-formed. They are not scenes but rather tiny snippets; an imagined moment of his palm across my cheek or his fingers through my hair or my wrists encircled in his grasp. But I stopped myself from getting carried away with stories or obsessing about potential details, since over-thinking often diminishes the effect of reality. I spent my week in anticipation without actively anticipating. I wanted to completely enjoy the novelty of the moment when it finally came.

Saturday came and the first thing on the agenda was food. The couple seated next to us in the restaurant were struggling through a painfully apparent first date. When I'm with friends and there is a pause in the conversation, one of our favourite games is to observe couples and guess how their dates are going. I didn't even tell Master about this game that I play, so I was very amused when he picked up on the first-date status of the adjacent couple and analyzed their body language with me. One of the qualities I really like in Master is that he is fun. Now in retrospect, I can’t remember if it was an order or more of a playful dare, Master got me to ask the woman how her date was going. When her date went to the washroom, Master also slipped away, which gave me a chance to catch this woman's attention. Despite her confusion at my inexplicable friendliness, we bonded over dates and reassured each other. She seemed fairly nervous but loosened up after we spoke, as if she drew comfort by our comparable date status at the next table. I was very amused by the whole thing and this sense of playfulness and folly has deepened my appreciation for Master. Talking about mastery and enslavement all sounds very heavy; it evokes images of rituals and commands, fear and uncertainty, sternness and severity. And although these components have their place in my fantasies, I am ultimately young, fun and trying to enjoy the prime of my life. It is a great relief to find a man who I can both have fun with and be submissive to.

After eating, Master drove me back to his place and ordered me to keep my legs spread apart in the car. I was wearing a dress and Master drew the fabric high up my thighs, pulled my underwear out of the way and began to play with me as he drove. I felt so very exposed—in my head, the pedestrians that I'm usually be oblivious to, were all staring at me. In my mind, every driver in the passing cars were leaning over to catch a glimpse of the show between my legs. I continuously tried to press my thighs together, almost reflexively, because as modest and very guarded woman I couldn't bear the humiliation of such exposure. However, after I kept shifting, Master finally had enough and pinched me so hard down there that it sent a darting shock through my abdomen. The quick transition from his gentle stroking of my clit, to a hard, prolonged pinch was an effective reminder that the point of his stimulation is not actually my pleasure but my obedience to his will. It’s wildly exhilarating to be reminded of this, even if it did hurt.

Master continued to play with me as he drove back to his place. I sat with my hands behind my back, as he had his way. The actual movement of his hand across my sensitive areas felt good but the best part was when he turned to me and placed my hand on his crotch so that I could feel his hardness. “This is how we know this is real,” he told me, “that you are so wet from having me tell you what to do and that I am so hard from having you under my power.”

And that is exactly the essence of what I am looking for. Have I been spanked before? Yes, half-heartedly, after extensive coaxing of my current vanilla partner. I’ve been handcuffed. I've been locked up in a dog crate. I’ve invented situations to be submissive to vanilla men. However, none of my partners have found joy or pleasure in my submission. It’s so exciting to finally meet someone smart, funny and attractive who is excited by my desire to submit.

As the car ride continued, my cell phone rang. I told Master I could ignore it if he wanted but he made me answer it and hold an entire conversation as he continued to thrust his fingers into me. Imagine my vulnerability as a respectable, upstanding, professional woman as we were driving through familiar neighbourhoods where I was afraid I'd see someone I knew, legs wide open, fully exposed, his fingers pulsing in me as I desperately fought to supress the moans that threatened to pepper my phone conversation.

When we got back to Master’s place, he attended to some other business he had while I followed the written instructions he had set out for me. The instructions involved stripping naked and putting on a sheer black negligee, collar and wrist cuffs before setting some candles around the living room, and kneeling on a designated mat until he was ready for me. When he was ready, he bound my hands behind my back and blindfolded me. He had some work to attend to on his computer, and played with me intermittently, even sitting me on his lap at a point and playing with me between typing. Then, he eventually led me to the dining table made me lie on my stomach, head to the side, and tied each of my limbs to the four legs of the table. He placed a pillow under my head and this tender gesture made me so happy. Master wants my obedience, desires my submission, but he ultimately cares for me and this just makes me heart flutter.

Master then spanked me hard with his hand. I've never been spanked properly, never like this. The first few smacks were so heavy that they caused my entire body to heave, but they were slow and allowed time for the heat to crawl through my behind, allowed time to process the pain and confuse it with pleasure. However, after the first few thwacks, his hand kept coming; swiftly, covering all areas, rapidly attacking from all directions. The barrage of motion made the initially pleasant heat turned into a deep, burning pain that radiated across my thighs and made my closed eyes well up with tears. I clenched my teeth and all my muscles. I didn’t want to complain since master had told me to be quiet but it was very difficult not to groan with each drop of his hand. Then master brought out another object, which I later found out was a ruler. He hit me hard with it and created a completely different sensation; a sharp, crisp sting. I clenched my teeth harder until my jaw was aching and couldn’t help but writhe and make distressed noises. There was no pleasure. The stinging was unbearable and the pace was so quick that there was no time for my poor bum to brace itself for the next hit. Master was attentive to my groaning though and gave me permission to beg if it was hurting me too much. I took a few more whacks of the ruler before I really needed to plead with him to stop. He didn't cease right away but was kind enough to stop shortly after I begged him to.

After the spanking, Master brought me some water. He poured it over his fingers and put them in my mouth. There was so much pleasure in having this contact with him, to feel the difference between the firmness of his unrelenting hand on my ass and then, so gently at my mouth and face. The paradox of pain mingled with gentle intimacy makes me so giddy. We are apart right now, and when I think of him, it is the gentle moments I remember. But without the harsher and more physically exacting moments, it is impossible for these little gestures to have such a powerful meaning.

Part II: Shadows

After my spanking initiation at the table, Master untied me from the table, clipped my wrist cuffs behind me, led me to the wall and indicated for me to kneel. Then he unzipped his pants and showed me his cock. My mind started racing immediately. We had spoken in the weeks prior to this about my general inexperience with sex. I had told him that I had never performed oral sex before and had been so apprehensive of his response; expecting it to be negative or at the very least, uncertain. Instead, he had been reassuring and told me that he could wait and that he would guide me into things slowly. He told me that he expected oral sex from his slave but would try to make me comfortable and ease me into things. I came to trust Master fairly quickly and although I was paranoid and a bit humiliated during our car ride, although I was vulnerable and a bit nervous sprawled out on the table, my trust in him had not faltered that evening. However, the minute that I was faced with his cock, I was immediately worried. I had never done this before. I was terrified, I was nervous, I didn’t really know if I was ready, especially since ’m the type of person who can spend days debating big decisions. Part of me wanted to resist and express my uncertainty, part of me just told me to go along with it. And in the split second where I had to make my decision, I reminded myself that I had told him about my inexperience earlier and that he said he would take care of me. I reminded myself that this I was looking for a master to place my trust in, to guide me. I told myself that if he thought that I was not ready for this, he wouldn’t put me through emotional duress. So, I took his cock in my mouth and tried my best. I really had no concept of what to do, I couldn’t believe I was doing what I was doing. He didn’t really say anything and that started to frighten me. I felt less and less like I was being led and more like I was lost and faltering in the dark. I started to get a sense that we were not on the same page and I eventually pulled away.

I really can’t remember the exact sequence of events after that but somehow we moved from the floor to the bed where he just fondled me and explored my body some more. When we were discussing sexuality a few weeks back, he told me that he would be seeing me naked and playing with me. He told me to expect it and I agreed that this would be okay and got used to the concept of it all. However, it was so unnerving to me that though he told me he would take him time with me, he had already expected my inexperienced little mouth to take up his cock and know what to do with it without any guidance.

Now, I can’t really remember what happened next. I might mix up the order, so maybe he’ll have to remind me what actually happened. I think that after awhile, we ended up just cuddling on the bed. My thoughts were just spinning and I was trying to make sense of everything that was going on. He told me to go down on him again and I told him that I was unsure of what to do. This time he guided me more and told me what he wanted to do. I felt less vulnerable because my hands were free at this point too, not pinned behind my back as they had been earlier. However, I still was pretty clueless at what to do. After he came, I couldn’t swallow and spit up on him, so I wiped him off and kept apologizing and explaining that my ineptitude was due to my inexperience. At this point he seemed very confused and asked me if I had ever given head before. When I told him I hadn’t, he seemed completely astounded and was almost certain I had told him I had. I was floored, not only because we had discussed this earlier but I vividly remembered the conversation because his gentle response, his reassurance, his promise to care for me had made a deep impact on me and made me feel safe in his hands. His not remembering this conversation my heart sink. No spanking, no beating could have made me felt as powerless and sad as that one moment did.

I had made myself completely vulnerable to a man. I had ignored instinctive concern even though I had sensed that something was a little off. I had lowered my guard even though I knew it didn’t feel right. I was suddenly very upset. Master was also upset. He told me that if he had realized this, he wouldn’t have let it happen so soon. He kept asking me if I was feeling okay. I wasn’t, but I didn’t fully realize this at the time. His acknowledgement and concern made me think I was overreacting. I knew he hadn’t purposely tried to hurt me. In fact, I felt really stupid too for not stepping up and doing my part to prevent this misunderstanding, so I kept reassuring him that I was fine. We kept playing.

I really don’t remember when I started crying...but I did. When he saw my tears, his expression was completely torn. He kept trying to ask me what was wrong and looked at me like I had broken his heart. At the time, I had no clue why I was feeling so unsettled. I couldn’t isolate the reasons for my tears. It took going home and reflecting on all the experiences and issues to finally figure out the reason for my anxiety and sadness.

When I got home that night I cried and tried to sleep but couldn’t. Master and I said our goodnights via instant messenger, but an hour or so later he came on again because he couldn’t sleep either out of worry and wanted to make sure I was okay. I told him for the first time that I was a little bit shaken. Later that night, I figured out enough of my feelings that I was able to write him an explanatory email. My problem wasn’t with the actual act, nor was it the feeling that I couldn’t trust him, rather it was concern about communication. While I knew Master would never hurt me purposely, I was unnerved because I realized that poor communication could create a situation where I became hurt me unintentionally. I am willing to trust in his decisions, but in order for him to make good decisions he needs to know and understand enough about me. This requires communication. We have talked since and established that we need to work on communication as we establish norms and boundaries in our relationship.