Wednesday, December 26, 2012

Resolution

Every knot was an intention, a manifestation, a prayer.

Many of them i whispered my mantra to: "Obey, serve, love, excel", every one filled with my promise, and purpose.

Others carry my hopes, dreams, wishes, and plans;

i will live closer to the Earth.

i will renew my yoga practice.

i will strive to treat others with loving kindness.

i will strive to treat myself with loving kindness.

i will live outside the chains of expectation.

i will be patient, and therefore peaceful.

i will manifest love and joy in my daily living.

i will be more myself, being His.

i will find beauty wherever i walk.

i will always seek Truth.

These things i carry with me, now, locked into place, part of me. An ever-present, nearly intrinsic reminder of where my path lies. These things i bind to myself, in knots that can't be untied.
i wish everyone blessings in the year ahead.

Friday, December 21, 2012

Over the river and through the woods...

Tomorrow (or, later today) we are hitting the road headed North, to my family's for the holiday. This will be the first time i have spent Yule at my mother's in...years. Numerous years. Like a fifth of my life. i'm only anxious because i'm expecting the fear. For the first time ever, i really have no real apprehension about the holidays at that house. It's only because Sir will be there.

i haven't had what you would call a "normal" family upbringing. my mother signed me into state's custody my first year of middle school. i spent the remainder of my school years bouncing through foster homes and other placements, never really settling anywhere. So really, this whole "let's get together and be family 'cos CHRISTMAS" is really sort of a foreign concept to me. Add to that the fact that my mother has the manipulative skills of an MI6 operative at the top of their game, well, 'scuse me for not getting my warm fuzzies all up in the eggnog, too.

When Sir first met my mother, i must admit i watched Him very closely. i was terrified she would lull Him into a sense of security, like she was some kind of harmless. If He had bought the act, i think...i think we wouldn't be where we are now. He didn't, though. For once in my life i saw her lose, and i won. i won because He is my safe place, and my family. It broke a hold she had over me, and all the...crap...i had carried, vanished, BAM, just like that.

So i have this complete lack of trepidation, now, and for some reason, it scares me. How much of my identity did i wrap up in the woes of being my mother's child? It really is the core of the whole of my "story".

Or, it was.

Today i will look forward to what is yet to be written, my story with Him, instead of rereading chapters.

Wednesday, December 19, 2012

Enlightenment, then the laundry.

"True teachers not only impart knowledge and method but awaken the love of learning by their own reflected love." -Robert Grudin
i was incredibly blessed to be able to attend Raven Kaldera and Joshua Tenpenny's "Edges of Power" M/s intensive this past weekend with Sir, hosted by the amazing folks at Castle Griffin. i want to start by thanking everyone for making such an awesome experience possible. (Thank you thank you thank you!)

Yes, no one can tell you how to run your M/s relationship. However, there are some amazing resources out there. Raven and Joshua are providing an incredibly useful thing for so many, and i am grateful not only that they exist, but that they share their experience and vast knowledge with others. They are amazing teachers, and the world is better for it.

It's funny how the Universe works. A year of our relationship was based in spirituality, this past year was based in M/s, and this weekend had both. It was like coming full circle. i was excited for the spirituality bit, and ended up being blown away by the revelations brought about by the nuts-and-bolts part.
"The contradiction so puzzling to the ordinary way of thinking, comes from the fact that we have to use language to communicate our inner experience which in its very nature transcends linguistics." — DT Suzuki
More revelatory than the workshops themselves is what we did with the knowledge laid before us. i wish i had the words to share the epiphanies the learning prompted. i don't. The most important work we did this weekend was not learning in class, but using that learning to further us outside of class.

Some of what i can explain is just too deeply personal to share. Some of what i can't explain i wish i could share with everyone. So it goes.

All i can say is sometimes, the stars align and you receive a transformational experience. This was such a time, and i will carry it with me always.
“Before enlightenment; chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment; chop wood, carry water.” - Zen proverb

Saturday, December 15, 2012

Expectation breeds Disappointment

A little bit ago...

Sir had just arrived Home from work. i was making His drink before i got ready to leave for work. We were talking about our days, and i slipped in a bit of complaining (working 'two' jobs, not seeing Him as much as i would like, i had a sad). He nodded, murmured some affirmative, and continued talking about His day. i turned back to completing His beverage.

Something must have crossed my face, because He broke off and demanded, "What is it?"

i felt silly saying it, but i dutifully answered; "i had..i guess i had expected some...sympathy?"

He laughed, "If there is anything I need to drill into your head, it's to not expect so much." (poking me in the 'silly cunt' button on mah head.)

''What's your job?"

"To do whatever You say?"

"Yes. Remember that, and expect that I love you and will always keep you, but beyond that, you get what you get."

Epiphany!

(Expectations, letting go of, working on it)

Monday, December 3, 2012

iftaḥ simsim

iftaḥ simsim

"i just don't like anyone's hands touching me...down there..."

"Anyone's but MINE, you mean."

i didn't squirm away, or hastily clamp my thighs together, every time, but Sir knew i had locked myself away inside, far away from where His hands were exploring. He stopped. He didn't have to, He has that right to do something whether i want it or not, but He did. He wants me to like this thing, not grit my teeth and bear it.

"Just relax", He said, as His hand settled onto me, His elbow gently nudging a protective knee aside. i took a deep breath, to quell the panic. i was fighting to not go screaming back to that dark, unspeakable place. The place i would tell anyone i had left behind, a place of paralyzing fear. The wrong place. i take another deep breath.

For a moment, i'm awestruck by how BIG His hand seemed, like He was cradling the whole of me in His palm. i let the warmth of it flow through my skin. Finally, i can meet His eyes. "Open". It's nearly a whisper.

Muladhara, and the rest of me, burst open like like a spring flower kissed by sunlight. i never even knew how cold it had been. For the first time in memory there wasn't any fear. i was safe in His hands.

A hundred million moments lived in that instant. There was sensuality, a sense of security, lust, confidence, forgiveness, healing, stability, awe, love. It is times like these when He breaks me, blows me apart to remake me into something stronger, more beautiful.

This morning i was quiet, as i usually am after He cracks me wide open. It's a little death and a big rebirth, and i'm still raw, fresh and brand new. He draws me close and tells me how proud of me He is, "you always handle the really hard stuff so well". He kisses my forehead, and i am utterly content.

i am not so much a warrior when He hurts me more than i thought i could take, than when He heals me more than i think i can stand.

Tuesday, October 9, 2012

Hi ho, hi ho...

is off to work bells goes...

i am only a bit apprehensive. i haven't worked outside the house since i've belonged to Sir, and i welcomed the flexibility and extra time working from Home gave. Happy Sir, Happy Home.

i stopped working to tackle the job of motherhood, that and the rest of my domestic duties and service to Sir taking up almost all the day. The time has come, though and Sir is sending me out to join the workforce. i found a position rather easily, a part-time combination scullery maid/sous chef and hopefully one day sommelier. (That damnable social anxiety thing, i'm going to need some serious aftercare at the end of the day. ^.^)

Really, i couldn't be more thrilled that i wasn't stuck doing months of job searches, but truth being, i'm not so overjoyed at the prospect of not being Home, doing the normal chores/childcare/service things i usually do. i like the routine, and i dislike when it's interrupted momentarily, let alone completely revised.

The biggest mental hurdle i face is not in the fact that i’m leaving the house to work, but when. Evenings and weekends, when Sir is Home, and i am normally serving Him. i try to frame my perception of the paycheck as service, but it’s hard to find joy in service expressed as cold digits instead of the, y’know, adoring personal service i usually provide during that time. That’s the stuff of warm fuzzies. Clocking in, not so much.

Knowing all that, i also know that i will get to a place of acceptance, maybe even enthusiasm, about this new service. i’m just not there, yet.

Friday, October 5, 2012

Non-ironic statements.

Last night, while i was making Sir's snack, i mused aloud that there was no more creamy
peanut butter. His reply?

"That has no bearing on My reality"

(He prefers crunchy)

It looks like He may have been being sardonic, but i assure you, Dear Reader, He wasn't. The fact that there's only crunchy peanut butter in the house (which i hate) has absolutely no effect on Him. Really, and why should it? Sir's matter-of-fact tone and deadpan delivery reiterated the long-realized concept that what i want, i get only by His desire to give me such. The new epiphany is that sometimes it's not even something worth mentioning.

i was reminded of another exchange, not ironical at all, shortly after Sir collared me. We were debating some topic or another, and every salient point i made was met with "you may be right, but..." Let's say i'm not usually thrilled to be losing a debate. In exasperation, i exclaimed;

"Am i ever going to win with You?!?"

Sir stopped, His eyes bored into mine as He softly replied;

"No"
i only felt a little silly as i added 'peanut butter' to my grocery list.

Thursday, October 4, 2012

The buttraping meant NOTHING!

Journal Entry

To say i'm a bit overanalytical is kind of an understatement. i always want to know the "how" and "why" of things. i say 'want', here, not 'need', because if it were a need, i would be a very unhappy girl. Sir says, "Inside My head is not a place for you" He's never going to announce when He's teaching me a lesson, or changing me, and often He does it in such an insidious manner that i don't even notice until i get bitchslapped by epiphany anyhow.

If Sir ever explains His reasoning for anything to me, it's because my head is really fucked up. i like to think that i've gotten better at not questioning Him, but really, it's inevitable that at least once a day i'll forget, and ask "what are You thinking about?" - le sigh-

Yesterday i was feeling rather badly about a particularly vicious assfucking He bestowed upon my poor butt the night before. (sans lube! Oh, that full bottle over there? Hasn't been used in months) i was starting to think that the recent uptick in Sir's thrusting the length of His cock into this girl's unsuspecting ass, ignoring all pleas for mercy, had some reason. Was i being 'put in my place'? Was He stressed, and ragefucking? Why, my poor butt, ow, why?

Of course, i had no idea, so i asked Sir. He looked rather bemused as He answered:

"Because it's fun."

"That's it? There's no, like, underlying..."

"Do I need any other reason?"

"...no."

"Silly slut"

o.O

i really should just stop with the inquisitive bit. Curiosity killed the cat, and all that.

Almost easy eggs and other affairs.


i’ve been working on my behaviours relating to my emotional lability, and a real test came this morning.

Ah, weekend breakfast. Y’know, the key to a really good breakfast is timing everything perfectly. Trying to do that is an incredibly frustrating undertaking. Usually by the end of it pans are “accidentally” crashing about, i get all discombobulated, drop things, generally want to tear my hair out… -sigh-

Sir doesn’t like angry eggs. He’s told me so. i really try not to lose my shit when there’s a million things happening at once, and sometimes i fail miserably.

i did it, though! Totally calm the whole time, and when toast came up early, eggs yolks broke, and bacon acted in an impertinent manner, i just let it go. Music helped. Everyone’s plates served up, and we all settle down to eat.

All i can hear is eating noises. i couldn’t deal. i didn’t want to say anything, if i opened my mouth i didn’t know what it would sound like. i was getting shaky, i think my slice of bacon was trying to strangle me, too. Quietly i took my plate to the back porch to finish my breakfast. It felt like the only option, everyone was enjoying themselves and i didn’t want to ruin it by freaking out.

i shed a tear or two, i won’t lie, tried not to pick, gave up on my food, lit a cigarette, tried to still myself. Being calm is a lot of fucking work, i don’t know how Sir is all cool and collected as He is. Breathing. Letting that emotion just flow through me instead of washing over my head. It was an odd feeling, after. There’s a very big difference between drained and just…hollow, but i for the life of me have no way to tell what makes it so.

i have been very productive, though, preliminary packing is done, and once i get a last couple loads of laundry done i can pack all of the clothes. A last bit of cleaning and the double and triple checks, sweeping for missed items. Four days ’til Rope Camp, and so much left to do. Being this busy feels really nice, actually, after the painful break in service.
Oh, and that. This past week has been something. After that bit of complaining i had about so much service (wah), i wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if Sir had tightened down on my chores and all that. He didn’t, though. Of a sudden i found myself with little to no demands on me. Sir is cunning as hell, that hurt. It was a couple of days before i started tearing into the chores of my own volition, and another couple before i broke and begged Him to allow me to serve Him as before.

It felt so good to be able to serve like that again. So good, that it took me a while to notice that other than allowing me to serve Him or using my holes, Sir wasn’t really interacting with me much. He’s been busy with work, but even in His downtime i more often was much like a shadow.

When Sir was done with me for the night, i mentioned His perceived distance. He mocked me, gently, “Oh, I’m not paying attention to you?” i blushed, immediately feeling rather foolish. He drew me close, and told me that He will keep me, and He loves me, and sometimes He’ll ignore me. It was a tough pill to swallow, that, it took a few minutes, but like almost all bitter medicine, i felt better in the morning.

Overall, i’ve had a pretty fine Saturday morning.

i need an afternoon second wind, though, and the stress monkey does not like being in a cage. ^.^

A farewell.

Note |
Well, friend, it has been fun. You were the first friend i had on this road, and your support, inspiration, and willing ear are all things i will cherish dearly. i am sorry if that meant i was using you, i just so badly needed someone to talk to. There were times, yes, i saw you as a sort of mentor, someone to look up to, but that was from all the wonderful advice you gave me, i apologise for using it.

i'm figuring out things on my own, now, having my own revelations, but it was really nice to have someone to share my struggles with as they were happening, during these first awkward steps on this path, instead of muddling through it alone in my own head and only talking about it when i came out the other end.

i get that the rule of thumb when any slave is having a bit of turmoil is "talk to your Master", but that doesn't always work for me. Often, Sir gives me the catalyst, but the process is up to me, and sometimes genius can't exist in a vacuum. Discussing things with another person helped me put my own thoughts into some sort of coherent order. Thank you for that, friend, although i am deeply sorry it hurt you to do so.

You were such a wonderful friend, not only for listening so well as i worked through my trials, (much the same as i would for you, if you needed it) but everything else, too, i've learned so much besides. i will miss you, but i know this is what's best for you. i wish you nothing but happiness and joy, and hope you will forgive me someday for using you as a sounding board.

Fuck, though, it hurts. i was so happy to have a friend, and didn't even realise i was fucking it all up. i should have kept talking about the weather, why the fuck did i think you cared to hear about the shit that spins around in my head? Dammit all to hell, i was sorry, now i'm just pissed off because i'm crying about this, and it was stupid to not keep my fucking mouth shut, as usual.

i still love you, friend-who's-not-so-friendlike-anymore. A whole lot. This just really sucks.

Drudgery and Discovery.


These past few weeks have been very…service oriented. Serving Sir, housecleaning, childcare, all that.  We had a pretty intense weekend, with a lot of ‘firsts’, but that only served to make me want that interaction more. Needless to say, i’ve been having a bit of “all work and no play makes bells a dull gal” blues.

So this morning i was a bit down, dragging my ass a little, and over our second round of coffee Sir asked, “What’s the matter, slut?” i looked down and shuffled my feet a bit. He asked again. If there is anything Sir detests, it is repeating Himself. Finally i managed to blurt out, “i want You to play with me!” He smiled at that, and sent me off to fetch His rope bag.

Oooh, my favourite. i closed my eyes and tried to fall into the whisper of the hemp against my skin as He tied, but i was too eager. i knelt when i should have stood, turned before He wanted me to, oh i was clumsy like a virgin in the back of a 70′s Chevrolet. He finished, and made me stand so He could take a picture. My face reddened, as it always does under the scrutiny of that eye, but i followed His instructions, and waited.

He turned me sideways, slapped my ass until i yelped, and commanded me to kneel.

i knelt in front of Him, but i was unsure. “What is it now?”, He demanded.

“i don’t want…this…You…because i asked, Sir”, i stammered.

That was apparently incredibly amusing, as He grabbed a loop of rope, yanked me close, and chuckled, “I don’t do anything i don’t want to. Suck my cock, slut.”

Which, of course, was an order i was all too happy to comply with. i set about His cock, relishing the feeling of it sliding between my lips. i was just falling into the trancelike zone where it was just my mouth-His cock, and rhythym, when He yanked my head up.

“Lunch, slut.”

With a smack on the ass i was sent to the kitchen.

The rest of the afternoon was spent serving Him as i usually do when He’s at Home on a weekday, being His table for lunch, housekeeping, a place to rest His feet while He worked, keeping His drinks filled. Not sexy fun time, just service as usual (in rope!).

Instead of being disappointed, though, i marveled. The kind of inner knowing i found brings a bit of an epiphany glow. i’m amazed by the revelation that even when He’s being nice, or indulging me a little, it’s always for His own ends, and, once again, what i want is irrelevant to His desire.

i thought what i wanted for was a bit of a beating, but what i need, always, is the knowledge He will get what He wants from me, no more, no less, and it’s comforting to know i will never be lost as to what that is, because He’ll tell me when He’s taking it. With that knowledge, i dive into service to Him with renewed happiness.

This weekend i learned...

Drinking beer out of a dog bowl makes bubbles tickle your nose.

Towel rods make an excellent bathroom hitching post.

Getting hit with a belt hurts, especially by a belt that is made out of a steel band encased in leather.

That’s called a ‘gun belt’. ^.^

i’m not a fan of this whole belt thing, but the abrasions it leaves are pretty.

Sir cumming in said abrasions stung almost as badly as cum in the eye.

When Sir says, “you are nothing”, it’s not an insult, it’s a challenge to do my best to be a ‘something’.

When Sir says, “you are My nothing”, it means i’m anything and everything He wants.

Sir’s new favourite ‘something’ is His ashtray.

Eating a handful of ashes for the first time feels a lot like The Cinnamon Challenge.

When someone is putting a cigarette out on your tongue, it’s best to not have a dry mouth.

Declaring that i am not a masochist is of no relevance to any of Sir’s plans.

i am, in fact, capable of chewing through a ball gag.

We need a new ball gag.

Resubmit.

A long time ago, before Sir collared me, He and i were simply a couple who had a bit of kinky (wildly passionate, Earth-shattering) sex. With rope. Yum. As we spent more time together, it became pretty apparent that there was a hierarchy developing in our relationship. Thinking back, we didn’t really talk too much about it, He told me what to do, i served Him, and it just grew on us. When we got to the point where we realized what direction our relationship was heading, there was a decision to be made. No, there wasn’t a decision, forget i said that. We just had to admit it.
 
Oh, and there it was. i resisted that, inwardly. So what was to be done? Well, we fought for it. Literally. We had this grand brawl. It ran for two hours and every room in the apartment. Seen Fight Club? Yeah, it was that beautiful. After all was said and done, our wounds tended, the smoke cleared, i yielded. That is where my submission to Him began. i *needed* to put up a fight and lose, or i couldn’t have rolled over and bared my throat to submit, if that makes any sense, Dear Reader. 
 
Now, in the time since, and certainly after Sir placed His collar on me, i have never really wavered in that submission. On the same token, i’ve never been in a position where i needed to forgive Him for a mistake of any magnitude. Until recently, that is. It was a bit of a crisis, really. i’ve put Sir on quite the pedestal, and honestly, the glimpse of His human fallibility rattled me. We talked about us, and talked about trust, i was hurt, He was contrite, and it was time to move on and rebuild, but i couldn’t.
 
my worldview had been turned upside down, and that resistance had come roaring back. i wanted to rely on His ownership of me to get me back to where i was before, but it wasn’t enough for me to go back to submitting like before. i was still so angry, and scared, lost, confused, in shock. i needed to lose myself to Sir again. i didn’t know it, though. Sometimes it’s creepy how well Sir knows me, because He saw me struggling to accept, and grasping for some precarious bit of submission i had left, and He decided it was necessary to go back to the beginning to reaffirm the structure of our relationship.
 
So He allowed me to fight to submit.
 
It was nowhere near as joyous as the first battle. i was brokenhearted, and enraged, and He knew there was no way i would win. He simply allowed me to get my licks in, gave me enough hurt to make it a fight, i was like one possessed, and He let me rage until i had nothing left. Then we woke up the next morning, bruised and battered, and we were content in the knowledge of where we stood, and that all the bad blood was let out. Oh, and had lots of sex.
 
Sir: 2
me: 0
 
i love that.

Boxes!

There have been so many parcels in the post, lately! Like, every day, July Yule! Hurrah!

Sir has ordered whole bunches of glamping goodies for our second venture to Rope Camp, and there’s been some awesome sundries and what, namely the fancy travel bar kit He got for me to make His drinks. It even has a strap, so i can carry it around easier! (before anyone asks, yes, i will be holding those drinks.) The real jewel of the set is the sexy zesting tool. i am going to be making peel curls like you would not believe. Mmmm.

Today, there was a different box. Ooooh and i knew what it was, the logo of my favourite hippie-dippie retailer! Hooray! But i had to wait, and i spent a good deal of time glancing at it, right there next to me on the floor. Oooh ooh ooh! After a good deal of hectic flitting about to get my chores done, i got His OFA message and made His drink, and finally after the bustle of the Homecoming we settle in .He flipped one of His pocketknives open, and handed it to me. i get to open it! i slit the tape, grasped the flaps, and…

He took the box out of my hands!

Now, for a second one thought He was about to be really mean, yeah?

Not even!

He lifts out my pretty!

bells got a belt!

Here’s the thing. Sir wants me in skirts, all the time, yes? He also wants me to have certain items on hand at all times. But not all skirts come with pockets, and those that do always wind up with my stuff annoying my leg in some fashion and are rarely, if ever, just roomy enough. i’m not about to go about sewing cargo pockets on all my skirts.

This belt is pockets.
(Isn’t it super-nifty?)

It’s the coolest thing ever, and when i saw it, i -squee-’d.

But that’s not all, folks. Whatever comes next?

A skirt.

Not just any skirt, people, but a skirt, exactly like the one this stupid slut totally fucking ruined in the wash, because i didn’t think.

What followed that was a super pretty shirt that i can never wear in public, but will to Camp, that matched it.

“Tears of gratitude”, y’know, you read it, and it is nothing like when it happens.

i love how He is always surprising me, and delighting in doing so.

Especially when it’s not a mean surprise.

i am, in fact, spoiled absolutely rotten because underneath those wondrous items, was the rest of my Rope Camp wardrobe.

zomg Him. Him Him Him. -bouncebouncebounce-
*~Lucky’s lucky girl~*

Domesticated.

Yesterday i lost my job. The boss had to downsize and i was cut. i was a little hurt, and cried a bit over it. i often dreamed of being able to focus wholly on my dual paths of slavery and motherhood, but being let go was a bit of a shock. i did love my work, and i was saddened to see it end. Although i had been promised i would be sent some side projects, i started to worry about what the loss of my income would mean for our Home, and Sir has forbidden me to worry about it any further.

At this current point in time, He does not demand that i seek other employment. i see it as having the summer off, as it were (whoo hoo, schoooooool’s out for summer!). i am glad that i will be given the opportunity to devote all my attention to the Home, and am currently working on a “project list” consisting of all the domestic ventures i had meant to get to, but had fallen to the wayside. i will also have the time to do more research, hone my domestic skills, and work on time management.

When i was on leave, not working, Sir made me start this blog, to keep my mind occupied, and i suppose that means, dear Reader, that you will be seeing more from me here. i hope to further explore and deepen my sense of self as His property, as long as my introspection doesn’t give me a case of crazies, which sometimes it is wont to do. i will definitely be doing more journaling, at least.

i suppose i finished grieving this morning, when i leisurely and *mindfully* prepared for Sir’s morning, without rushing about so i could get work done on time. It was a nice feeling. Right now i don’t know what the future holds, but i am determined to make the best use of the newfound time i have.

Oh, what a night!

So, Sir had threatened to put sparklers in my butt for the Fourth of July, i’m assuming there’s a reason that had something to do with independence, right? Since i had foiled that plan by buying, y’know, mega sparklers that would likely catch my hair on fire, even from there, so He bought some the next day and followed through with His plan anyway. Then, of course, had to show evidence.

Yesterday we had the Great FetLife Meme War ’12, which mostly centered about His threatened beating of me with a hose, and was great fun, and later when i sprayed Him with same hose in the pool, He made some insinuations about another, more spectacular sparkler display. Luckily, i did not get beaten with the hose. Neither was the display to come to pass.

Oh, but what did happen.

i usually at least give Sir a blowjob before bed, and it was late, but i noticed He was very awake. As i began, He demanded i “get my slutty cunt wet” for Him. Like it would take much after that. He flipped me over and took me from behind, as He is wont to do. After the first few thrusts, my head and arms were off the side of the bed, and i was reaching, grasping, flailing for any handhold to keep me from falling straight off. i held onto the bed frame as He pounded into me, and when He ripped His cock out of my pussy and commanded me to cum, i complied readily, soaking the bedding as He had taught my body to do so readily, His cum spraying onto my back.

He smacked my ass fondly and rolled onto His back, His breathing slowing. i was stuck. You know the way, dear Reader, when one can’t simply pull themselves up from some position. Sir laughed, and pulled me back onto the bed, and we realized i had torn my hand on the metal of the bed frame. Sir licked my wounds, and it wasn’t long after that His cock was in my mouth again.

This time, when Sir entered me, He pushed my face down into the pillows, and after a moment His hand closed around my neck. i could feel it tighten, and loosen, at intervals while He fucked me, and i fell into the blissful feeling that’s the place between when you’re dreaming and awake. He made me cum with Him, and we fell apart, exhausted, on the bed, and after, nestled together and slept.

The thing is, yes, Sir is a sadist, and sometimes i am wholly intimidated by Him, or at least what’s going on in His mind, ha! Sometimes it is all about His control, His pleasure, my pain, and we mix well that way. Sir is also a passionate, powerful, gentle, soulful and incredible Man, and i am in such awe of how He bursts open my heart, shines through my soul, (blows my mind), and, y’know, ‘splodes my girly bits. Hehehe.

Concern, or why we need to live in a rural area.

The other day, a wine glass fell from the great height of the counter and shattered on the floor. While i was in the process of sweeping it up, i managed to step on the teeny-tiniest grain of glass. i was like the lion with a thorn in it’s paw. Anyway, Sir and i went out onto the back porch to begin thie slow painful process of Him digging it out. Of course, i was fussing and hollering, wimp that i am, until finally i decided it would be easier (pulling the bandaid off quickly, as it were) if we just slit it down the middle and scrubbed out the glass. Medical professional i am not. Seeing as we don’t keep scalpels handy, i ran and got a paring knife.
Apparently Sir thought that was a fundamentally stupid idea, so He wrested the knife from me, hauled me up and dragged my ass inside to continue His minor surgery.

No sooner had he grabbed the antibiotic ointment when there was a knocking at the door. Standing on out front step were three officers in uniform. The neighbors had called in a domestic disturbance!

So Sir and i were separated, and i had to explain the whole thing to a very intimidating female officer ( you would think they would be a bit more approachable, those ones ), and after an admonition of “next time, maybe you should just go to the hospital”, she and the others went on their way.

Lesson of all this? We need to move to the boonies. Neighbors are too far up one’s ass in suburbia.

Watching


In my last post, i had mentioned that i was…oh, freaking out, but i didn’t say why. The reason i had been such a mess was because i knew that last night was going to happen. Turns out, i wasted a lot of energy worrying when it wasn’t really all that bad.

Sir had decided that He was going to have me watch Him with another woman. The girl kinda fell into our lap (we’ve been friends for a while, and she wanted to get laid) so it was all systems go.

The day started out with a cosmic joke, my period arriving just in time to ensure my pussy wouldn’t get any attention. The gods are sometimes rude like that. i had gotten myself so worked up i even asked a forum for advice, in a word, i was nervous. Sir talked me down a bit, and as the time drew near i gained a curious sense of calm. She arrived in the afternoon, bearing wine, cheese, and fruit. She and i worked together in the kitchen, readying plates, and there wasn’t much tension in the air. It was a pleasant day out, we opened a bottle of wine, i readied a plate for Sir and sat at his feet, and we had a bit of a picnic. When Sir indicated He wanted His plate refreshed, she kind of pushed in and took over preparing it. i expected Sir to stop her, for some reason, but He didn’t, and i didn’t want to be impolite. Sir told me later that He was waiting for me to assert my service to Him, and i didn’t. i felt like i failed, then.

We talked a while, enjoyed the afternoon, and Sir commanded me to make her a drink.

When i returned, they were occupying the chairs that Sir and i usually sit in outside, and i sat on the ground underneath them both, and then cooked dinner while they chatted. (To be honest, i was a bit miffed about those things, because i didn’t feel her to be superior to me at all, so it ruffled my feathers, even though Sir had already reminded me that everything i did was a service to Him.) i served her dinner and readied Sir’s plate, went to my cushion under His chair, and waited. In the kitchen, Sir was preparing my dinner in the dog dish. i haven’t quite been able to bring myself to not be wildly uncomfortable putting my dinner in there, and Sir has been very kind about doing it for me. i handed Him the plate, and positioned myself to serve as His table, and He set the dish in front of me. i almost cringed. i didn’t want to do this in front of her, but there it was. Sir set His plate on my back and began to eat. The gentle movement and pressure from His dinner was soothing, i love that feeling, and it gave me courage. i began to eat. Minutes passed, and she said “It’s amazing how you can hold that position and eat the same time. Wow.” and i swelled with pride. Sir appreciated the compliment, too, i could feel it.

Dinner ended, and i cleared the plates, we all went outside for another glass of wine, and then it was time. She had brought an outfit to change into, so while she dressed Sir tied a beautiful chest harness on me, bound my hands, and inserted the buttplug into my (hesitant, but every bit of me started craving something) ass. He handed me His drink and sent me upstairs to the bedroom to wait. i knelt at the end of the bed for what seemed like hours before i heard their footsteps on the stairs. Sir put the spider gag on me, which i didn’t expect, i thought His new apparatus would be His first choice, but He wanted my mouth open to catch, i assume. He took His drink from my hands, had a sip, and put it back. i tried to keep my hands steady. He took out a long length of red rope and began to tie her. There was something about the look in His eyes as He was doing it, like a painter at work, and i had never noticed how gracefully His hands moved with the rope, i mean, i had to an extent, but He was beautiful like a symphony. The decorative bit done, He bound her hand and foot, and tied her ankles to..well, actually i have no idea where on her those ropes ended. Anyway.

He tugged on the ropes experimentally, and said gleefully “like a puppet!” and it was like someone had let the air back in the room, for me. i tried to sing the song, you know it, dear Reader…”i got no strings to hold me up!” but it sounded dumb around the gag, and Sir removed it. Then there was banter! Hehe. Sir started thwapping her a bit, alternating between the contradiction knot, a crop, and a cane. He commented how her ass coloured much more readily than mine, and i had to admit she reddened prettily. He touched her pussy and she moaned, and honestly, the first one cut, a bit. i watched Him play her skilfully for a while, and He bid me come over to the side of the bed, closer to Him. i knelt there with a bird’s-eye view while he fingerfucked her, and she was so wrapped up in her own pleasure she didn’t seem to notice much but that. When He moved to enter her, i told myself to be brave, but i
wasn’t. i looked away after the first thrust of His hips.

Then the unexpected. Sir bored of her. She had, in my eyes, an utter disregard for His pleasure, and was pretty much only invested in her orgasm. Sir isn’t used to being treated that way, and it displeased Him. Coupling that with the fact that He didn’t pick the girl out, and He wasn’t too thrilled. He brought out the wand, and with that and His fingers, brought her to the orgasm she sought. As He brought His hands to my lips, i shut them, not wanting it, but He forced His fingers in. She laughed and asked how her cum tasted, and i wanted to punch her. It was then, that i cried. Sir’s hand on my back was warm and loving, and then they left. i composed myself and followed them downstairs.

Sir was waiting for me in the kitchen, she was outside, and we briefly discussed what had transpired before He put me to my knees and fucked my face. His cum had never tasted sweeter, i tell you. We all hung out for a while longer. She had planned to spend the night, and i was relieved when Sir did not offer her a place in His bed. She crashed out on the couch, and He held me fast while we fell asleep, and i felt so safe and secure, and relieved and grateful and ah, everything. Most of all, i loved Him so so so much.

This morning? Agh it took forever for her to leave. Seriously, it was the afternoon by the time she left. Sir slept in, and i curled up with His warmth every now and again, before going back to my coffee and trying to get the girl out of our Home. i think He and i were a bit disappointed with the whole affair, He wasn’t that into her, which kind of ruined it a bit. i had expected to be forced to learn the lesson that i have no claim to His sexual attentions, and be humbled by my humiliation, but those things didn’t really happen. i was glad i performed well, and He was proud of my poise, and, well, it was more entertaining than a movie, and not bad for a first run.

Sir says next time (next time?!?!) He is going to pick His fucktoy, likely one that’s prettier than me, and all sexylike with that sexy thing what i don’t. (Not to say He doesn’t think i’m sexy, but there’s, y’know, other sexy). It wasn’t a complete bust, but it wasn’t a mind-blowing experience, either. i think i learned something, even if it wasn’t the lesson He set to teach me. Mostly i am grateful that i am able to please Him, because not everyone can, and that makes my heart sing.

(All that worrying and craziness, really. Oye)

Spinning.

Some days just make you want to scream. Sometimes those days are a week long.
My head has been all sorts of screwy (no need to say ‘why’ at this juncture) and i’ve been more than a little freaked out. Being in that state pretty much has two options:

1) Tell Sir what’s going on in there (the mental transparency that is expected of me) so He can try to fix it.

2) Don’t talk about it, and act a damn fool.

i mean, i’m not saying i amunable to behave myself when there is nothing but chaos between my ears, but that just seems to be the way it plays out. So which avenue, dear Reader, do you think i went with?

Of course i did.

And to no small degree, either. i can honestly say that for a few days past (not counting yesterday, i did all right there) i have been truly at my worst, and it hasn’t been pretty. Sir has been pretty furious with me on more than one occasion, and with good reason. It took me up ’til yesterday afternoon to tell Him what was bothering me so much, how i ended up spinning out of control, and instantly i felt better. Why i didn’t do it sooner…-sigh- 

It should be easy, to do something like that, but time and again i find myself obsessing over things without giving Him the access to mind He requires. Especially considering that it truly is for my own good, and i’ve seen the evidence of that more than once. i suppose it’s one of those lessons i seem to need to learn over a lot. One would think it would only needs be once…

So, i am slowly, shakily, finding my way back to center, to where i’m supposed to be. Sir has instituted some measures to keep me thinking more clearly, and although He is incredibly disappointed in His girl, He has been very kind in guiding me back there. Mostly i am struggling with getting over the guilt, my actions haunt me, and i’m trying not to let it depress me overmuch, because Sir desires for me to move forward, but there’s a lot of shame in my heart, right now. i think sometimes moving on from an episode like this feels akin to digging oneself out of a grave.

Then again, it seems like i keep running headfirst into brick walls of my own making, so mayhap it’s more like recovering from a concussion. For the third time this month.

The Object of the Evening


Sir received His new “accessory” for His Good Girl™ in the post a week ago, and i’ve had the opportunity to get used to the feel of it. In the picture on the website, the model is holding a delicate stemmed glass, and with good reason. “Rocks glasses” are aptly named in this case. i’m not complaining, there is a small manner of holding the angle of one’s head correctly so the drink, (Old Fashioneds, in this case), rests level when set down. (i would say about fifteen degrees). The apparatus itself is far more comfortable than i had anticipated (no small amount of dread, there), and both the jaw and back of the head are well supported (there’s this cushy bit in the back, it’s rather nice). 

Last night, having returned from a lovely dinner, Sir took His brandy (snifters are much lighter) upstairs, and i was fitted with the serving gag. i had anticipated that, and had it at the ready. What i had not foreseen was Sir tying my hands back. i had not been bound as His drink holder before, although my arms usually naturally came to rest behind me. This brought a whole new dimension to being a serving tray, and i became His Drink Holder(tm). i had become accustomed to serving as a drink holder or footstool (can’t quite do both) in the evenings while He watched a movie, but *this* movie, i didn’t expect. i held His drink, and watched Him watch porn, and felt strangely helpless. Then, in another unexpected move, Sir set His drink aside and replaced the serving gag with the cold metal of the spider gag. 

This is where wandering the forums had gotten this girl in trouble. Sir had found the idea of using His Good Girl™ as His Cum Rag™ delightful, apparently, and i was not allowed to participate in His orgasm, other than being something to aim at. He was glad to taunt me with that, wanting so badly to feel Him. It was oddly painful, there, restrained, waiting for Him to be done getting off watching someone else, almost like i was jealous of the actors for being the source of His orgasm. When He finished on me, He saw how badly i wanted to come, too, but He didn’t permit it, and in that moment i had very little sense of being, well, anything but what purpose i served.

Needless to say, over coffee this morning Sir declared He enjoyed that immensely, and is excited for His new use for His Good Girl™. It doesn’t matter much which movie He watches, Sir will always have a useful object for the evening.

Pillow princess!

Comfort shame:

Until someone smarter than me comes up with a better term, referring to the (hopefully) unintentional side effect of the “pillow princess” descriptive insult.
i get it. You are so hardcore. You could kneel on pitted linoleum for hours. Of course, that won’t happen, because your Master isn’t into that sort of thing. But if you had to, you could, and you are such a bad-ass bitch that you wouldn’t even consider the notion of having any sort of cushion under you. Because, well, fuck, if you did, you would be one of those bitches. You know, the ones who say they’re a slave, but really aren’t, ’cause they probably are spoiled rotten, never have to suffer even a bit, top from the bottom, and call a safeword when it’s time to do the dishes. You know, those ones. We definitely don’t want to look like one of those.

‘Fuckno, i don’t want a mat under my knees! This shit is only gravel!’

le sigh. i have a confession to make, friends. i am not allowed to be that hardcore. For some reason, Sir insists i serve as His ottoman ensconced in fluffy, pretty, EVIL pillows. Apparently, when He wishes to take an hour (or two) long nap with His feet up, i am not permitted to bear the weight of His legs with only the sixty year old hardwood floor underneath my shaking limbs, oh no, i have to do it with something marginally comfortable underneath me.

It is tragic, i tell you.

Ridiculous, it seems that Sir is more concerned about how efficient a piece of furniture i am than how “slavey” i am. If i have to keep adjusting my position on a hard surface so i can walk the next day, i may tip over His dinner. Or, i would be interrupting His nap if i, y’know, collapsed or something. He’s mean, and cares more about maximising my utility than putting me in undue discomfort (well, only when He needs furniture, He seems to have no problem inflicting ‘undue discomfort’ any other time)

Apparently, Sir doesn’t understand that i am never going to be able to be a bad-ass bitch uberslave if He keeps making me kneel on soft things when i am His furniture. How will i ever find fulfillment if i am shamed by the (admittedly unknowing) derision of my peer group? WHY CAN’T I BE HARDCORE? -sobs-

I really, truly, honestly have no issue with the “pillow princess” descriptor. i know i’m not one. (well, maybe i am, i really should ask someone who knows about such things) It works for what it’s needed for, and i’m really not offended. i do, however, wonder what the ‘comfort shame’ fallout spread is.

You know what? When this and this arrive in the post, He will probably make me spend the whole evening holding His drink with that stupid thing on my stupid face with a pillow under my knees. i may as well angle to get that pretty meditation cushion i saw at World Market, because, well, shit, if i’m going to be an epic slave failure, i may as well do it in style.

i is shamed

-hangs head-

Why hate on the 50′s?

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The derisive idea du mois: “That’s not M/s, it’s just a 50′s style marriage with kink”
Is a 1950′s household model the new “loser” in M/s circles? Allow me to posit, dear Reader, that most of the time, our day-to-day lives do, in fact, look quite a bit like a traditional 50′s marriage. i *, wake up, *,  lay out Sir’s clothes, *, serve His coffee, *, and He goes off to work. Then i *, putter around, *, *, *, and clean the house, *, *, get everything i need together for dinner, *, serve Sir His drink when He arrives Home, *, *, make dinner, *, serve dinner, *, tidy up after dinner, *, finish up things left undone during the day (if i get to it), *, spend, *, some , *, time, *,  with Sir, *, and then go to bed.

(*- take care of the wee one.)
 
i suppose, to some, that seems pretty boring (i daresay, even vanilla) and not as “hardcore” as, you know, real M/s. i am rarely ‘punished’ (His disappointment is enough), Sir is more likely to grant any of my requests than deny them (i’m spoiled), and He is very sweet and loving and kind (i had a wonderful Mother’s Day, and Sir brought Home a rotisserie last night so i didn’t have to cook because i’ve been sick for days). Hell, we only get our “kink” on but rarely, in the whole sense of a long, drawn out scene type deal.
 
But, we are what we are. Sir doesn’t need His control to be overt, i think He prefers it to be inherent. As nice as it would be to have Him giving me my working orders for the day, every day, that’s not what He is looking for. i have to make my own to-do list, He wants His Home to be run, and run well, without Him having to worry about it. There are certain things i am to ask Him about first, but everything else i am entrusted to figure out myself. Sometimes i forget things. Sometimes i’m not completely focused on Him. Sometimes tasks are left unfinished.
 
So, why all the contempt? i think, when the novelty wears off a bit, the relationship has settled in, and real life needs tending to, that most M/s relationships start looking like a 1950′s-style household, at least a majority of the time. Perhaps, where all the disdain comes from is being afraid that kind of comfortable routine means a rut, or stasis in the relationship? No idea. i, myself, am grateful for the days our life together looks (mostly, minus the stray hair tug or face slap) like the Cleaver’s, because it means i have served Him satisfactorily, the day didn’t have any surprises or crises, and there is nothing He wishes me to actively learn or improve upon that day. Which is not to say i don’t wish we could live the fantasy all the time, but who doesn’t? i think, sometimes, access to similar personalities drives us to live through comparison rather than within our own context.
 
i am His slave, His Good Girl™, every day, and it doesn’t much matter what that looks like at any given time, does it?

Two entries from before the blog...

The insides...

Journal Entry |
Needless to say, yesterday i was a bit of a mess. By "bit of a mess", i mean "complete and utter emotional basket case". i kept telling myself i couldn't make myself get over the sadness i felt in my heart. Lucky was very sweet, and patient with me, but He was getting frustrated. With good reason. It wasn't that i couldn't make myself feel better, more that i wouldn't. Sometimes it's just easier to wallow, or to let yourself be caught up in a wave of bad emotion, than it is to pull yourself together. i didn't allow anything He said (reasonable as it was) to penetrate the muck that was in my head. i simply couldn't give over to trusting that He knew best, and that the shitty thought processes were coming from a place of fear, a fear that He would have taken from me if i had allowed it.

Who am i to think that He can't have power over my emotions? How can i be so stubborn as to simply refuse to allow Him to make me feel better?

The turning point came when (i think He was just fed up with me) Lucky made me put on pink sunglasses. Rosy outlook and all that. i felt so damn silly that i had to crack a smile. Which put a crack in the wall of ick i had built. And it all started to come tumbling down. i realized that all of the badness i felt was something i was making for myself, not an inevitability.

Whether you say you can or you say you can't...you're right.

i have a tendency to get rather overwhelmed emotionally. Little things build up on the inside, and i just 'splode everywhere. It's rather unbecoming, and Sir definitely doesn't appreciate it, but it's something i've done for so long, i simply don't know how to quit. Lucky says it's something we need to work on, but i'm not sure how to go about it. For now, when i feel that wave welling up inside me, i will quietly repeat my mantra to myself, i find it soothing and it will surely help.

i know it's a process, but i can't help but feel frustration that though my enslavement is easy on the outside, it hasn't quite permeated all of my inside. i can only hope that it will improve in depth and breadth through my spirit, and i will be able to completely give over to His will in my thoughts and emotions, especially when i fall into that overwhelmed icky place.
In time.

And now for something completely different...

Journal Entry |
Saturday i had an(other) occurence of allowing my emotional state to yank control away from Sir, and refusing to align myself with His will and not wallow in that semi-hysterical, irrational space.

Yesterday Sir announced He would be moving in a different direction with me. His dominion over me is about to become much stricter. Up until this point, i had enjoyed a rather high privilege level, although i can't say that i have necessarily earned such. i also can't say that this news doesn't make me a bit apprehensive. Is the unknown, and knowing the unknown won't necessarily be as...well...pleasant as the present situation. So there was the initial foreboding.

Behind that little twinge of fear is a feeling of an odd kind of shame. The realization that i don't much deserve how liberal He has been with me, and of how i have allowed myself to nearly become complacent in my service to Him, puts this little pit in my stomach that screams "this is going to be a whole load of NOT fun, and it's your just comeuppance!" It made me even more nervous, because i know that no matter how difficult (whatever it is) will be, THAT is what i've merited, not the permissive environment i've been in.

The next part of my inner process surprised me. I had expected the first two emotional pieces, they made sense. What i was not prepared for was the sudden rush of desire for a more overt imposition of His will. i am having trouble grasping how i jumped from fear and shame to an only slightly uncomfortable anticipation. i also don't quite understand how it happened so seamlessly, as if it were a natural progression.

i don't know if that eagerness will last as the process wears on. i had stumbled across the Theory of Reactance and had the sudden thought that Sir has to work very hard to make me everything He wants me to be, and i am so very fortunate that He is willing to put in the time and effort to make me such. If i can keep that in my thoughts even when i can't help but having moments of resistance to His will and plans, then i think, maybe, i'll be ok.

“When someone beats a rug,
the blows are not against the rug,
but against the dust in it.”
-Rumi

Constituting the Realm of Control

-IVE

On what is compulsive:

i am, literally, figuratively, and shamefully, a “picker”. Not only am i overanalytic and obsessive over minutae, i apparently have some form of dermatillomania. There’s tumblrs, i’m guessing they are really icky. i didn’t go. (i was afraid to look.) Sir has been reminding me to not engage in that behavior, but to be honest, dear Reader, i haven’t been getting any better. i’m trying to reframe it as an obedience issue, instead of just considering it a problem that has always been and always will be, as something outside His control. i know Sir has the power to change my habits, but (and there’s where we go wrong, i suppose, with the but) this is so much more than a habit, it’s just…what i’ve always done. Innate. That sounds like whiny voice to my eyes, too.

On what is instinctive:

my argument is pretty much invalid. Modern civilization is proof positive that the human species has been able to overcome their base instincts, right? i don’t necessarily think so. The instinct for self-preservation is a pretty powerful one. But does that betray a modicum of distrust for Him? i want to be as unmoving as if bound. i don’t mean to flinch. To obey, to be still, is counterintuitive, but not impossible for Him to get. i just have to let my fear be less than my devotion to Him.

Why do those look so much like…excuses?

i know there are habits of mine that He will break, bits of me He will mold to His vision, and parts He will simply polish. i wish for these things because they will make me more perfect for Him. Thinking there is anything He cannot change is the only thing that stands in the way of Him changing it.

Today, i will believe that no part of me, no matter how inherent it may seem, is outside His realm of control. Just because something has been, or is, out of my control does not mean it isn’t under His.

Missed Opportunity

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The week got off to a rough start. i’ve tried to write about anything but this, and i must write, and damn it if there aren’t other things i need to be getting to, and i can’t until i finish this…i really don’t want to. This will be awkward.

i can honestly say, lately, if anything, i have not been on top of my game. Sometimes it just seems there aren’t enough hours in the day, but i let that overwhelm me rather than digging in and getting the proverbial “It” done. In my case, “It” is not really that complex, there’s  protocols (…eep), the morning routine (which i’ve been failing to observe as of late), chores (most of which get done, most days), and, well, whatever else Sir says (this, i’m pretty good at). So, my mantra being obey-serve-love-excel, i’m really not excelling at much of anything, here. Actually, i’ve been sort, well, whiny.


Monday night, Sir had a work emergency He needed to attend to. It required a good deal of His concentration, and i wanted to be as conducive to that as possible. i began well, getting the children bundled off to bed, setting on music, making sure His drink was filled, that. Then, i froze. i couldn’t, for the life of me, remember how i was to behave in this situation. Granted, i have it somewhere, in writing, how i am to act when Sir is working like that. Still, i had no clue.  i had not really experienced being in this type of situation before. So, i asked Him, in doing so shattering His concentration at what appeared to be a pretty crucial juncture.

Sir wasn’t angry at me, but i could tell it had irritated Him. i was simply mortified. i think, Dear Reader, even though i technically did nothing wrong, i felt just as terrible as if i had wilfully broken a rule. i had a chance to shine, to serve Him with poise under pressure, and to give Him a reason to be proud of me, and i blew it completely. Knowing i missed that opportunity is truly painful. i’ve been dwelling on it, and really, all i should be doing right now is buckling down on the basics, because, you know, you need a cake before you can frost it. Or something.

Surrendering on Sex

Bear with me, dear Reader, as i try to unscramble my thinking, here.

i’ve been finding it very difficult to accept when Sir turns down my sexual advances. At first i thought that perhaps i was trying to retain some control over our sex life, but i seem to have stumbled across a greater problem. i feel rejected. Not just in an “am i not sexy enough for Him to want me?” kind of way, although that’s certainly there, but as a person. i’ve always affirmed that i would want to be with someone who cares for me as a whole person, based on more than physical attraction, which is what i have, now, but when Sir doesn’t want “it” at the moment, i feel as if He doesn’t want me. Could it be that during the course of my sexual lifetime, i’ve evaluated my worth in the relationship based on how sexually attractive my partner perceived me to be? If so, and i consider it a very real possibility, (albeit one that i considered myself “above” somehow, before now) how do i change that pattern with Sir?

i try not to get all pouty and hurt when Sir turns me down. Somehow, i always fail in that regard. i know, when Sir wants me, He will have me, but what about the rest of the time? How do i deal with the feeling of rejection, there? Intellectually, i know that He isn’t rejecting me as a person, just the act (at the time), but knowing it is difficult to internalize. i suppose the easiest route is to remind myself that i am here for His pleasure, not mine, and if He doesn’t have a mind to be…well…pleasured, at that time, then it really, honestly, doesn’t have much to do with me, at all.

Why is that so difficult?

My apologies, dear Reader, if that hurt your brain to read as much as it hurt mine to write.

End of late night ramblings and racing thoughts. Good Night.

Ask and ye shall receive

i didn’t think it was actually going to happen. At least, not yet. i certainly didn’t feel ready for it.  After i posted last, Sir “rewarded” me with the dog bowl that He has been apparently keeping in the trunk of His car for a while now. That night, i ate out of it for the first time. It may have been the hardest thing He’s had me do thus far. He was kind enough to not make me prepare it myself, i was already freaking out. So i knelt, and waited, hardly breathing, until He set my dinner down in front of me on the floor. He put His feet up, and told me to eat. i almost choked on the first bite. i wanted to cry. The second one was easier, but i felt my face turning red and the shameful feeling turning my stomach. A third bite, i felt sick. i had hit a wall, and hesitated. i didn’t want to do it anymore, even for Him, even though i knew it was what He wanted for me, and that it was something i should be learning from, i just didn’t want to go on. Then the most amazing thing happened. i felt His Hand on me, warm and heavy, and the lump in my throat disappeared. i could finish. i was still hurting, still struggling, still embarrassed and ashamed and scared, but in that moment i knew He loved me, saw me as beautiful, even as base and humiliated as i was.

After, he rose me up, and we discussed it. i was still so disjointed, i couldn’t really formulate what had happened to me then. He was so sweet, and gentle, held me and wiped my tears and told me He was proud of me. Something had broken in me. Not something that needed to be fixed after, dear Reader, but something that needed to be broken. It was a wall, a fear of Him seeing me as contemptible, shameful, or unworthy that made it so i could not, would not, allow Him to see me in a low place. i lost that part of me that was too embarrassed to be open, vulnerable, exposed. What He did was force me to see that He won’t be repulsed, shocked, or repelled by His imperfect girl or all her flaws. i am so very grateful for that. There is nothing more beautiful than the feeling in my heart when i realized this. i am His, as i am, and He will keep me, and make me better, perfect for Him. As painful as the experience was, the lesson in it was well worth it.

How lucky i am to be His!

Forniphilia and Foreboding

Image
Allen Jones sculptures

Lately Sir has been using His Good Girl™ as a footstool or a table when He is so inclined. i enjoy it immensely, although i’m not sure of the “why”. There is something about serving as furniture for Him that makes me feel so…tiny. Unimportant. Less-than-human. i suppose that would be the point of it, but i don’t know how those feelings translate into, well, it being so hot. i didn’t know i would be the kind to go in for that kind of objectification, but serving as furniture flips some switch in me that is beyond my comprehension.

All other reactions aside, what i enjoy most of all about serving as furniture for Sir is the stillness it brings me, the sense of quiet. More often than not, i’m fidgety, both physically and mentally. Being His table or footstool quells the thoughts that race through my head, and allows me to just be. Lately i’ve been feeling pretty overwhelmed, i haven’t finished a to-do list in a week, there’s laundry that’s been sitting in the dryer for three days (!!!), and with everything that’s going on i feel like i will never catch up. It definitely throws me off-kilter. But when Sir commands me to be His footstool or table, i become calm, centered, and grounded. It’s a powerful tool He uses to remind me of my place (not to mention it’s convenient!)

When Sir began having me serve as His footstool or table, the act somehow brought up a feeling of almost shame. i would guess that it was my ego getting in the way, but that’s not the case now. When holding one position starts to become difficult, or i had just managed to not wobble the plate or glass, i feel an incredible sense of pride. i am fulfilling my single purpose in that moment, and it’s rewarding.

Sir sees a tableau for us, with Him sitting at the kitchen table with His coffee and reading, me underneath it, propping up His feet, and having my breakfast out of a dog bowl. He enjoys that picture, and has mentioned getting that bowl for me on more than one occasion. It makes me nervous, to say the least. i’m afraid of how it will make me feel. i know, in fact, that the first few times it would seem almost unbearably embarrassing. i have an overdeveloped sense of embarrassment. Of course, i wouldn’t fight it, but i’ll likely complain a bit. Sir wouldn’t care much, i’m sure. If it is something He decides i need, or simply something He would enjoy, then it will happen, whether i protest or not.

In thinking about it, it probably is something that would be useful to use on me right now. Instead of telling Sir when i began to feel “off”, i’ve allowed that feeling to build until the point where (once again) i am in need of a radical realignment to His vision of me. i finally confessed where my headspace has gone, and have asked Him to rectify it. It’s never a fun thing when He has to “fix” me, and it’s always of my own doing that it gets to this point. Eventually i will learn to not let it go this far, it will be much easier in the long run. For now, all i can do is accept whatever maintenance Sir sees fit to perform, and try to not fall off track again.

Onward!

Introductory



It is common teaching that good writing requires a strong introductory paragraph, something to draw the reader in, and defines what the writing will be about. There will likely be none of that here. Sir has decided i should keep a blog, and so i am. i can’t say i am necessarily thrilled with the idea, writing in and of itself intimidates me, and more so writing so others can see. i don’t feel i have much to say, nor any talent with the written word, so i find this to be a rather difficult requirement. Please, Dear Reader, bear with me, as this post and undoubtedly many to follow will consist mostly of “stream of consciousness” writing until i am a bit more confident in my abilities. Also please excuse the appearances of this blog, it is, as i am, a work in progress.

i suppose this is the part where i provide the answer to that big question, “who are you?”, even if i don’t have a very good answer for it. The short answer is, i am His. His Good Girl™. That is the title He’s bestowed upon me, trademark and all. It’s funny, how seeing the capital letters and the trademark, looking at it, makes me feel like i should make sure i don’t have “made in Taiwan” engraved somewhere on my person. But it fits, i am His favorite toy, and that is how He has named me. He takes very good care of His toys. i seldom want for anything, and sometimes i can honestly say i feel downright spoiled. For example, i will be receiving a very pretty dress in the mail rather soon, and i don’t necessarily feel i deserve it. Wait. The fact of the matter is, i don’t deserve it, it’s not even really my dress. i didn’t get the dress because i wanted it, i got the dress because He wanted me to wear it. There’s been a new rule instituted recently that i am to wear pretty dresses in His presence, and soon i will be sewing my own wardrobe, so He doesn’t have to get any more. i’m still excited for the dress.

Looking back on the past year and a half, the difference between where we were and where we are is startling. A year and a half ago, we were simply friends. Unbeknownst to each other at the time, we were both “crushing” on each other. i have no clue how neither of us managed to see it. A year ago, almost exactly, we started “dating” officially, but by that time had already fallen madly in love with each other. Amazingly, the relationship dynamic looked absolutelynothinglike it does now. In the beginning, before we were “official”, Sir was my student in energy working. i had a pretty authoritative role, there.

Slowly, quietly, undetected, that just…shifted. Without any real overt effort on His part, i fell under His control, simply by the virtue of His superior will. The more i got to know Him, the more i idolized Him. His intelligence, His power, everything about Him made me want to be His. i don’t think we even discussed defining our relationship in M/s or O/p terms, at first, it simply…happened. By the time we began to talk about definitions, parameters, and all the rest of it, i was already framing my existence around serving Him, attending to His wants and needs, with no thought as to a reward, for pleasing Him was it’s own reward for me
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We had a slow and steady “trial run”, and this past November, Sir placed His collar around my neck and declared His ownership over me. Our vows and the ritual closely resembled a handfasting, and was just as, if not more, powerful and binding. We basked in the honeymoon glow of it, for a while, welcomed a new addition to our family, and now, Sir has decided the real work will begin. He’s told me that i am His Good Girl™ and He wants to make me His Perfect Girl™. i want that too. i don’t believe i’ll ever be a perfect person, far from it, all i desire is to be perfect for Him.

If you wish, Dear Reader, i invite you to follow me on my impossible quest to become His perfect possession. There will be laughter and tears, tribulations and triumphs, and a good deal of tripping over wayward stones and sticks. Which will be fun, at least, to watch.

Happy Trails!

New Home!

His Good Girl™ has moved from WordPress to Blogger!

i'm going to be reposting all the relevant entries from the old place, and hopefully writing some new ones as i have time.

Cheers!
bells