The journey continues here: Vou Viti Levu.
29 January 2010
28 June 2009
I was driving recently past a fast food chain and a memory hit me - something I hadn't thought about almost since it happened three years ago. It was the night Master and I were attending our first BDSM party as a pair. I had limited "scene" experience, and it felt like an honour to accompany him as his own for the first time - so naturally I was nervous. I wanted to be seen with him, and to make him proud. But as we were getting ready to leave, something happened... a conflict with someone important to him. He spoke to me gently and suggested I go alone, and he would join me at the party later... after he sorted the issue out.
I didn't want to go alone. I had looked forward to arriving with him... as his. To be without him felt shameful, and lonely. I wanted to wait for him... but he said no.
I am ashamed to say it, but on that night out, I did not have faith in my Master's word. Driving to the party, I was convinced he would not come at all. I thought I would wait for him there all night, looking at my watch, trying to excuse him to the other guests, to convince them that, no, I hadn't really been abandoned. Until finally I would leave, still alone. Thinking this, I pulled over at the fast food place and sat in the car park for a long time, trying not to cry. Because, in my mind, what this meant was clear: I was not important. He did not care about me. I meant nothing. And I felt sure I would be forgotten that night.
But I wasn’t forgotten. He did turn up at the party, to my relief and surprise.
Now, three years later, I still belong to him. Despite my failings, my weakness, my uncertainty. Despite what can only be described as my crisis. On this one issue, I still find it difficult to have faith in my Master’s word: I am something to him.
Why is it so hard for me to accept that I could matter? Being nothing hurts, but it feels real, and easy to slip into. Being something, that feels so warm… and safe… and frightening. It feels vulnerable, which is somehow worse than pain. The more I mean anything to him, the more I need him, until I don’t know where I am in this anymore. My sense of place becomes soft, until I need his cruelty, desperately, to bring me back. His derision makes the world solid again.
Too much care and I can’t stand it. Too much malice and I can’t stand myself. Can I find a space in the middle, where I can be both his something and his nothing?
I can’t tell what is possible anymore, and I’m not sure I even want to think anymore. My head can’t cope with the questions it’s trying to ask. It tries, and then…… Crisis. Escape.
But escape is not permissible. Master will not allow it. He will keep me for as long as he desires. And just that, helps me to feel safe again. I don’t need the answers, and I don’t need to cope with this alone. I can let go – I have no choice. The answer will be found, or it won’t – all I have to do is obey him, letting my own will go. Easy to do, when I don’t know where it lies anyway.
And here, in his firm grip, without choice, is where I find that balance: I am important enough that he will keep me; and I am insignificant enough that he will use force if he must. This feels peaceful. This feels like love.
05 May 2009
Strangely, I made a noise, but it didn't occur to me to try and yell out. I tried to push up, but was held down hard, and I quickly stopped, thinking I might be suffocated. But for the most part, I did not resist. I was tense and fearful of what was happening. I thought of asking, "Sir?" but dared not, and besides, I felt sure it wasn't. It was not his smell. And that sound...
21 April 2009
20 April 2009
Funny how first times are always a surprise. I always knew my first enema would be a big humiliation. I hadn't expected that it would be made of pure hot piss.
Master blindfolded me first, then told me to lie face down. I could feel a towel underneath me, and started to feel anxious - obviously whatever he was doing, it was going to be messy. He pulled my cheeks apart, and I thought how nice it is to feel unashamed while someone looks straight into your ass. Then he began to shove something into it, and the feeling changed. It was big, and unlubed except for the wetness he collected from my cunt. I moaned and tried to fight the urge to tense up - if he wanted it in there, it was going in, and I knew it.
He pulled it out and said, "a good effort." A relief to hear.
The second time it went in, it was lubed, but still a struggle. I realised it was a big plug... and remembered when he returned from his last trip interstate. He had done some shopping. There was one item he'd bought that still had not been used. A large black plug, with a tube attached... and at the other end, a funnel...
As he fucked my ass with it, he asked me if I knew what was coming, and I told him my guess. He told me to reach back and hold the plug in place so it wouldn't move, and I heard him stand and remove his jeans....
The sensation was subtle, so that I wasn't even sure it was real at first. It felt as though the rubber toy inside my ass was somehow swelling.... but in a very gentle way.... lazily.... it was only when he let a few warm drops flick onto my back that I was sure it wasn't just my imagination... yes, he was filling my asshole with his piss. A lot of piss.
He laid on top of me and fucked me while I moaned, full and wriggling. He shoved the plug firmly into my mouth, making me taste the sweet lube and my fetid shit. The discomfort was visceral, and the thought of dirtying him, horrifying. He ordered me to come, and I had the most restrained orgasm I could manage, feeling the liquid mix dribbling over my cunt. He withdrew and smeared it into me - there. I was his filthy slut, soiled with piss, cum, and feaces.
(Thank you, Sir.)
I had thought it was over, but the hardest and most humiliating part was just beginning. I stood in the shower and whimpered as I realised what I was about to do. Master stood in the doorway looking bemused as I struggled through my dilemma - I couldn't hold it in for good. But letting it out was unbearable. The horror and humiliation as I released that stinking mess from my body - and with him watching - was awful and inescapable. I covered my face with my hands and groaned with shame, and pain from my overstretched hole. I was a disgrace, and I deserved it.