Outed!

Its not important how it happened, but she said it was an accident. I've been living with Vanilla Betty for a few months now, and I knew I couldn't keep it a secret from her forever. She came across some private information, and confronted me: "I know you are submissive, and that he is your master!"

She was clearly disturbed, and rambled a little, trying to be open-minded but unable to hold back her real feelings: she was angry, scared, and didn't trust him. She couldn't understand why I would want this, and as my friend, she was worried for my safety.

In a way, I can understand where she was coming from. We operate on a whole other set of values and assumptions to the vanilla world - and certainly a challenging one to Betty's conservative religious upbringing, and her strong ideals of feminism, equality and social justice. Values that I share - so I can recognise how "twisted" (yes, she used the word twisted) and irrational it must seem that I could want to be treated this way. The first, and hardest question, she wanted answered was WHY?

How to explain it to someone who doesn't have it in them to understand this, without sounding psychologically ill? I tried my best to think of an analogy but couldn't. I told her it makes me happy, it feels liberating to give up control to another person. It gives me a sense of peace to offer someone so much trust.

Which brought up her next panicked question: but how do you know he can be trusted? I told her I have known Master for longer than she thinks, and that I didn't just hand over control in one moment, it has been a gradual progression, so that as we got to know each other better, I offered more to him, and he has consistently shown that he deserves that trust.

But how can you do that? I'm worried about you. I reminded her that she knows I am an intelligent person who makes responsible choices. I wouldn't do something like this frivolously. I told her it is not a new role for me - I have some experience and have learned a few things, and I am able to look after myself.

She told me she's never liked the way he always seemed "so dominating" of me in conversation. I told her I knew she was perceptive and wasn't surprised she had noticed. I told her that I liked it that he was this way, and so it shouldn't cause her offense - he is not doing anything harmful.

Its like when people say they don't mind gay people, but they don't like seeing them show affection in public - so really they do have a problem with it. That's how I feel. Good observation. So you can see that the uncomfortable feeling you have about it is a prejudice? (She didn't like that.)

Why do I have to be dragged into it? When he talks to me that way in front of you, he is not dragging you into our sex life. This goes beyond sex - its part of who we are. When he talks to me in a way that reminds me of his power over me, it is a way of expressing our relationship to one another - done subtly in conversation, because we can't be open about it in front of you.

What do you mean, part of who you are? I mean that its not just a game or a fetish - I am naturally submissive. I've always had the urge to give up control to someone in a relationship. I find it very fulfilling. And he finds it fulfilling to be in control.

How could somebody be like that - wanting to control other people? He doesn't go around controlling people. He's not a sociopath, or a manipulator. He controls people who want to be controlled.

I can't help it, the idea of you being with such a dominant personality upsets me. That's not all there is to him. He is not just dominant, he is also caring, sensitive, intelligent, respectful, fair, and very trustworthy. Don't stereotype him. I could see on her face that she knew I had a point.

Later, she expressed concern over my loyalty to her friendship: I have known you for ten years, and he just walks into your life and you put him first? I don't rank the people in my life. I don't think about anyone as more important than anyone else (with the exception of my son, who must be a priority to me). I have a different relationship to him to the one I have with you - and within that, I treat him with respect and give him power over me. That doesn't change my friendship with you.

She grew angry at me at the idea that I can't assert power over him. I can't believe you wouldn't stick up for me against him! I would talk to him honestly because I care about you. And that is more than you have the right to ask of me - you can and should stick up for youself. I can't and won't tell him what to do.

What happens if what he wants hurts someone else? That depends on how serious it is - there may be some kind of compromise possible. If I think something he wants of me will hurt someone in a way that is important enough, I can tell him how I feel. He treats my feelings and needs with respect. Its not just about him - he does care about other people.

What about treating your friends with respect? What about you, as my friend, treating me with respect by respecting my relationship and not asking me to compromise it?

Eventually, she conceded: Ok. I don't expect to be able to understand this. But I will put in some effort and try, if you give me time, to accept it. I said, that would mean a lot to me.

What a relief that I managed to answer her questions and comments without faltering! I remember a time when I would not have had the confidence and self-acceptance to be able to have this kind of conversation - a time when I, too, thought I must be "twisted" and felt a lot of shame about submission. I can't say I'm totally changed - but today I confirmed that I have come a long way.

Fear & desire

Someone said to me recently that many of our biggest sexual fantasies are a reflection of our greatest fears. There are a million obvious ways that idea could be applied to anyone into anything kinky, probably without much substance. But when that (vanilla) person said that, what immediately came to my mind was one specific way in which, for me, it is undeniably and very deeply true.

I am quite obviously (to anyone who has read much of this blog, or anyone who knows me well) terrified of one thing above any other: being rejected by someone I love. I am most afraid of making myself vulnerable to someone, and them leaving me.

The connection I made when I heard the comment above came easily - one fantasy I've long had but never explored is abandonment. Specifically, being tied, locked up, or otherwise restrained, and left. Not knowing where the person on whom my release is dependent has gone, and when or even if they will return. Left alone and vulnerable, and with nothing to do but wait.... and wait...

I have always marveled at that fantasy, what its appeal might be, and whether the reality would really be the strangely pleasant anxiety-provoking experience it is in my mind, or if the mix of emotions would be a negative experience. Today, I found out.

I had no idea what Master had in mind when he told me to lay face down on the bed, and cuffed my wrists to the corners, pulling them tight so I had little movement in my arms at all. He blindfolded me and, for a while, went about his business. I was aware that there was still a while to go before he had to leave for work, and he had previously asked about the time, so I supposed that he was expecting someone who would use me. An anonymous fuck while tied to the bed sounded nice, and since it wasn't a long while before he had to leave, I figured it would be a pretty short wait.

I heard music, realised Master had kindly selected one of my favourite CDs, and smiled to myself. I laid there, waited, and relaxed. At first I thought I'd imagined the light touch of an object against my pussy, but there it was a second time - Master was teasing me with something, and I hadn't even been aware he had re-entered the room. I sighed when he stopped, wanting more, and more was given, in the form of a few light strikes to my ass cheeks - crop or cane, not firm enough for me to be really sure which. I wondered if his plan was not a horny stranger, but some heavy pain, but guessed that given his plans for me later this week, he wouldn't want to mark me. He stopped and left the room again.

I started wondering what was taking so long. Did he just want to leave me restrained in his bedroom for the rest of his time at home, and not release me til he left for work? He entered the room again, and I heard him moving around, fiddling with something. When I felt the loop of rope circle my ankle I moaned in surprised pleasure (I would describe myself as having a rope fetish). He tied off both my feet as tightly as my hands, and then came closer to me and told me to lift my head. At first I thought it was a gag he placed in front of me and I anticipated pain again, but it wasn't a gag, but a collar. He positioned it firmly around my neck, and although my movement was no more restricted than without it, I felt all the more captive. With cuffs and ropes he confines me, but with a collar he possesses me.

A few more taps on my ass with what was definitely a crop this time. He ran it up my body and the side of my face. I took the tip in my mouth - I am not normally one to get any joy out of leather, but at that moment I lusted for it. He placed the crop on my back, sitting with the end between my ass cheeks, and left the room. And then left the house.

I waited, spread out and blind. I heard the front door close and listened, thinking, is he standing outside? Or is he inside, and the door was just a bluff? No, I felt quite sure he'd really left. At first I waited for him to come back inside. Slowly I realised he'd actually gone somewhere. I waited. I thought, he'll probably be only ten minutes. I started to wish I'd asked permission to use the toilet before he'd tied me down. I started to worry about that a lot, feeling pressure on my bladder from lying face down and groaned a little, imagining the horror if I couldn't hold on and eventually pissed in Master's bed. Eventually I caught hold of myself, and rationalised it. I didn't really need to go that badly at all - it was just the lack of any other sensation that was making the need feel stronger - nothing else to focus my attention on.

I tried to relax and prepare myself to wait. I listened, trying to hear if each passing car was his, pulling back into the driveway. Several times I was fooled. I wondered where he was, and what he was doing. I wondered if he would leave me there and go to work. I wondered if he had meant to be back by now, and something had gone wrong. I instantly scratched that thought from my mind - imagining bad things would only make me panic.

I wondered again if he really was there, and I raised my head to listen more carefully. It was hard - the sound of his ceiling fan was tricky. I whimpered a little, thinking again of my bladder, and called, "Sir...?". No answer. His home phone rang, kept ringing, and the machine answered, confirming I was alone. Ok. Don't think about needing to pee.

I started feeling mildly impatient, and tapped my fingers a little. I had been here so long. It felt like a couple of hours - and I'd thought he needed to be back to go to work? How long, I wondered, should I wait before trying to struggle out of this? I tried not to think that I wouldn't be able to, instead delayed the issue by reminding myself that Master had left me here because this was how he wanted me, and I should not fight that or I would disappoint him. I recognised that of course it would feel like a long time: I couldn't move, or see, and had nothing to occupy my mind other than my anxieties. I realised that the CD was on repeat, and I tried to work out how far through its second run it was. I reasoned that given the length of the album (that I knew well), I had been there roughly 3o minutes. Ok. But didn't that put it really close to the time he needed to be at work? If I was right, surely he had intended to be back by now. Suddenly I desperately wanted to know the time. I realised I could rub my head against the bed and dislodge the blindfold to check. But what if I couldn't get it back, and Master returned to find I had disobediently removed it? I resolved to hold on at least until the CD restarted a third time before I considered that an option.

I decided to stop worrying and concentrate on the music. I followed the lyrics and whispered the words to myself. Finally I started to give in, and relax. I was stuck here, alone. I trust Master, and I would trust that this was what he had intended - I had no other choice, anyway. Perhaps he really wouldn't return for a very long time, that wouldn't change anything. I had to wait, so I would wait.

Did I hear a noise? Was that the front door? I heard nothing further, just the music and the fan, and started to think I had imagined it. Then I thought I could hear breathing in the room with me - was that real? If Master was there, he was standing still a long time. What if it was someone else? A total stranger, walked into the house and standing there, looking at me... Just when I started to think it was all in my head, the bed creaked. Yes, definitely someone there. Was it Master, or not? I waited... finally, a body on the bed behind me, my thighs pushed apart, and a cock pushed inside me. Yes! It was him - inexplicably but unquestionably familiar. Suddenly all the anxieties of my wait came to a head and I felt euphoric - I would have orgasmed beyond belief that second... if I'd had permission :)

All up, Master said he had left me for 45 minutes. It was a challenging experience - I had to work to keep myself calm, and without the music I'm not sure I could have. But overall, a very positive one - and reaffirming of my trust in him. If there's a next time, it will probably be easier. And I hope - very cautiously - that there is.

You have to learn to crawl.... ;)

I have never before dreamed that I could go so far, and submit so much - and I know I can eventually give even more. In the past I always struggled with restrictions and felt I needed a break from submission - I was relieved to have my time away from past Doms.

But with Master, I cannot give enough. I now crave not just submission and service, but possession, enslavement, absorption - at times, obliteration.

We all have a certain amount of potential, but can live up to only as much as our environment allows. If I am a good sub, it is because I have an excellent Master - willing and able to bring that out in me.

Half a glass is half a glass

A while back, at the end of a long (hot, horny, objectifying) night that should be the subject of its own post, I was resting in Master's bedroom with a woman who once belonged to him. We had both been wearing collars that night, and as I watched her remove hers in preparation to leave, she smiled and said "Unlike you, I can take this off." I just smiled back, thinking, yes, but who is really better off here? As if she'd read my mind, she sighed and added "Trust me, you don't want to reach the point where you want to."

Suddenly I felt sorry for her. I know almost nothing about her relationship with Master and whether it was anything like mine. But at that moment I briefly imagined how awful it would be if all my devotion, submission, love, and desire to please him, was one day lost. Horrible - even worse than losing him.

Now here's a question worth asking: why do I persist in imagining the worst potential outcomes? I know the answer, but I'm not going into self-indulgent psychoanalysis explaining it: I'm just shit-scared, so I don't trust any situation that involves an emotional risk. It seems safer to expect I'm doomed from the beginning.

What if I imagined good things for a change? I wonder how it would feel... And could I really let myself, or would I chicken out?

Do you feel free yet?

I wasn't in the door for more than a couple of seconds last night when he asked that question and before I could even recognise the words he had me by my hair, pulling my head back, and was biting my face and neck while I gasped and moaned. He threw me on the couch and clamped one hand over my mouth while he fucked me, and I did feel free, paradoxically because I most certainly was not.

After some down time, and some not-so-down time, he asked me how roughly I wanted to be treated. I said "very roughly", and I meant it. Sista was online and he had me tell her what I had asked for. She asked me "why?" and I was surprised. It hadn't even occurred to me that anyone would wonder why - to me, the need was completely self-explanatory. I started to type "Because I like it" and then thought, I can do better than that. So I added "...and I want to test how much I can enjoy." I think its a hallmark of masochists that we want to test and compete with ourselves (which is probably the subject of another post), and part of my desire came from this, combined with the simple pleasure of pushing the limits (which is probably yet another post).

A warning for the feint-hearted:

some of the next two paragraphs may be disturbing to some people...

It was intense, and my recollection is all hazy and disordered. Master grabbed my hair and dragged me quickly to the bedroom, me trying to crawl frantically along the floor to keep up. He threw me on the bed and slapped my face hard, repeatedly. He held his hand over my mouth and nose. He hit and grabbed at my tits, twisting the nipples so hard I screamed until he told me to shut up. He took some rope and tied my hands behind my back firmly. He slapped my face more, hard, and ordered me to keep my head up so he could slap me some more. I felt liquid trickle from my nose and I thought it was because I was crying, until a later point when he said "You're bleeding, baby." He said it with warmth, but without remorse, so that I knew from his tone, even before he said so, that it didn't matter if I bled - he would continue anyway. And I felt sincere gratitude for that.

He placed a cover (was it a pillow case?) over my head and clamped a hand over my mouth as he struck my body, open-handed and with closed fists, especially my breasts. As he fucked me he asked me what else I wanted and I felt shocked at the answer that came to mind: I want you to kill me, Sir. I couldn't say it - it was the only point during the entire experience that I felt fear. Was I afraid that if I said it, then he would do it? Maybe, I'm not sure... Was I afraid that I meant it? Yes, definitely.

As I said, I didn't feel afraid of him the entire time (my one moment of fear, was fear of myself). I trusted completely that he was in control. Why, then, did I cry? It was genuinely a pleasurable experience, and yet that was still my natural reaction to being treated this way. It felt like a release - exorcising demons of some kind. I won't analyse it too much - I'm not sure I want to see what I'll find.

What I loved the most was his utter lack of remorse. Another paradox: this is what makes me feel safe. He shows no anxiety about hurting me, and this gives me faith that he knows what he is doing. Master cares for my wellbeing and checks that I'm ok, but he does it calmly and with total confidence, so that I never doubt that he is in control. And all this gives me one other important kind of safety: acceptance. He doesn't flinch from the extreme, he doesn't show an ounce of hesitation no matter how close to the edge we go, and this makes me feel that I am ok. No matter how far I want to go, no matter how dark and violent my desire, it will not make him uncomfortable or afraid. With him, I am never judged. And that is most certainly freedom.

Here's a link to an article I read a while back, and am reminded of now, on psychological reactance to helplessness in subs/slaves

True sluts die hard

Master's teaching style is like nothing I've encountered before. I have to strain to think of a time he's directly said no to me. He may correct me, but rarely will he tell me what to say or do in place of my error - he waits for me to figure it out myself, with little more than a subtle nudge in the right direction if I really, really need it. I find this a very valuable part of my journey: I am really learning, not just repeating what I'm told.

When I passed on a play request from Sir J recently, I expected he may think about it before giving an answer. I should not have been surprised when, instead, he told me to think about it. He said "I want you to consider what is really being asked here." It has taken me longer than it should to respond, but I do think I understand...

The play I am permitted to take part in is not for my own enjoyment - I may be allowed some pleasure, but that is a gift, not to be taken for granted. I participate for my Master's pleasure, and second to that, for the pleasure of others he has invited. It is not appropriate for me to play for the pleasure of myself and other people, just because I have been asked to.

But there is even more to it than that. Its also about power and what it means to submit. I have given myself to Master. If I submit to another, who he has not chosen to offer me to, I am taking from him. Master's property is not mine to give.

And more still: its about what it means to truly belong to him. If I am completely his, there should be no part of me that is not devoted to him. That means no part of me that should ever want to submit to someone else. And I know Sir J understands this: when I was his sub, he forbade me from submitting to others from the beginning - so I would "know who I belonged to". But Sir J missed an important point: being forced to act a certain way, and choosing to act that way because it reflects what I really feel, are different things.

I never used to understand some subs who so proudly say they are submissive only to their "one". That always seemed to sound "less sub" to me. But more recently I've realised they are more sub. Because to give yourself entirely to another person, there cannot be anything left for anyone else. Now that I've rethought that, it seems so obvious - I can't believe I never grasped what that meant before. I have been thinking of myself as submissive in general, slave to one. But for that to really be true, I have to give up the submissive "in general" part - it becomes just a historical fact.

This isn't just about one scene, or just about submission, or even just about BDSM. Its about all play with all people. I belong to Master, and my purpose is to please him. I need to let go of the hope I still hang on to for my own play and my own pleasure. This is hard for me to even admit - I feel so disappointed with myself to realise how far I still have to go. I am an absolute slut, after all, and that makes this very hard to let go of. A part of the reason this response has taken so long, is that I realised I am on the verge of making that leap. It has been a long time since I've had my own fun, and for the most part I've had little desire to, but to give up not just the right, but the hope and expectation of it, feels like a very hard step to take.

I won't play with Sir J, not because Master says no, but because I say no. Because I know who I belong to.

I want to give myself completely to him. I want to exist only for his pleasure. I don't know if that's possible - I am a mother, too. But its what I want. May I, please, Sir?

subby suck-ups

Sometimes, I browse online discussions on D/s and just roll my eyes at some of the ridiculous-sounding submissives out there. These are the type that insist that everything in their world is always, 150% peachy-perfect. Every word they type reeks of effort to build a magical illusion where neither they nor (especially) their Dom can do wrong. If you believe them, their Dom is greater than a god, and the subs never put a foot wrong in the slightest, even in their thinking patterns. No insecurities in their minds, no questions, nothing but giddy, smiling idolisation.

Get real, people! You are people. Humans who are fallible, who fuck up, who have doubts and worries, who have "down" days. Why do you feel the need to convince others your world is so perfect?

I can understand some part of it: its probably a universal subbie trait to have a need to please. I can relate to the impulse to say the "right thing". And we all want to make our Master (or whatever the title...) look good - it shows respect, and does reflect a certain level of natural idealisation. But why take it to such extremes? Why not be honest, and admit your humanity?

My name is nadi, and I am a sex addict.

Master currently has me keeping a diary of masturbation: a daily record of times, techniques, and accompanying fantasies. I am learning things from it - I have never before been so aware of the way my sexual mind works. Themes and patterns are emerging. One thing I've noticed is the cycle I go through after (real) sex. The following day I'm content and play a lot, remembering what I've just done, or had done to me. Then usually follows a period of satisfaction, where I don't need it. But soon I start to warm up again. By day four I'm touching myself compulsively. Day five I'm getting antsy. On day seven I'm truly climbing the walls. Luckily, for everyone's safety, I rarely have to wait any longer than that. I know from past experience that after that point, my psychotic evil twin starts to show, as I take my frustration out on myself and the world.

I used to be much, much worse. There was a time when I counted and calculated my average weekly number of fucks (as in, separate events, regardless of how many people were involved) to be 9. And I was single.

I was quite out of control. Now, I have someone who can control me.

Years ago, I was a smoker. I quit several times, but could never really find it in me to care much about my own health, and I was back at it soon enough. Eventually, someone I loved very much told me how much they cared. And then I could stop - not for myself, but for someone else. I haven't had a cigarette since. Now I couldn't completely give up sex for anything, but I have given up a lot of it. And once again, not for myself, but for someone else. This raises the question in my mind of what will happen if/when I am no longer his... but I'm not going there tonight....

Master has given me his control. I don't want to sound like one of those subby suck-ups I read online and roll my eyes (thats just given me an idea for another post), but.... I feel genuinely grateful for every limit he imposes on me. Thats the strange truth.

The green-eyed sub

Being a very typical scorpio, I have the unfortunate challenge in life of being the overly jealous type. Not easy for a sub who loves group sex and prefers the poly life, but in general, I think I've done well to learn to deal with it. While once I would get hysterical over the smallest things, now I have strategies. Step one is to grab the impulse to freak out before it takes me, and control myself, breathe. Step two is to be honest with myself: I am being jealous here, its not about anything horrible or nasty anyone else has done to me, its my feeling and my problem, and only I can change it. Then finally I find some reassurance, some memory to remind the insecure part of me that feels jealous that there really is nothing to worry about, the object of my jealousy is not a threat.

Most of the time, this works pretty well for me. For example, an invite is issued to join a (very sexy) woman at her gangbang party. My inner green-eyed-monster rises up at the thought of being there at her party - and she is so much sexier than me, according to the monster. Quick, stop that impulse. Reality check: I'm feeling jealous because I want to be the centre of attention. Reassurance: I am a very sexual person, and I will get attention of my own - its not a competition... I have my own parties to enjoy, let her have hers... and finally, I don't need to be the number one woman there for every man in the room, I only need to be important to one of them: my Master. And if I behave well and continue to please him, she is no threat to that. The monster vanishes, problem solved. Now I can just look forward to the fun. Easy.

But sometimes its not so easy. Sometimes the reality check doesn't stop me feeling hurt, even thought nobody has actually done anything negative to me at all. Sometimes the reassurance doesn't help. What to do then? Fish for compliments? Its hard to voice my feelings without worrying I will pressure him to accommodate my insecurities. I don't want him to change what he does. I want to accept it and feel safe, that I am his, that I will serve him in the way he chooses, that I am valued for that. I want that to be enough.

One crowded hour

"As long as you are the biggest slut in this city, you will always have a place with me."

There is no doubt in my mind that I am - for those reading this who know me, if you find that hard to believe, rest assured there are things that would surprise you yet. And I don't see myself having any trouble remaining that way in Master's terms - I spent many years and much energy trying to repress my most shameful thoughts, and if I haven't succeeded in changing yet, I never will.

That takes care of the first part of this sentence, now what of the rest of it? Always a place for me? Always? I want to trust my Master - and I should. But to believe in a statement like this feels so dangerous - I can't even let myself consider it. Its like a gift I don't want to open, out of fear that the contents will bite me - far safer just to admire the packaging from across the room.

Its not even as if I've got a traumatic story to tell that would explain it - no more than the average person goes through by age 30. I only have a pitiful justification to be so cynical, but I believe that rejection is inevitable. "Always" doesn't exist. Nothing is constant. It might not be soon, but one day, no matter what I do, he won't want me. It feels so wrong to discredit his statement like this, but I mean no disrespect. Rightly or wrongly, I believe this is universal.

This is what makes it painful to love him. Look at it like I do, and love has no power or great meaning, it's just an intoxicating precursor to loss. When I give him my love, I am giving my future pain and grief.

I no longer have a choice. And that doesn't even have anything to do with D/s and our agreed arrangement. He accepts me, and that is all the power he needs. He sees my darkest, most shameful parts, things that horrify even me, and he doesn't shy away from them. He accepts me more than I can accept myself, and that is enough so that I cannot walk away. I wonder, does he realise, when he reminds me that I am unable to leave, just how true that is - agreements and promises aside - because of my feelings alone?

Of course he does.

Who needs a holiday?

The first time I set foot in my Master's house I was nervous and afraid even before I arrived. I'm sure my tension was obvious, even before he showed me his playroom and put me in the stocks - I shook like a leaf then. He only lightly demonstrated some of his floggers, crops and paddles on me, but jumpy as I was, I could take an embarassingly small amount without reacting strongly. The first time I was in his house alone wasn't nearly as scary, but I felt intrusive, watched, and I left quickly.

Now, his home has become a haven to me. I look forward to arriving and shedding my clothes and my life. Today, after a rushed and stressful morning, I walked in and felt instantly more at ease. After an afternoon of play, I could have dozed there quite happily had I not had somewhere to be. Master had to go, and I was content just being there for a while, bonding with Tori Amos and even doing a little dance. In contrast to the first time I arrived, its now difficult to leave.

When my friend was 30 minutes late and arrived to meet me at the absolute last second this afternoon, for something important she had been nagging me all morning about not leaving to the last minute, I didn't mind a bit. I even smiled. My friend, who knows very little about the nature of our relationship, said "that guy must be a miracle worker." I just smiled again.

Some brief thoughts circling my mind this morning

I overheard a sub the other night, being asked "Why submit?", begin by replying "Thats a hard question.." It was an effort for me to bite my tongue and not jump in from across the room, very unsubly, with "Are you kidding me?? Thats the easiest question!"

My answer comes complete in my head with a full fanfare and a crowd of people cheering:
F R E E D O M !

Freedom from what? Myself, my worries, my desires, my fears, my responsibilities, my personality, even freedom from my own body it seems sometimes... He makes me limitless.

Listening to him talk about his experience, I realised something: Master has been dominating for longer than I have been alive. It made me feel proud to be his - what an honour that I could be considered worth his time! And then I remembered what he said to me recently, when I had pleased him: "You deserve me." How can I even respond to such a compliment? Thank you is nowhere near adequate. I can only show my appreciation for a statement like that in one way: by continuing to earn it the very best I can.

The beholder

I'm going to tell you a story that begins with two young girls, around 8 years old. One would later come to be known as nadi, we will call the other one Juanita. They met at school and quickly became "best friends". Juanita and nadi went everywhere together. They were very close. Had the girls been a few years older, their parents may have wondered if they were too close, but instead they felt pleased that Juanita, shy and from a non-english-speaking background, had made a friend. And nadi was a very loyal friend, who would do anything for her, because nadi liked it that Juanita would often hold her hand. She liked it that after a while, Juanita began kissing her mouth, intially as a greeting, later just because she wanted to. Most of all nadi liked sleepovers at Juanita's house, where they would share her bed and sleep in each other's arms. But after a year together, Juanita's family decided to move away from the city. The girls promised each other they would write, and for a while they did, but gradually less frequently, and then not at all.

Cut to 11 years later, and nadi, aged 19, is sitting waiting for her first psych lecture for the year to begin. She looks up and stops breathing at the sight of the most beautiful girl she has ever laid eyes on walking into the lecture room. Literally stops breathing. She can't think, only stare with her mouth open and her heart pounding. The other two hundred or so people in the lecture suddenly disappear, and nadi can hear nothing but her blood rushing through her head, and see nothing but the girl's perfect tanned skin, thick black hair, wide brown almond eyes and soft, slightly-smiling lips. Throughout the lecture nadi barely hears a thing, uncomfortable and breathing heavily as her eyes keep trailing back to a human being so perfect, that nadi can hardly understand how the whole room isn't staring at her. After the lecture, the perfect-girl is in nadi's tutorial class. The roll is called to check that everyone is there. As their names are called, nadi and Juanita finally recognise each other.

This happened around the time when I was only just beginning to accept that I really did like girls as much as guys, just as I'd been afraid of during my teenage years. The intense attraction I felt to the rediscovered Juanita was the confirmation I needed that it wasn't ever going to go away - I am bisexual and would have to learn to live with (and eventually love) that. Unfortunately my lust for her remained frustrated - I learned, in class discussion, that Juanita was now engaged and held very conservative values about love and sex. And as if this wasn't enough, I felt so overcome with Juanita that I was barely able to speak to her. I would struggle to breathe, become very shy, forget words, and generally become a complete idiot in her presence. Every attempt to speak to Juanita was a painful humiliation, and I spent the whole year alternately avoiding, and then obsessively drawn to her. Finally, our lives took us in different directions once again.

Not that surpising, then, that among the multitude of women I am attracted to, there is a certain type that leaves me so struck with awe that I just can't bear it. Generally I am sexually confident, and comfortable approaching someone. But if its a good looking girl with tanned skin, brown eyes and long dark hair, I lose it - too close to my perfect woman for me to feel secure. I have never been able to bring myself close enough to one of my Perfect Juanita-Girls to have the chance to touch them. Speaking to them is sometimes a possibility, but even then, shyness takes me. Managing to hold a conversation with a PJ-G without making a fool of myself is cause for self-congratulation. Any more than that happens only in my dreams and fantasies.

Imagine my desire, then, when last night at a party, our PJ-G hostess happened to be kneeling directly in front of me, while her partner and Master did things that left her semi-conscious with ecstasy. I watched her roll her head back, her eyes closed, and her face a picture of pure blissful submission. Imagine my increasing craving to just reach out and touch her, kiss her, hold her, worship her... And then imagine my longing suddenly become twice as intense as her Master exposed one of her breasts, and directed another sub girl to suck on the nipple. I became hot and tense with jealousy and felt I was going to collapse with desire. My own Master, of course, was well aware of my reaction, and called me on it with his usual blunt accuracy that makes me feel hot and ashamed.

Imagine next, my horror as Master instructs me to kneel in front of PJ-Gs Master and tell him directly what I felt. I tried for a second to tell myself he wasn't serious, he wasn't really going to make me do this. But he was completely serious. He guided me to the spot on the floor, and I felt even more afraid as I realised PJ-Gs M had noticed I was expected to say something to him, and was looking at me, waiting. I hesitated, took a deep breath and looked down. I started to speak quietly, then cut off mid sentence as I realised that PJ-G herself was also sitting there, listening, and staring at me with a soft smile. Even more humiliated, I slowly managed to voice each word, unable to look her or him in the eye. When I was finally finished and looked up, PJ-Gs M looked amused. He suggested I sit in front of her, which I did, shaking. She came forward towards me, and reached out, taking my hand. Her skin was even more soft and perfectly smooth than in my dreams. She encouraged me, and I touched her face, hair, neck, and what I could bring myself to of her body. I told her she was so beautiful. I gathered the courage to ask her if I could kiss her, and she said yes. The result was an almost perfectly still, gentle press of her lips against mine, unable to believe it was happening, immobolised in awe.

The humiliation continued, with the two Masters continuing to taunt me through the night, and I think I overheard PJ-Gs M saying he had known since I first met them. But as much as I felt hot shame at having such secret, "forbidden" desires exposed in a room full of people and to PJ-G herself, I was also lighter, at peace, having touched her, and now knowing that she would not reject me. My greatest and most difficult humiliation so far has been an unexpected, amazing gift.

Other results of last night's party...

But I've written enough...

A feminist would be horrified...

I love when I look at his msn window and see that he is displaying a photo of me - being used, by men, women, or both, or restrained and waiting for his touch, or strike. It is true that a part of it is simply exhibitionism - I can't deny that I get enjoyment out of exposing myself to others. But what I feel specifically when I am exposed by him is more a kind of objectification - not in the sense of being made into a literal object, but something that is more a specific type of humilition, in the sense that I am made to feel I am more "thing" than person. When he displays my photo, I feel humiliated in the most pleasurable way, from the knowledge that he can show me to whom he likes, as his possession. And along with that is the expectation that they will not look at me as a person with needs and desires, but as an object there to be used.

Some of my biggest childhood fantasies were of being touched, grabbed, and groped by uninvited strangers. In my imagination I would be minding my own business when someone would approach and slip their hand under my skirt or into my top. My protests didn't phase these characters, they didn't care what I wanted or about anything I said - they just saw me as a collection of body parts for their entertainment. And today the fantasy continues, though now incorporating Master's ownership of me as part of the theme. I am less human and more an object because I am his property. He can choose to expose me, or allow someone to use me. If he tells someone they may fuck me, then they may, and what I think is irrelevant. In a way I feel freed of myself, to become nothing but a plaything, without an identity, without feelings or thoughts of my own - less, even, than a slut.

....I'm finishing this prematurely due to sheer exhaustion, after a long and very exciting, humiliating-objectifying evening yesterday. I can't think straight, or remember all of what I wanted to say... but I will add one more thing: Thank you, Sir :)

The learning curve...

There are things people struggle with in any relationship. Trust, affection, committment and sex have always been challenges for me in the past. But the one thing that remains by far the most difficult for me in this kind of arrangement is something that, in my vanilla life, I've always found surprisingly simple - communication.

In any other part of my life, I feel completely free to express whatever is on my mind. I might be reserved, but give me something to express and I am completely comfortable approaching someone on level ground and, as an equal, stating frankly, openly, and respectfully exactly what I need to. But there is no equal footing here.

Master expects honesty from me at all times, and I try my best to give that to him. I try to answer anything he asks without flinching from the truth (and that is not always easy), and I make an effort to be transparent about everything going on in my life that he may find relevant (that doesn't mean I pick and choose, it means I leave out pointless details like going down the shop for milk). But what I really find hard is when honesty means saying something less than completely positive - like the (thankfully rare) occaision of having to bring up a problem of some kind, or finding myself needing to ask for something important to me. How do I say something that contains a negative, or any kind of "I want", while still showing absolute respect, humility, deference, and not in any way implying that he must do anything other than his own choosing?

Its fucking hard! lol I find myself delaying it, hoping for telepathy, and struggling with the urge to drop hints - which is terrible behaviour in my opinion, it may not be lying, but sending a deliberate message without saying what I really mean is dishonest. I need to be open with him to really show the respect he deserves. When I finally do that, I spend a long time agonising over wording and usually make several false attempts before finally settling on something that seems like it might be the most appropriate way... and then wait anxiously for a response....

This skill is definitely a work in progress for me. Part of the reason this is so hard is that these kinds of statements come with so many demanding feelings- like frustration, or confusion, or hurt, or any other feeling that seems to say "you should...." These feelings are probably unavoidable for me to have at this point, but I need to get their influence out of my message, to remove the "you should" that has no place in my communication with Sir. So at the moment, what seems to help is to try and identify what I'm trying to say for what it really is, without these feelings attached... I'm not sure this is the answer, but I guess I'll see how long it works for, and if it doesn't seem right, I'll have to revise....

The other thing that comes to mind is his response when I told him once how hard I find it to speak to him about these things: "Exactly as it should be." That doesn't mean I can't say whats on my mind, but it does indicate that it shouldn't be easy. Its important for me to think hard and choose carefully how I do it. It will probably take a long time for me to feel sure about what is the right statement to make.

For all that, I still feel there is something I'm missing in this, some lesson I have yet to learn...

Contained

I feel another one of those shifts today, where I am somehow more his than I was the day before. Funny, that feeling only ever comes in the morning, the day after whatever events occurred to push me even further under his control. I am never aware that its happening at the time, only after I've slept, and wake with that sense of enslavement that makes me want to sigh and murmur "Sir" to myself all day. I sincerely hope that no matter how fully subject to his authority I ever become, that feeling still comes to me from time to time...

At first I wasn't sure what had bought this on today, but after thinking on it I believe its a combination of circumstances. Part of it was our conversation last night - imagining living with him on his hypothetical farm, what he called his heaven, and the honour of hearing that possession of me would be part of that dream... him complimenting my performance, and the joy it makes me feel to know I have pleased him... the intense humiliation of him referring to me as "great breeding stock". Another part of it was for the first time, admitting to a third person that I love him.

Mostly, though, I believe it is the act of writing this blog that has helped me make another shift. In a way it is giving me a means of giving him more of myself than I otherwise could, by exposing my most personal thoughts without direction. I have always been a very private person - my vanilla friends would say they had known me for years before they ever really knew any of what goes through my mind. So this is very significant for me. He owns my mind, and now that I write this he owns my secret thoughts, and can do with them what he chooses.

It feels intense - a kind of nervous excitement, ecstatic joy, and a peaceful, cosy confinement, like being bound tight in metres of soft rope with my arms behind me and my mouth taped shut..... or for vanilla minds, like a firm embrace ;)

"Love has nothing to do with what you are expecting to get - only with what you are expecting to give - which is everything." (Katharine Hepburn)

"What's the matter, not used to loving your Master?"
The day he said that to me my heart froze. I thought, oh shit, I don't....... do I? The idea circled in my mind for days and I obsessed about it, analysing my feelings and trying desperately to pinpoint the nature of his hold over me. I came up with a detailed understanding of power and how he had obtained it, and that consoled me a little, though it didn't really answer the question. I was terrified. I didn't want to give him that. I wanted to give him my body, my mind, my freedom, my loyalty and obedience.... but not love, I wanted to keep that to myself. Thinking I could, made me feel safe.

But the truth of it is, I can't. If I am to be truly his slave, I cannot withhold anything. I need to offer all I am able to give. And not even because he wants it - but on mere principle. He has the right to everything. It is up to me to lay it all out for the taking, and what he does not accept remains on offer - his if he ever would like it. If I can love him, I must offer him that.

I know, I know, "love" is some magical force that we are subject to, rendering us powerless against our fate as we fall under its spell, unable to choose who we might like to give it to, right? Yeah, right. I have my doubts. (I never was the romantic type, lol...) It seems to me that many of us choose who we love, whether for conscious reasons or unconscious ones. We are able to love anyone who meets a need in us. It is just a matter of allowing yourself to.

So, once I realised I was withholding something from him, I knew my task. I knew I could love him, I just needed to open myself to it so I could offer that sincerely. It is a long, ongoing process of giving up control, locating my greatest fear and gradually prying its long-stiffened fingers loose, uncovering what makes me most vulnerable.

I am still afraid - a big part of me would sooner offer my own death. But theres a funny thing about love: it brings along with it that unique kind of bliss. It is, as the song says, a fresh feeling. Even while a part of me mourns over this, I can't help also feeling happy. It makes the fear just bearable.

Minutia

Many months ago, I was a contented slut. I had plenty of naughty and kinky fun and no attachments to anyone. I would meet a new player every now and then, have them over to my house for a good time, then send them on their way and decide later whether they would be invited back or not. I was often submissive in their presence, but always in control of the bigger picture.

I remember meeting one new man very well. He was warm, confident and lascivious in our chats without being sleazy. He seemed experienced but not concerned with proving himself. He complimented me, but certainly did not suck up. I liked him immediately, and without even seeing a photo I invited him to my home. Our first meeting surprised me with its intensity and honesty. He had a way of seeming to see straight through me and compel me to expose myself to him – not just physically, but mentally and psychologically, which was a far more intimate experience than I was used to. It was not long at all before I would come to call him Master.

Later, during that first meeting, came a small exchange with big significance for me. He asked my son’s name. When I told him he asked me the spelling. As soon as I answered, he said the name of the not-too-well-known figure that I had named my child after. At the time of writing, he remains the only person who has ever made that link without me prompting it.

I told a good friend this story recently and she said to me: "Minutia. The tiny things make all the difference." When he made that connection, it changed the way I saw him irrevocably. I thought, this is not just a new fuck. This is big. Months later, as I find myself loving him, I believe it started with that moment.