Venus and Psyche

Women are incredible things. Men are fantastic, and I couldn't live without being regularly fucked. But a woman is a whole other world for the senses. Their beautiful smooth lines inspire my sense of creativity and exploration - I can lose myself in the curves and experience a woman's body from the outside as if it were my own. I can enjoy caressing a man with my hands, mouth, and breasts, but the shape of a woman just cries out to be touched that way. My first (and only real) girlfriend put it best when she said to me once that I reminded her of dunes - white, smooth, warm as if from the sun, and the heightened arousal one feels when running fingers through fine sand.

Sex with a woman makes me want to give. I feel delighted and honoured each time I am allowed to touch, and taste, the most intimate crevasses of the female body. And one of life's great joys is to feel a woman's orgasm pulse through her as she presses toward you, until her eyes fall on you and you know she has been satisfied.

I think I've mentioned that I thought I was a lesbian once, haven't I? Lol...

Betty said to me when she saw me this morning: "You're glowing." She seemed uncertain whether to ask why, or if she wouldn't want to know the answer. I couldn't help telling her over breakfast, that I'd had a wonderful night when Master invited a woman over and allowed me to share her. It was her first time, she'd said, which made my enjoyment even greater - to give her a new and very pleasurable experience.

There was also another side to it, though. I've written quite a bit about jealousy lately, because its something I'm experiencing in a whole new way. It seems that the more my heart belongs to my Master, the more jealous I feel... and the more I let myself feel the jealousy, the more I belong to him. He liked our female guest last night as much as I did. And every time he complimented her, I compared her to me. And however he fucked her, I compared it to the way he fucks me. There was one point when I moved down the bed in order to get a better position to taste her, and Master intercepted me, fucking her from the side, leaving me out of the equation. I felt dejected for a moment, then realised I had a choice. I could be selfish and sulk in my jealousy. Or, I could submit to the feeling and please my Master. So, I put my insecurity aside and went down to lick his arse, balls and shaft, trying to ensure that fucking her would be as pleasurable for him as possible. Soon I licked at both of them together as they fucked, helping them enjoy each other.

A small act, but with significant intentions. Jealousy served to remind me of the rule Master set the first time I came to his house: my role is to please him. After that, to please his guests. And only after that, if I have permission, may I please myself.

Multiform artistry

One of my biggest fantasies for the last ten years or so is to be painted. It started when my ex bought home a calender of nude models wearing nothing but body paint. I eagerly studied those images, looking at the tiny creases and strokes, and longed to be under the brush. I imagine standing or lying perfectly still, as unable to move as if I were bound, every tiny detail of my body potentially under scrutiny if the artist should choose to paint there... and then the soft strokes of the brush so slowly exploring my skin, the cool damp feel of the paint changing to a stiff coating and tingling as it dries.... feeling exposed, examined, vulnerable, and then lovingly caressed, contained, embraced, accepted... and then afterwards, when the whole experience is over, the exquisite high of feeling that I have become not a mere person, but a work of art - objectified, not into degradation, but into a thing of beauty...

Sensuality does not rate highly in my fantasies, but to be painted - that is the biggest of only a handful of exceptions. When I found out that Master, too, has a love of body painting and a desire to try it, I was over the moon! And then I came crashing down when he told me he had found a woman with an artistic streak to "practice on"... while I entertain her husband. This was a while ago now, and so far none of these plans have come to fruition, but it still torments me. I still mentally squirm at the thought of him doing something so precious to me with someone else, while I am given the humiliating task of keeping the man "occupied" and pretending to be happy. Imagining it brings up an emotional tension within me: between hurt, jealousy, and anger on the one hand, and on the other, submission, humiliation, and dismayed arousal.

So, why bring it up now? .....ever had a lucid dream? Its a nice experience, to be just asleep enough to dream, but just awake enough to know it's not real, and sometimes, to have some control over what happens. I think it was him referring to me recently (in a very different context) as a "canvas" that made me dream of the body painting scenario this morning. I knew it was just a dream and so I could relax and explore the experience of it, without that sickening "squirming" feeling... well, not so much, anyway.

It took place at his house, and I was waiting there naked until the couple arrived. I offered them both a drink while trying not to look at or hate her. I somehow managed to look at her husband without taking any notice of him at all - he was irrelevant, just another task for me to do in Master's house, like assembling furniture. Master and the woman went to his bedroom. And closed the door. I talked, I flirted, I entertained, I smiled, I was groped, fucked in every hole, used, and it was joyless. I had permission to cum only if I was thinking of what Master was doing with the woman in the other room, and I did that obediently, with a cry that was less pleasure than agony. My eyes focussed on the man I was with, but only to please Master. I cared nothing about this man at all, internally I was standing at that closed door, waiting for Sir.

The dream ended with me waiting, wondering how long it would be. And I woke predictably and despondently wet. I waited a while, thinking back over it, then touched myself imagining I was there. I took my new vibrator, which coincidentally, I realised later, is also called a "Lucid Dream", and brought myself to orgasm almost unwillingly, thinking horrible, agonising, jealous thoughts. And just as I cried out, my phone buzzed with a message from Master. Does this count as synchronicity?

Mmmm, tamed...

The last few days, I've been thinking of him even more than usual. With a gentle smile on my face. Sometimes, I whisper to myself, fuck I love him. Its probably partly the afterglow from him sharing me with a man whose name I didn't know the other day, leaving me feeling utterly used... but I keep going back to the time before, when he fell asleep and I left without waking him - he looked so peaceful and beautiful. Will he find it strange that I used the word beautiful? Lol... but that's the only word that comes to mind, for when someones appearance brings on a reaction that isn't so much about how they look, as how they make you feel. I looked at him lying there, and I wanted to touch him, kiss him, absorb him somehow....

Its got to be close to a year since I met Master by now, and I keep thinking lately about how far I've come. I've gone from a slut-out-of-control to... well, like he said the other day, still a slut, but he controls when I fuck... and who... and how... and if I may orgasm, and at what point. A year ago there was no way I would have thought I could give someone that much control. If he had said to me straight away that this was his plan for me, I would have run a mile. And he probably knew that. So he took me through it slowly, taking away my freedom bit by bit, gently enough and with enough reward that I actually enjoyed it. All along I've marveled at his shrewdness - he did what I thought was impossible: he tamed the slut. And no doubt he's not done yet.

He also did something even more challenging. I was unwilling to love him, and he not only coaxed me into doing that, but into admitting it. At first painfully, through horrified tears, torn between wanting to give myself to him and wanting to protect myself... but then slowly I've dragged myself into accepting, and then enjoying it. I still feel the fear, but its also exhilarating. I have never been this vulnerable to anyone. And I think the excitement of knowing that, makes me love him even more.

A year ago, I was looking forward to a good kinky screw. I knew I wanted more, but had someone come along and offered me what I really wanted, I would have been far too scared to take it. I even remember saying to him one night, that I wanted it all - only because I thought it wasn't possible. He told me it was, and I didn't believe him. He has proven I was wrong, and I want to hug him and tell him he's a delightful smartass.... in the most positive, respectful, complimentary way, Sir... ;)

An open invitation

As I've said before, it is Master who decides when I may share my blog and with whom, and he prefers to keep it relatively restricted. This has the effect of making me extremely curious when I look at my statistics and see how many people around the world are reading it without a personal invitation - sometimes as a once-off, sometimes more. Who are you? What bought you here? What do you think of what you read?

To my delight, I have just been given permission to supply an email address for anyone who finds it to contact me and let me know the answers to some of these questions, or make any other comments you wish. Please say hello, I would love to hear anything at all you would like to say :)

nadi.viti.levu@gmail.com

And always, public comments are more than welcome :)

Maybe green suits me?

Zelophilia: sexual arousal from jealousy, one's own or another person's.

I've written before about my problems with being the jealous type, and my struggles to stop that feeling when it hits. I've since realised, though, that Master doesn't necessarily want me to overcome my jealousy in this way. Sometimes, that painful, sick, green-eyed torment is exactly what he wants me to feel.

Laying in his arms last night after some great sex I hadn't expected to be having, I asked him what had happened to the straight woman he had mentioned inviting over, to play without me - the one that had caused me to launch into frantic desperation to see him, at any cost, cut with jealousy and the hurt of not being needed, begging for him to allow me to see him, even if I must be excluded from the fun. He simply replied "There wasn't one." He had let me believe he was playing with someone else, just to let me react by showing my need for him.

Its partly about control, of course - by making me feel jealous, he is able to manipulate my emotions and provoke a strong response in me, one that clearly demonstrates my attachment to him and his power over me. But it also goes further than that, in the significance of the fact that he not only has the ability, but also the right to make me feel this way. He owns my feelings and thoughts. He can do with them what he likes - including fuck with them. And as much as it is horrible to experience that insecurity and pain, knowing that it pleases him also makes it enjoyable, and makes me slip into it all the more readily.

Part of it for me is also sheer emotional masochism - I get off on him hurting me emotionally just as I do when he hurts me physically. And there is, of course, the appeal of self-sacrifice to please him. But then there's the part that I am shy about admitting to: the pleasure of knowing he cares enough to bother. I would never presume to know what Master is thinking or feeling, and fully accept that I may know only what he tells me. But a part of me likes to grasp the idea that, if he wants me to hurt when he show interest in someone else, then perhaps that shows that he cares about me, too...? Perhaps not just as his possession...? That thought is a guilty pleasure that I try not to indulge in - there are too many implications, and it seems far better for my submission for me to accept uncertainty.

My new way of dealing with my jealousy doesn't let me escape it - just as I don't try and escape any other sensation Master wishes me to feel. Jealousy is really all about power. I feel jealous because of his power, and if I try and stop myself feeling it, it amounts to taking away that power. But I also can't fall too far into the jealousy, so that I wish to control him - that is seeking power of my own. I have to let myself feel what he wants me to feel, and know that it means I belong to him, and that's all.

An open letter to Sir J

I regret ever asking permission to give you the address of this blog, but its just as well - I know you have never read it, and that tells me something important. The same thing it tells me to realise that, when you contact me, it is never to "catch up" but always because you want something. And that when we "talk", it is always about you.

You really know nothing about me, for someone that I have called a friend. The things you think you know say more about yourself than me. I used to try and convey to you the seriousness of my commitment to Master and the depth of my submission, but as much as you'd say you understand, it was always clear that not only do you understand nothing, but you don't even care to. Do you take nothing seriously that is not your own?

And what is your own, you take far too seriously. Your sub's behaviour is utterly reprehensible. As a sub, I am disgusted at her. And every time you say that she is still "the perfect submissive" its a slap in the face for me, for my Sista, and for any one of us with an ounce of loyalty. Your tolerance for it astonishes me... but then again, maybe I shouldn't be surprised. It was never easy to respect you as my Dom when it was so obvious that you were being played - I shouldn't have bothered, and thankfully I didn't for long. For an intelligent man, you are not very smart. Now I just thank my lucky stars to have found a Master who has more pride than that.... and who appreciates the qualities I have to offer.

Yes, I am angry - at your self-centredness, and lack of care to even pay the slightest attention to anything going on around you. But I am grateful for that in a way, too, so I can rest assured that you won't ever have the satisfaction of knowing..........................

Of course, I know the one I am most angry at is myself, for being stupid enough to be sucked in by your charm. For an intelligent woman, I am not always very smart. But unlike you, I know exactly what I've got, and what is worth holding on to.

Yours

The first time I was allowed to see Master after disappointing him was the most dedicated to his pleasure above my own that I've ever been. I know it should be that way all the time, and I try, I really do, but having an ideal in mind doesn't always make it a reality. It seems terrible that it has taken such a serious mistake on my part to bring me more fully into submission, and I'm certainly not glad I did what I did. But if I can maintain this level of devotion and use it to give even more to him in future, then maybe one day, I may be able to make up for my careless behaviour.... at least partly...

Again last night, I felt a complete lack of concern for my own pleasure. It was one of those times when I am lucky enough for him to choose to give me something he knows I will very much enjoy, and even let me ask for some of what I want. I am by no means forgiven yet, that I understand, but last night was like a sort of brief respite from my penance of the last week or so. And still, despite thoroughly enjoying myself and having permission to think of my own wants to some extent, they again took third place far, far behind his enjoyment and that of his invited guest.

Its a hot, ecstatic, and very familiar feeling to be used without having a choice in what is done with me. But its a far rarer experience of peace and contentment to simply serve, of my own choice, existing only for another's needs. I couldn't choose between the two sensations, and thats just as well, as I have no doubt Master prefers to use me in both these ways.

Sometimes when I am with him, and he is concentrating on something else, so unlikely to ask why I am staring at him (lol), I scan my eyes over him as if he is a stranger - looking with fresh eyes and taking in what I see in front of me with little regard to the experiences he has given me. I see a man a certain number of years my senior, with a strong stance, and perhaps a serious look, or a smile. And then, when I've created this image of an ordinary man, I think to myself, see that man? He OWNS you, nadi. You are the property of this man in front of you. It never fails to amaze me that it is true - and fills me with warm longing to surrender my will and please him, at any cost.

Presence

Finally he let me see him last night. Driving over, the anticipation was more excruciating than its been since the first time I asked him to flog me. He didn't speak, just tied my hands behind my back, and tethered me to a pole in his backyard. I knelt there, naked, with my head down, and he turned on his garden hose. The cold water was a shock, but I didn't try to avoid it, and I leaned forward when he told me to, letting the water spray against my ass and cunt. He soaked my body, then left me there, tied outside in the cold wind. He photographed me, then soaked me again later, and left me there until I suspected I would be there all night. The idea scared me, but I easily accepted it, and had he left me there overnight in the cold I would not have complained.

Finally he led me inside, still with my hands tied, and gave me a cold shower to wash off the dirt. He spoke to me coldly, only talking to direct my movements, and I obeyed in silence. In the bedroom, he told me to kneel and untied my hands, then whipped my ass and back with just a few strokes from the wet rope. It stung a lot, but my marks are pale. After drying myself I was allowed into his bed, where he fucked me holding my face down into the pillow, so that I could barely breathe.

I felt gratitude for every second that he bothered with me, and wanted only to please him. This is a rare thing for me - I am ashamed to say, my mind can be selfish when I am being fucked. But this time, I felt pleasure, but I didn't care about it. I had no desire to orgasm, just to be there to please him. I tried to move my body with his, not because I liked it, but because I knew he would like it. I felt completely, one hundred per cent dedicated only to him. Yes, my body responded with pleasure, and my orgasm was very strong when I was allowed it, but my mind was on him, and I would have happily gone without if it had pleased him to deny me.

He paused at one point and removed something from his bedside drawer. I didn't know what it was until he pressed it into my back: a knife. He has run blades over my body before, pressed them against my skin, made faint scratches on my breasts, and even fucked me with a knife before, but I have never been cut. This time he pushed the blade into the flesh of my ass cheek until warm blood ran out and down my skin. He stopped there - I very obviously enjoyed it far too much, and tonight was no time for a reward. But what a feeling... to lie still and willfully let him draw blood from me, as his possession. My body, my blood, my life... they are his.

Afterwards he let me sleep in his bed, though it was clear that I deserve much more punishment. I suspect more will come, but that was all for one night. I don't know how long it will take to earn his forgiveness, but I am overjoyed to have the chance.

Absence

Funny, the things that make you miss someone. People talk about a particular song, or a street name, or a time of day that brings on that sense of nostalgia and makes them long for the one they love. For me, today, it was a true anti-romantic's cue. I was alone in a park and I saw a man alone on the other side of the grass, looking at me. It triggered memories of things I'd done for Master, and of things he'd said, and made me repeat back to him. Promises, hopes, and fantasies.

I miss him so much I feel sick. I feel alone.

Please let me come home, Sir...

More wait...

When he finally spoke to me, it gave me some relief, but I hadn't anticipated the new torment: I'm now richoceting around from one emotion to another almost randomly. One minute I'm on a high knowing he has not rejected me totally, imagining the ecstacy it will be when I may finally see him again... the next minute I crash into despair at having disappointed him so badly, and feel sick at the shame I will feel when I may look at him again. And in between, the anxiety of waiting for the next contact - as much as it helps me cope to hear something from him, it is also a tease that makes me want to throw myself into his arms, feel his heartbeat, and smell his warm sweat. And I hate that I know, that when I am finally permitted to see him, I may not do that, or even touch him until he allows it.

But I should not complain. The small amount of contact he has given me is far, far better than the unbearable pain of nothing at all, and I feel overwhelmed with gratitude for the simplest message, even a stern one. At first, I struggled with doubt, completely uncertain what he would want from me, but now knowing that my waiting pleases him, makes me much stronger. And now that I am past the initial panic, I can better consider my mistakes, as I know he would want me to.

I still have to wait, and I don't know when he will speak to me again, how long it will be before I may greet him as usual, or when I will be permitted to see him...... and what he will do with me when that time comes.... but no matter how harshly he treats me, it will be worth it just to see him again.

The wait

"Start a blog," He said, "I want to know what you are thinking and feeling. I want to know what you imagine us doing."

A part of me doesn't want to right now - its too much, too private. But thats what makes it most relevant, and most important that I do. I may not hide anything from him, even in silence.

Since the last time Master spoke to me, I have been a mess of hurt and shame. He was so angry about what I'd done that I feared he would never want me back. I've been anxious and crying. I've been sleeping little and eating less. I feel crushed... fragmented... lost...

Is this my punishment? May I beg for it to stop?

I have been blind and carelessly disobedient. I deserve to be treated harshly for my ignorance and failure to learn, and I will embrace the sternest discipline with gratitude.... but his rejection is more than I can take.

He told me once that I deserved him, and I was awed. Even then it seemed like more compliment than I had earned. Perhaps I don't deserve him anymore...?

I told him I would wait until he wished to speak to me. It has been agonising, taking every ounce of my determination and strength to show the patience I know he desires in me, and wait for him. So many fears are running through my mind - what if he never speaks to me again? What if he just doesn't want me anymore? What if I try speaking to him and he is angry again? What if he tells me I may not speak to him? What if I have to wait a long time? How long can I cope?

I imagine going to his house and waiting outside his door for him, until he comes home. I want to kneel with my head down and wait. And when he ignores me and goes inside, I will still wait. As long as it takes. I would wait for him all night if he didn't return. And if he left the next morning, without acknowledging me, I would return that same night and wait some more. If it comes to it, I will. I told Sista this and she said "What if he kicks you like a stray dog?" I thought, I hope he does. Anything is better than him ignoring me. And I said "I belong to him. He can do what he likes with me."

This is my worst fear come to life - I let myself love him and now he is gone, through my own doing, and I don't know if or when he will return. Just like we enacted on the day when he left me tied and abandoned, I have no choice but to wait as long as it takes - because he possesses me. That day I was scared, but now it is real, and I am hurting to the core. Without my beautiful Sista's help, I would simply break apart.

I told her that blogging seemed like a cheat - a way of speaking to him while still waiting, and it was her that pointed out that he wants to read my thoughts and feelings in the blog. And this is too important to leave out. Thank you, Sis...

Recently I asked him about why he prefers me to keep my blog private, selecting who I should give the link to and when, and he chose not to answer directly. Thinking now, I feel I understand what the answer is: it doesn't matter why, because the blog is his. It is his possession of my thoughts, feelings, and fantasies. He chooses what to do with them, not me. Like my body, it belongs to him, and he will share it with whom he chooses. So today, I may not want to publish my disgrace and shame, but I will, because I write it for him, no one else.