Catharsis, exposure, and a nice place to be

Today, on my way home from his house, I pulled over and screamed. LOUD. Then I sat and bawled my eyes dry, sobbing right from the gut, roaring, howling, holding nothing back. And as I gradually calmed, I found myself moaning, "please.... please, Sir...." and then finally finished the thought at a whisper, "....... please, hurt me...? "

We all need our coping strategies. And yes, there are "normal" things that I do to release my emotions in times of stress. This morning's outburst is a perfect example. I also swim, create photo-art (not always very well, but thats not the point), get massage... oh, and masturbate, lol. But there is absolutely nothing that matches being really hurt for effective stress management. But if I was to try that alone.... well...... lets not go there.

When I'm feeling the pressure of life, I spend more and more of my energy on control - trying to limit the things that stress me, and the effort it takes to control my reactiveness, to avoid expressing my feelings at the wrong place and time. I crave letting Master take away that control, giving my body up to him, and surrendering. The freedom of trust. And each strike is a chance to give up more - to shift my mind from trying to avoid painful sensation to saying "YES" until I am welcoming it... and when his pattern changes, the struggle of avoiding again.... then once again, welcoming.... Its a practice of submission, to him, but also to myself. Accept the pain and it no longer becomes a threat. Just as that applies physically, the same is true for emotional pain.

Being flogged is almost like psychodrama. Its taking whats going on internally and making it tangible, allowing me to choose how to respond to it. Don't avoid it, feel it. Accept it, then release it. Feel... accept... release... feel... accept... release... until it becomes my whole existence, and I've forgotten who I am... forgotten everything except feel-accept-release, and above all, the love and gratitude for Sir, who has become the Sun. Such perfect peace, as though I could just fade into transparency and slowly disappear. The word 'subspace' only cheapens it.

I don't want to give the wrong idea - I did enjoy my night with him last night. He put me on show performing at his instructions online. I do enjoy it when he shows me off. I love standing in the position he has placed me in while he runs a finger between my thighs and teases me, knowing that someone is watching, someone who knows he can do anything he likes with me.

He asked me at one point if it was the thought that the voyeur(s) might be aroused and excited watching me, that they might lust after me and want to use me, but its not really any of those things. What I love the most is the simple objectification of it. The fact that my Master has me on display, like.... well, like a possession, which is exactly what I am. Not that people are looking at me but that they can look at me. That I have no way of hiding, no dignity, am allowed no modesty, I am not a person but a human object. One of my biggest fantasies is to be tied up in some exposing position, and gagged, then left in the middle of a room while people socialise around me. They would talk, and drink... and make comments about me, tease me... but even more humiliating, they would also periodically ignore me.

He didn't let me orgasm until very late last night, so when I finally could, it seemed to go on forever. Face down, turning my head to the side, I could see his shape over me, feel the power as he pushed hard into me, and I felt small, and owned. Not quite the catharsis I've been pleading for, but a nice place to be.

I have so many worries right now, and I had planned to blog them, but now I feel like leaving it on a more positive note instead. Sometimes its all so hard. And yes, Sista, there is always a choice to make. But sometimes, even through the tough shit, the choice is so right that its already made before the question is asked - and then its easy to forget that there ever was one.

Umm, where was that positive note...? Really, all I'm trying to say is, I love my Master unconditionally. I have given myself to him - my body, my mind, my heart, my life. I have given up my freedom. I have given up my consent. I have no right to take anything back, and I would never want to. I am his, inside and out. Even when its so fucking hard... its still a nice place to be.

Pain slut vs plain slut

You wouldn’t think the two would have to be mutually exclusive, would you? In my mind, they certainly aren’t. Being flogged, spanked or caned, and getting passed around like a piece of meat, used, and taken for granted, seem to go together pretty well to me. But all too often, one of these delights has to be neglected for the sake of the other. And sometimes, it gets frustrating.

The problem is, all the best pain leaves marks on me. Hell, the marks are half the pleasure! And there just aren't enough people out there into sharing me with Master, who are comfortable with seeing my bruised, battered body. So, he prefers to leave the nasty stuff for times when he isn't planning to let me be a slut. And he loves seeing me be a slut.

It is really quite sensible of him to avoid freaking people out. But, dammit, I don't want to avoid it! I want to say, fuck 'em! Let's shock them! Flaunt my welts! Tell them how much I love it...... But thats just me being childish, really. I have this unfortunate tendency to want everything. Yes, I'm a greedy girl. I want to have my cake and eat it. Maybe thats what a real slut is, though? Never satisfied.

When I look down, I miss all the good stuff... when I look up, I just trip over things

I am so afraid again. Since the last time I disappointed Master, I've felt like the ground could cave beneath me at any time. I've lost confidence in myself. I feel like I can't trust my own choices, like the outcome is no longer predictable. Everything used to be so clear, and now I'm wandering through the dark, just hoping to make the right turn. I doubt myself. I doubt my ability to please him. I doubt that I am good enough for him anymore.

On the night I fucked up, early on, he had told me he valued me. He told me I was his and would always be his if I never changed. He told me I was not replaceable. He told me that I had nothing to fear, that no one else could match me in his eyes. That meant so much to me that I cried and laughed and clung to him so hard.... and then, sometime over the next 24 hours, that beautiful sense of being worthy evaporated completely. He never took it back, but I feel like that gift he gave me, in words, is lost.

I told him last night, that I was so afraid. I told him that I feel afraid that my fear will make it even more likely that I will fail. I knew there was a good chance I could tell what his answer would be, and I was right: that my fear should make me do better, then.

Sigh.
My fear hurts. It is far better to be attentive to him out of desire to please him than fear of losing him. Desire is fueling, it gives energy. Fear is draining. Operating on fear, I don't know how long I can last before reaching panic or fatigue.

But looking at it from his perspective, he is right. It may help me stay vigilant. Painfully, and exhaustingly, but since when is it supposed to be about my comfort? And he was right not to comfort me last night. Doing that would imply that I am able to manipulate him into making me feel better, whether it was my intention or not. I don't get to decide how I should feel about it. Its up to him what is desirable.

A part of my mind tried to argue that he didn't get it last night, but I know the chances are near perfect that he does. Time and again, he has shown a much greater awareness of what I am thinking and feeling than I realise. And I should trust him. I can trust him. He will take care of me - not in a way that indulges my desires, but in a way that maintains his property to his satisfaction.

So I guess, however uncomfortable it might be, I've just got to hang in there and put in every effort. He deserves no less, and I don't really have another choice.

Sheath

Quite a few years ago, I was probably looking for some kinky porn when I came across a photo of a woman, legs spread, and a hand holding the handle of a knife. The blade was invisible, presumably buried inside her pussy. That photo both disturbed and fascinated me. I decided not to save it, it was a little too much for me at the time, but the image returned to my mind again and again in fantasy, imagining what it would be like to have someone hold a knife inside me, helpless and immobolised, not with restraints, but with the fear of what would happen if I flinched.

The part that interests me most now is, at the time, I didn't believe the photo was real. I genuinely thought it just wasn't possible to put a sharp blade there and not damage someone. I guessed that in the photo, there was no blade - it was just someone holding a broken-off handle in the right place to spark one's imagination. And it worked.

I still believed it couldn't be done when Master first touched a blade against my lips. I was still new to knife play at the time and the adrenaline was already intense. And I was loving it. I remember him saying "you are so wet, I bet I could fuck you with this and it wouldn't even cut you." I smiled, thinking he was teasing me. He wasn't. He slid it in and I froze, terrified. He reassured me and kept going. I concentrated on breathing, trying to relax and stay as still as I could. I felt high with fear, and I reminded myself over and over to trust him. When he withdrew the knife, he showed me the glistening line that marked how far it had been inside me. I had remained still while he took complete control over me, via one most sensitive part of my body, made vulnerable to a blade. What an incredible rush!

Last night, I had the added pleasure of being watched intently by a group of people while I took it, some of them loving it, others more uneasy than I had been after finding that photo years before. Now, the adrenaline and fear that originally made the experience, has been replaced by a kind of peace. As I lay there, I give him total trust, easily surrendering to his desire and skill. [Emphasis on skill: I'm not talking about anyone poking me with a sharp object and just hoping for the best! lol...] I still remind myself to breathe and relax, now to let the knife in further, proving that my body is his to take, in any way he pleases.

As I lay there last night, feeling the eyes on me, I felt proud to show that I could give my Master so much trust. And that he is completely deserving of it. Who else could take me so far beyond what I thought I was able to do, to fully explore my potential, and remain in such capable hands? I am incredibly lucky to have met him, and earned his ownership. And I wanted everyone to know it.

Daydreaming...

Sometimes, life just doesn't cut it. Then, all there is left to do is make a different reality, composed entirely of imagination.

Don't you..?

I think of how amazing it would be if I could be with my Master always, a part of his home. I imagine waking next to him, making his coffee while he showers, keeping his house clean while he works, cooking for him before he returns, and kneeling at his feet while he eats every evening. I imagine being there for him to use whenever the mood strikes him, with no need for phone calls, babysitters, and other arrangements. I think about how perfect it would be, to be able to be there for him as much as he likes, keeping him warm at night, and waiting for him at the end of every day... his loyal pet...

Master has fantasised, too... him, as the head of the house, or farm... a Mistress, perhaps his wife, submissive to him... perhaps a sub male, for certain uses... and me, on the bottom of course. His property, available for the others to use with his blessing. How perfect that would be, to serve him, and others under him, whenever he liked. To have no other purpose, no other worries, to not ever be anything other than his slave. Living to please him. That would be happiness.

With possible worlds like this, why would you need the 'real' one? I really don't know. But somehow I keep having to come back - to work, family, other demands, other responsibilities. The world where I really can't stay at his house and not return, it just wouldn't be practical. And where sometimes I miss him, and sometimes (if I may, Sir...), he seems to miss me.

If I could just find a way to escape to an alternate universe... even for a day or two... and be nothing but his...

Dislocation

A few nights ago, I disappointed my Master again. My behaviour showed an unacceptable lack of self-control. I was selfish and shortsighted about how my behaviour reflects on him. The shame was overwhelming when I reflected and realised I had behaved inappropriately, and I emailled him my explanation and apology as soon as I could. But it wasn't enough to prevent his anger.

When Master withdraws his kindness, I am dislocated. Everything becomes purposeless. I just drift, hoping and waiting for him. At one point, I really thought I was going to lose him this time. I tried to test it in my mind, to see if I could survive it: asking myself, what if he frees you? I couldn't even comprehend it. There was no answer, just a big.............. silent........... void............

I know I am a good submissive. I used to doubt myself a lot, but over time Master has shown me just how much strength, and obedience and potential I really have. I strive to better myself and show more and more devotion to him, to go further and further into that heavenly place where I know I am enslaved, where only his desire matters. But sometimes I fail. And when I do, it seems my failures are severe.... unforgivable.

He was eerily normal the other night at first - not like last time, when his every glance was ice cold. Then he directed me to kneel beside him, my back to him. He made me sit there a long time. A very long time... until my knees throbbed in agony, my thighs tingled, and my feet felt as though they did not exist at all. I started to plead to be allowed to move, but the tone of his "no" was merciless and I went silent. The pain was not like being whipped or beaten - there was no sensuality in this, it was only agony. It took all my determination to stay there, getting closer to tears, telling myself, be strong... be strong for him... Until finally he told me to stand, and I couldn't - my legs wouldn't even twitch, and I groaned as I tried to force them, as if trying to wake a dead thing. He pushed me to the floor in contempt, and began to fuck me. He told me to crawl as he did it, and I could only drag myself with my hands, legs sliding uselessly behind me. He made me lick the floor, and I screamed as spasms of pain gradually re-entered my muscles, and a couple of tears did come, while he fucked me... his property.... used...

He said, "There are many forms of punishment, aren't there?" And it hit me how effortless it had been for him to put me there, crawling like an amputee, helpless and in pain. He hadn't even needed to touch me.

If I do something like this a third time... well... I don't even want to type it. I can't lose him. What am I without him? Just a common slut, with no one to guide me, protect me, teach me, understand me, no one to love. No one else could come close to filling his shoes.

Now my fear is all the more real. These two times I have so seriously disappointed him, I was completely unaware. I slipped up naively and failed to recognise my error until much later. Both times, I tried to right my mistake but grossly underestimated its significance. What horrifies me is that lack of awareness. If I cannot see my failure when it happens, how do I avoid it? This is very troubling to me. In a way, I feel trapped - doomed to fail no matter what effort I make. Vigilance is essential, but will it be enough?

I have to try. And think very hard. I need to please him.

I am strong

I am STRONG because I have given myself to you.

I am STRONG because I have put my life in your hands.

I am STRONG because I offer you my flesh.

I am STRONG because I can give up my breath for you.

I am STRONG because I bleed for you.

I am STRONG because I scream for you, and I can be silent for you.

I am STRONG because I offer you my mind.

I am STRONG because I can tear through my fear of love and offer you my heart, in spite of myself.

I am STRONG because I show you all my weakness, and hide nothing.

I am STRONG because I offer you the power to break me.

I am STRONG because I promise you my loyalty and give it wholeheartedly.

I am STRONG because I admit my inadequacy, and strive to be better for you.

I am STRONG because I will learn to please you, and prove that I deserve you.

I am STRONG because I will give you anything.

I am STRONG because I will do whatever it takes.

Tantrum

Its been a bit longer than normal since I've blogged - bloody life, it always gets in the way of the things you want to do, doesn't it?

Speaking of delayed gratification, its been another long, lonely stretch without Master. For good reasons. I don't know if that makes it better or worse.

I thought it wasn't getting to me as badly as usual. Normally I'd be a wreck by now, but this time I've been holding it together fairly well. I'd definitely been feeling it (and he has been pretty open about his frustration, too). I've been missing him a lot, thinking about him all the time, and horny as a lonely slut can get - but I haven't gone psycho. Yet.

Tonight, I thought I might get to see him at last. But then circumstances intervened... and it hit me all at once how badly I had wanted to be with him. I cried, and clenched my teeth and pulled at my hair. I wanted to throw my phone across the wall and smash it into pieces - but that would mean no contact with him at all. I went nuts at Betty when she uttered a syllable (mental note: I'll have to apologise in the morning). The evil bitch in my mind started pacing and imagining stories about what Master was doing and thinking right now without me - stupid, spurious things that served the sole purpose of making me feel a million times worse. Perhaps I find anxiety and despair more tolerable than anger and frustration...

As the initial energy wears off, I find myself sulking like a two-year-old. I. WANT. MY. SIR.

When it gets like this, I don't even think about what I'd like to do with him anymore. He talks about this person or that couple and possibilities of play, seeking my thoughts, and I have to muster all my patience to stop from just saying to him: "I don't give a FUCK!" Sincerely, all I can imagine is dropping at his feet, perhaps with him sitting and resting his arms on me. I want to hibernate there. There would be peace. I want to sink into him and die there. What else is there?

*sigh*

Ok, next time I blog, I hope to have something positive to say. For now, I'm going to go to bed, hold my pillow and a tissue, and sulk some more. Maybe if I'm lucky I'll get to be with him in a dream...