Viti Levu

Transition

2010-01-29T19:00:00.002+08:00

The journey continues here: Vou Viti Levu.

some nothing

2009-06-28T16:11:00.000+08:00

I was driving recently past a fast food chain and a memory hit me - something I hadn't thought about almost since it happened three years ago. It was the night Master and I were attending our first BDSM party as a pair. I had limited "scene" experience, and it felt like an honour to accompany him as his own for the first time - so naturally I was nervous. I wanted to be seen with him, and to make him proud. But as we were getting ready to leave, something happened... a conflict with someone important to him. He spoke to me gently and suggested I go alone, and he would join me at the party later... after he sorted the issue out.

I didn't want to go alone. I had looked forward to arriving with him... as his. To be without him felt shameful, and lonely. I wanted to wait for him... but he said no.

I am ashamed to say it, but on that night out, I did not have faith in my Master's word. Driving to the party, I was convinced he would not come at all. I thought I would wait for him there all night, looking at my watch, trying to excuse him to the other guests, to convince them that, no, I hadn't really been abandoned. Until finally I would leave, still alone. Thinking this, I pulled over at the fast food place and sat in the car park for a long time, trying not to cry. Because, in my mind, what this meant was clear: I was not important. He did not care about me. I meant nothing. And I felt sure I would be forgotten that night.

But I wasn’t forgotten. He did turn up at the party, to my relief and surprise.

Now, three years later, I still belong to him. Despite my failings, my weakness, my uncertainty. Despite what can only be described as my crisis. On this one issue, I still find it difficult to have faith in my Master’s word: I am something to him.

Why is it so hard for me to accept that I could matter? Being nothing hurts, but it feels real, and easy to slip into. Being something, that feels so warm… and safe… and frightening. It feels vulnerable, which is somehow worse than pain. The more I mean anything to him, the more I need him, until I don’t know where I am in this anymore. My sense of place becomes soft, until I need his cruelty, desperately, to bring me back. His derision makes the world solid again.

Too much care and I can’t stand it. Too much malice and I can’t stand myself. Can I find a space in the middle, where I can be both his something and his nothing?

I can’t tell what is possible anymore, and I’m not sure I even want to think anymore. My head can’t cope with the questions it’s trying to ask. It tries, and then…… Crisis. Escape.

But escape is not permissible. Master will not allow it. He will keep me for as long as he desires. And just that, helps me to feel safe again. I don’t need the answers, and I don’t need to cope with this alone. I can let go – I have no choice. The answer will be found, or it won’t – all I have to do is obey him, letting my own will go. Easy to do, when I don’t know where it lies anyway.

And here, in his firm grip, without choice, is where I find that balance: I am important enough that he will keep me; and I am insignificant enough that he will use force if he must. This feels peaceful. This feels like love.

Intruded

2009-05-05T18:26:00.004+08:00

I was dozing, just barely asleep last night, peaceful and relaxed... and something woke me. The next instant, my head was covered by something, and pushed face down into the pillow. I don't remember the blankets being pulled away, but they must have been, because next I knew, there was someone on top of me, breathing hard, snarling into my ear. I felt fingers probe my cunt roughly, then a belt against my arse, pushed hard against me, and I knew what he was trying to do...

Strangely, I made a noise, but it didn't occur to me to try and yell out. I tried to push up, but was held down hard, and I quickly stopped, thinking I might be suffocated. But for the most part, I did not resist. I was tense and fearful of what was happening. I thought of asking, "Sir?" but dared not, and besides, I felt sure it wasn't. It was not his smell. And that sound...

... how long would he continue for? Would I just be used, or would I be harmed? Was I going to die?

Even then, somehow, I did not think to fight... my brain said to try, but my instinct was simply to submit.

Just as quick as it had started, suddenly he stopped and stood up. My head was uncovered but I was still face down. I tensed slightly, and felt wetness on the sheets. Had I pissed myself? No, it was cum. I hesitated, unsure... then quickly turned to look - and there was Master's face, smiling at me in the dark.

It was him - holding an old jacket with an unfamiliar smell. And looking pleased. Oh my god. He really had me believing I was being raped.

And all I could think was.... I want that to happen again.

Assrape

2009-04-21T21:26:00.003+08:00

And my ass wasn't left alone to recover the next night, either.

Master's guest had a thick cock. A very thick cock. And he was not to be dissuaded from where he wanted to fuck me with it. I was still sore and could barely handle the feeling of his fingers probing my ass. When he finally managed to force his cock into it, I screamed. And screamed. And it wasn't over fast.

I said to another sub recently, that I hoped to learn to accept heavy use of my asshole more easily. But it doesn't matter, if I do or I don't. Master is showing me, it will be used anyway. It is his.

Filthier than any toilet, and wetter too

2009-04-20T20:08:00.005+08:00

Funny how first times are always a surprise. I always knew my first enema would be a big humiliation. I hadn't expected that it would be made of pure hot piss.

Master blindfolded me first, then told me to lie face down. I could feel a towel underneath me, and started to feel anxious - obviously whatever he was doing, it was going to be messy. He pulled my cheeks apart, and I thought how nice it is to feel unashamed while someone looks straight into your ass. Then he began to shove something into it, and the feeling changed. It was big, and unlubed except for the wetness he collected from my cunt. I moaned and tried to fight the urge to tense up - if he wanted it in there, it was going in, and I knew it.

He pulled it out and said, "a good effort." A relief to hear.

The second time it went in, it was lubed, but still a struggle. I realised it was a big plug... and remembered when he returned from his last trip interstate. He had done some shopping. There was one item he'd bought that still had not been used. A large black plug, with a tube attached... and at the other end, a funnel...

As he fucked my ass with it, he asked me if I knew what was coming, and I told him my guess. He told me to reach back and hold the plug in place so it wouldn't move, and I heard him stand and remove his jeans....

The sensation was subtle, so that I wasn't even sure it was real at first. It felt as though the rubber toy inside my ass was somehow swelling.... but in a very gentle way.... lazily.... it was only when he let a few warm drops flick onto my back that I was sure it wasn't just my imagination... yes, he was filling my asshole with his piss. A lot of piss.

He laid on top of me and fucked me while I moaned, full and wriggling. He shoved the plug firmly into my mouth, making me taste the sweet lube and my fetid shit. The discomfort was visceral, and the thought of dirtying him, horrifying. He ordered me to come, and I had the most restrained orgasm I could manage, feeling the liquid mix dribbling over my cunt. He withdrew and smeared it into me - there. I was his filthy slut, soiled with piss, cum, and feaces.
(Thank you, Sir.)

I had thought it was over, but the hardest and most humiliating part was just beginning. I stood in the shower and whimpered as I realised what I was about to do. Master stood in the doorway looking bemused as I struggled through my dilemma - I couldn't hold it in for good. But letting it out was unbearable. The horror and humiliation as I released that stinking mess from my body - and with him watching - was awful and inescapable. I covered my face with my hands and groaned with shame, and pain from my overstretched hole. I was a disgrace, and I deserved it.

Yes, Doctor.... (visit 2)

2009-04-04T14:00:00.003+08:00

I hadn't thought Master would want me to return, which was naive of me, really. Of course he did. It was an excellent chance to further my humiliation.

This time, I was dressed in another skirt, with knee-high boots and a carefully prepared cleavage presenting itself. I had to look like an invitation. Master had been sure to take the time to give me a short fuck that morning, but not to let me come. He wanted me to be wet and open enough for my scent to travel and be noticed. I could barely sit still from nerves and slippery arousal.

It took a little longer for my name to be called this time. I sat opposite the doctor expectantly, as he asked again "What can I do for you?"

"Um.. last week you told me, if I wanted the results of the test, to come back this week... I had a pap smear..."

Recognition hit his face and he turned away towards his computer while my face went red. This was not going to be easy, but Master had made very sure I knew my script. There was a recorder in my bag silently reminding me that I had no choice to abandon my task - Master would listen to the evidence later.

The doctor explained the results and filled out his paperwork routinely. We were almost done, and I had to speak now...

"Um, may I ask a question?" An easy way to start. And an easy way to make sure I had to continue. There was no backing out now.

The Fantasy....

"Yes?"
"Do many women like it?"
He looked curious. "Like what?"
"Having a pap smear."
He paused and looked me over, judging my sincerity, "Why do you ask?"
"Well, because I do. I like it a lot. I'd do it every week if I could."
He smiled and moved towards me, and suggested "Well, there are many health checks a woman should have on a regular basis."
My pussy twitched, "Oh? What would you reccommend, Doctor?"
He gestured toward the examination table. "Why don't you lie down and we can do something a little more thorough. I don't think we'll need the nurse this time, do you?"

..... The Reality:

"Yes?"
"Do many women like it?"
He frowned. "Like what?"
"Having a pap smear."
He looked horrifed, and snapped, "I should think not!"
My face burned with shame and intense humiliation. This was horrible. And fuck, I was wet.
The doctor took a breath. "Is that a problem?" he asked.
"Um, no. It's just that...." oh Sir, do I really have to...?
"Yes?"
"Well, I do. I would do it every week if I could." There. It was done.
"Well." He seemed disgusted and clearly did not approve. "Most find it embarassing."

I was dismissed. I had completed the most humiliating task Sir has set for me so far. I hated it. And yet, according to my soaking thighs, I loved it, too.

I hoped never to show my face there again. And I know, that doesn't matter. As Master said, there are plenty of doctors in this city. Its only a matter of time before I'm due to see another one.

Yes, Doctor.... (visit 1)

2009-04-04T12:47:00.003+08:00

I sat in the surgery waiting room wearing a skirt, a fitted top, and a nervous smile. When I squeezed my thighs together I could feel the dampness between them, building up in anticipation of my time in the doctor's office. Anxiety and excitement made my breathing heavy. I was ready and eager, to show myself a slut and make my Master pleased.

My name was called quickly, and I followed the doctor inside to his private room. I was quickly becoming more and more excited. He asked "What can I do for you?" I took a deep breath. I hoped my voice didn't sound too shy as I asked for a pap test. The doctor smiled back, and said, "I'll just go and get the nurse."

It really is a pity so many doctors are so cautious these days.

The nurse was a nasty-looking woman, late fifties, with a grim manner. She invited me behind the curtain to the examination table and told me to take off my skirt, "and your knickers..." she began, but then stopped as she realised I had none. I climbed onto the table perhaps too eagerly, and she frowned while she told me to lie with my knees up and my feet close to my body. She placed an arbitrary cotton sheet over my lower half, and parted the curtain to tell the doctor I was ready.

Here was the part I was waiting for. I was sure my wetness must be flowing onto the table by now, as the doctor walked over, pulling on the latex gloves. He stood behind me for a moment, and I turned my head but couldn't see, until he walked back towards my feet, plastic speculum in hand. I could see the lubricant smeared on it and smiled, thinking, that was unnecessary, but would no doubt feel good.

He lifted the sheet and gently pushed my knees apart, instructing, "as wide as you can." There was no problem there. I spread my knees and showed him my open cunt. I could almost feel him looking at it. I was soaked - and there was no question he could see that and smell it. I wondered if he was noting my yawning lips and swollen clit, clear evidence of my arousal. Without speaking, my body was saying to him, I am a slut, and I love to be exposed.

The nurse was not watching. I tightened my muscles and prepared for my task. Master had been very clear: you are going to come, he'd said, and I want there to be no doubt at all in the doctor's mind.

He didn't touch me, just pushed the slippery plastic smoothly into my open hole. Oh, yes... my muscles clamped around it, my hips shifted, and as I let go, my body shook. I exhaled and let out a soft moan, my hips twitching, begging for more touching that would not come. I panted and flexed, slowing down as my orgasm completed. There. I watched his face. He had paused, but did not look up. The nurse still faced away.

Flushed, I laid there while the doctor warned, "No moving now," and finished what he had thought he was there to do. He collected the sample and cleaned up quickly and professionally, and I stayed still, feeling unfinished and ignored. I wondered, was I too quiet? No, surely that was quite clear. The nurse passed me a towel and left me to get dressed.

Sitting in front of the doctor again, I felt myself blushing, wondering if I would be questioned, feeling like a naughty child waiting to be chastised. Instead, he was all business as he asked, "Is that all you were wanting today?"

Um. "Yes, thank you."

"Ok. Take this through to the pathology desk on your way out." He looked at me again, and added, "If you actually wanted the results, you can come back next week."

If I wanted them. He was aware that wasn't my main concern. I left feeling both happy and horribly ashamed. I could tell Sir I had completed my homework task.

Resurrection

2009-03-09T19:40:00.004+09:00

Okay. It's time to confess.

I thought it was over.

Almost three years ago I told Blknight that I thought Master and I had no future together. Our lifestyle committments were just too conflicting. And as recently as 24 hours ago, I thought that, plus my own failings, had finally gotten the better of us.

At one point along the way I had a fairytale in my head. I was doing so well, that I became far too confident. I took to my training well. I was pleasing my Master and making him proud. I was learning so fast, and making so few mistakes, that I thought I could be his perfect slave. It was only a matter of time, I imagined, until he would find me deserving. He would give me a collar, and I would know that I was Good Enough.

Over time, reality replaced the fantasy. I am not, nor will I ever be, perfect. I cannot take Master's pride for granted. At times, I disappoint him horribly. And I can work as hard as I like, but it doesn't mean I will earn anything. Often, just being adequate is hard enough. So of course, I have ended up doubting myself. Often, I have feared being replaced. Some days, I have convinced myself I am worthless.

So last weekend, when Master said he had given up, I thought he had given up on me. I know its not what he said - he was referring to scheduling... to problems with meeting people for play. But that doesn't stop my mind hearing it differently, and this time I heard the end. So 24 hours ago, when I knew in my gut, that him not answering my message meant he was fucking another slut, I felt sure I knew what would happen. All it would take was for him to find an adequate slut with fewer committments than me. And then she would take my place, become his number one, and I would be nothing.

But then he ordered me over to taste her residue on his cock. He had me wear her damp lace panties and inhale her scent from his sheets. He fucked me while he made me listen - desperate, struggling, and wet - to the details of his pleasure with her. He tied my hands and attached the TENS to my tits, and my cunt, and he gave me my Reminder Lesson. You are my slut, my hole, my slave. You are not free.

Amazing how my confidence can be restored - by having the woman I am jealous of almost literally shoved in my face... by having the Master I am afraid of losing, remind me how insignificant I am... because it means it is possible for me to keep my place. If I work hard enough.

Weighing Love

2009-01-14T20:48:00.003+09:00

Master asked me the other night, if I thought that perhaps loving him might be unfavourable. I was surprised at the question, firstly because he so rarely mentions such thoughts to me. While I know very well that he thinks carefully about my role and training, it is always a surprise when he shares any inkling of his contemplations. I guess that in itself is a reason why I feel compelled to be sure I answer him fully and clearly when he does.

He had just finished using me – but not before telling me how much he had enjoyed another female sub the night before. I had been afraid, and when he confirmed my anxiety, I burst into tears. His question came later. I had truly never thought of it in this way before – that loving him might not be beneficial, not only because it can be painful, but specifically because of my insecurity about his enjoyment of other women.

I think part of the reason the idea is new to me is simple defense. I need to feel that loving him is worthwhile. Because it has caused me so much grief, I simply cannot question it. Reasons why it might not be perfect do not come anywhere near as easily to me as reasons why it is good and right.

Firstly, it gives him greater power, and thereby ensures my obedience. To disobey or disrespect him carries not only the risk of punishment and pain, but far greater than that: the fear of real loss. Loss of his approval, loss of his desire, and most of all, loss of his presence. All of that has meaning because I love him.

And the flipside of that is his approval and praise has real value to me. I am increasingly motivated to please him each time he tells me I have done well. His smile, an affectionate touch, or a rare kiss is an invaluable incentive because of my love. He could give me any number of cocks or orgasms, but the greater reward is always him showing pleasure in me. I doubt his approval would have such significance if I did not truly adore him.

Thirdly, loving him gives me great loyalty. I am naturally a loyal person, but for love, my faithfulness is fierce. And it needs to be, for a slut such as myself not to sleep around, or even touch myself without his knowledge. Temptation is enormous. I know full well that without love to keep me on track, I do give in.

And perhaps biggest of all, is that love compels me to self-sacrifice. The moments when I am overcome with the sheer rolling current of passion and adoration for him, I want most desperately to prove the depth of my emotion by giving him all I can. I know there is simply no way I could promise so much to him without being driven by love.

So loving him is a good thing, an important thing. And I feel like I want to stop there, not think more on the subject at all. But that would not be answering the question that Sir posed to me.

I love him. And when he likes someone else, it withers me. But I think the real reason for that is not my love, not directly. It is fear – that I cannot be loved.

……..

For two days this blog has been sitting here, incomplete. How do I finish this? How do I explain? I am so afraid…

Perhaps by saying again, that I do not expect my Master to love me. It is right that I offer him my heart without return.

… but I need to please him. I need to earn his approval, his pride. I need to feel that I am good enough, in some way. I need to make him smile. Because it makes me worth something.

And what if I don’t make him smile? And what if someone else does? I have no place, then. I am nobody. If I do not deserve his pleasure, I deserve nothing at all.

I know it’s not the slightest bit rational. I know Master has plenty of enjoyment to go around. Someone else pleasing him does not make me please him any less. But I fear I already please him less, that I’m just not good enough to please him more. So others are terrifying, not because I feel they lessen me, but because I already doubt what I deserve.

As I write this, it occurs to me that there is one real measure of what I deserve: what my Master chooses to give me. I should have faith in his appraisal. It is far more trustworthy than mine.

Notorious anonymous

2009-01-02T21:13:00.003+09:00

Perhaps it is true that we all want to be famous for something? I never used to think so. In my vanilla world, I mean. I've always thought I preferred to stay out of the limelight. You wouldn't think so from seeing me "slut", but I am actually the quiet one at parties, standing in the corner having a peaceful drink and chat. The thought of getting everyone's attention makes my palms wet as much as my pussy, lol.

But no slut would be complete without a streak of exhibitionism. Did I say a streak? In reality, I have grown to have a whole lot more than that. With Master's encouragement, I have learned to love people watching me fuck. Or play. Or just prance around half naked. Last time I was at the airport picking Master up, I wore a top that showed nearly my whole tits, and thoroughly enjoyed the extra attention from security. Not to mention the guy who bought me a drink just so he could take a photo and inform me he was going to jerk off on the plane.

Somehow it never feels like enough. I want full exposure, more attention! At last count Master had no less than 1,780 photos of me used, fucked, whored, choked, creamed, or just showing off. Plus video. I look through them and wish so badly I could show the world what I am.

Back in the days when I still played around freely, I started getting into doing webcam shows on kinky personals sites. I would start of playing the 'traditional' way, then gradually work up to more unique additions, watching the number of viewers grow. I would show off my pain tolerance, open my slut holes, and get dirty with hundreds of people watching. Yeah!

I often wish I could develop this blog into my very own pornsite. "slutnadi.com". There would be pics, more every week or every day, and some of my kinky artwork. I'd add links to my favourite online porn. Perhaps there would be snippets of video, and a collection of Master's favourite photos and entries. There could be a guestbook and a private email where viewers could make personal requests. Paysite or freebie, I wouldn't care. I would be grateful for every person who saw me being myself and thought, 'What a whore'...

Would Master ever allow that? I really don't know. My feeling is, not while I want it so much. I used to feel great frustration that he does not allow me to disclose my blog address without permission. Now, I recognise the wisdom in that. A private blog allows me to speak more freely. It also keeps its purpose intact: the blog is for my Master, not for entertaining a crowd. And it reminds me that, like my body, my thoughts are owned... and will be shared with whom he chooses. Feed the exhibitionist too much, and she may forget how to watch and listen...

Bitch

2008-12-30T19:34:00.005+09:00

It was a couple of months ago now, that Master’s dog last pissed on the carpet. After kicking him out, he grabbed my hair, and, while fucking me from behind, shoved my head towards the stinking wet patch on the floor. He said “I want to hear you sniff it!” and I tried, but not well enough – it was repulsive. Master ordered me again, “Sniff it! I want to hear you sniffing like a dog!” He was holding me roughly and pushed my face right into it. I was revolted by the smell and wanted to pull away, and I whimpered at first, but had to try to please him. I started to sniff loudly and quickly, a sort of panting through my nose. He held me there and fucked me and rubbed my face harder into the dog’s piss on the floor, forcing me to inhale its scent. It was bitter and concentrated, and with my eyes clenched shut, my hair spilling over my face, and a cock throbbing in my cunt, the animal smell and the sound of myself huffing like a canine took me somewhere primitive inside my mind… I lost self-consciousness and dignity, and for a short while I could truly believe I was not human.

It seems to be the latest direction Master is taking me in my training: to become a bitch. And it suits me well. I have always felt there was something beautifully simple and purifying about animal-training, but the common choices seem somewhat absurd. A Dom I met a long time ago once said he’d like to train me as a cat, but in all honesty I think there is nothing cat-like about me. Puppies are far too innocent and cute, it would feel ridiculous. Yes, I am more like a bitch. Bitches are dirty and unashamed. A bitch is wanton and yet vulnerable. A bitch is there to please, to be used as a hole, and sometimes, to breed. I am definitely a bitch.

The other night it was a nice surprise, when Master showed me what he had me doing. He had placed something over my head and was taking photos while I posed on all fours, not knowing what this was about. Until he showed me the pic on the camera, and I realised what was over my face: a leather dog mask. I was posing as a bitch.

As a bitch, .... I am to spend nights on the floor, and eventually, outside in a pen or kennel. I may one day be replaced in my human position by another woman, one who will slut by my Master’s side and treat me as the animal that I am. Worth less even than Master’s ‘real’ dog. A situation so awful and yet so attractive…

If Master does indeed progress with teaching me in this vein, I know I will be challenged. But also rewarded. I do long to be taught new ways to please him, and if this is what he wants of me, I will learn to be the best bitch I can be. Woof.

All I want for Christmas is a welted arse...

2008-12-28T20:52:00.003+09:00

I have come to realise something over time: my Master is not just a Master. He is a manslut. Please note that I mean nothing offensive by that. Merely that he is a man who loves to ‘get around’, and fuck as many people as possible in as many ways as possible. Variety is the spice of his sexual life. And he loves to mix spices – orgies and groupies of any kind are top of his list. As are any new hot bitch or tight arse. That is why he spends so much time browsing for newcomers, and why it matters to him if any one of them doesn’t pan out. Because he wants to fuck them all.

I, too, am a slut. But the point of difference between my priorities and Master’s, is that I am primarily a subslut. The top of my list is whatever will be the roughest, the most painful, the more humiliating, the hardest kink. But obviously, it is not my list that determines what we do.

Occasionally I try to tell Master, that I don’t care about vanilla playmates. I would forgo any number of them for time at home with his most sadistic self. But he doesn’t seem to believe me. And perhaps rightly so… I am, after all, addicted to cock.

When we first met, one thing that made me hesitate most to give myself to him, was worry that I would not get to slut enough to be satisfied. Master made a promise to me, that I would still be used regularly and thoroughly, by many people. It has been my surprise and delight that he has kept his word. But even more surprising is that my frustration has taken the opposite form: being allowed to be a slut has made me miss out on what I want more.

I know I have blogged about this before. But my frustration rises and gets to me over time. I want to be hurt. I want to be flogged and bruised and welted and made to scream and cry. I want the sheer limits of my pain to be pushed and pushed until I fear I won’t survive. And I am forever postponed to avoid offending the sensibilities of new fucks my Master considers essential to his pleasure.

I am trying not to sound bitter, but probably not succeeding. There doesn’t seem much point in being apologetic about it. What I really want to say, when Master avoids marking me because of what others might think, is Fuck them. So what if they don’t feel ok about S&M? We don’t need prudes who want their sex all fluffy and friendly. They are boring and need to get over it. Let’s just stick to the kinky bastards, the ones who understand how to have real fun. Please, Sir….

But like I said, Master wants to fuck them. It doesn’t matter if they are vanilla as essence, he still wants to fuck them. I guess it seems that, when it comes down to it, Master preferences sex over kink, figuring there will always be time for more kink later. Whereas I preference kink any day, and feel that there will always be more sex around when you need it.

Patience, nadi… keep showing patience…

Passer Pipiabat

2008-12-01T22:59:00.002+09:00

It’s a strange quirk of fate that the book I am reading lately is a collection of love stories. Why I picked it up, I don’t know – it is not my usual subject of choice. But it turns out to be a selection I feel close to. Each story has a unique pain, a sad passion, and an uncommon truth – just like mine, in a way.

Two years ago when I first began to tell my Master I loved him, I knew it would mean pain. But I had to make that offering. It was part of my surrender. I felt I would earn something. What; I no longer know. Approval? Affection? Tolerance of my flaws? But not for him to love me back. I never thought he would give me that.

There is a woman, I will call her ‘Elle’, who my Master adores. She seems to my limited knowledge to be so many things I am not – independent, successful, strong-willed, and beautiful. And most important, she has my Master’s love.

…I apologise, Sir, for such a bold assumption, but this is how it appears to my eyes.

So, why, if I never thought he would love me and never presumed to wish for it, does it ache so much to see his smile when he speaks of her? It is not the competition – I know very well that she and I can’t fill the same place in my Master’s life. And yet, it is the comparison. The very differences between us that make me safe, are the same things that break my heart. Every distinction between Elle’s life and mine, becomes proof of my inferiority – why else would Sir be so happy with her? She deserves something – something wonderful – that I do not.

And yes, I do want my Master to be happy. Even as it breaks me, that his happiness can be better given by someone else, I do feel glad for it. And I try to make him even happier, when he is pleased by her. I look hard for ways to serve him; I name my jealousy but suppress my sadness; I try with more determination to satisfy him when he fucks me. And sometimes, I feel like I succeed. Sometimes, I earn his praise. But love can’t be earned. It can only be given, and not to me.

A long time ago, when I submitted to Sir J, he fell in love with another submissive. At first I was happy for him, but soon I realised what that meant for me. I may have kept my place, but not his attention. I was soon wanted less often by him, and found myself waiting. When I had my turn, he was distracted and lackluster. He stopped correcting me as if he could no longer be bothered. More and more frustrated, I eventually lashed out and told him what I thought, in an effort to provoke him into putting me back in my place. I was horrified that he didn’t. Instead, he told me I was right, let me go, and focused completely on her.

This is certainly not the same. Master Paul is nothing like Sir J, and Elle is not his sub. My role and feelings for my Master now have little resemblance to what they were back then. But there is one element that remains the same: I was not as desirable as someone else. Even with no love for Sir J and not a great deal of respect for him, it cut me to be second best. And now, with far more of myself at stake, it feels crushing.

How is it possible that someone so far away, who barely knows of my existence at all, has so much power over me? If she were ever to take up residence with my Master, as his partner, she would have me as her slave without effort. Just her existence is enough to remind me of my place, bring me down to nothing, and show me that I am weak and small.

Sometimes it feels unfair. I know I am an incredible slut for him. I know I give him far more than her, and make far greater sacrifices to please him. A part of me feels I deserve “something”… she gets love… how do I get to be something special?

Maybe I don’t…?

Maybe I just get to love him and suffer for it. At least that is something I can do somewhat contentedly. Something I can feel is my blessing. Master may not care enough to give me love, but sometimes he cares to give me pain, and I am grateful. When he hurts me, I feel like I am something to him.

Please, Sir… Please may I have some more pain…?

Thwarted

2008-11-25T21:30:00.002+09:00

Master hates it when people don't follow through. Even if it is not personal, it is personal. Each message sent, each photo shared, is an investment of trust to the other person to keep their word. To not do so is a disrespect and a betrayal.

On the third day he was away, I opened the envelope containing my chores for the day and was stunned. He wanted me to make him a video - with others. In his absence. I must have re-read it more than ten times, just to make sure I hadn't misunderstood. Master never invites me to play without him, and never ever allows me the freedom to choose who I play with...

Well, there was a time... it seems like decades ago now. I once had some kind of choice. I remember reporting to him each time I was used, giving him the graphic details of my slut life without him. I remember him narrowing the scope of my choice, until I had limited range, and then nothing without his consent. And then I remember giving it up to him, promising him my whole self, freely giving my choice away. The thought of choosing whether someone can fuck me or not has become completely alien.

So at first, the task he had written for that day was barely comprehensible. I went about finding someone carefully, and settled on a couple who seemed sufficiently deviate but not too risky. And then, it was going to happen. They had agreed to everything, all that needed to happen was for me to give the ok for them to come over. And I just couldn't do it. Panic came over me. I couldn't just do this, I had to be sure I wasn't halucinating the whole thing. The consequences of mistakenly cheating my Master were too unthinkable!

I messaged him, asking for confirmation. I had to be sure I had his word. And to my relief, I did. So I said, okay. Come over, lets do this........

.......and they didn't turn up.

I sulked. I was angry and frustrated. And not because of any of the reasons above, and not because I had wanted my fun, either. I was furious that I had been so careful to be sure it was approved by my Master. I had fretted over it, and agonised over who he might want me to choose. I had finally felt sure this was what he wanted of me, and committed to it in my mind. And more than that, I had realised I was on the verge of completing the most difficult of all the tasks he had set me while he was away. I would score one hundred percent. I would not fail to please him. AND THOSE SELF-SERVING BASTARDS TOOK THAT AWAY.

Exposure

2008-11-17T21:20:00.002+09:00

I am in a normal public place... let's say a cafe... surrounded by people, and every one of them knows I am below them in every way. Just by looking at me they know I am a slut, a whore, and they can treat me as they wish. The men look me up and down and smirk. The women snicker and point. Once in a while someone will walk past and give a slap on my arse, or casually jerk my hair as they stand beside me, considering their order. Strangers place their hands up my skirt or tweak my nipples, chuckling at my embarassment and compliance. Everywhere I go is like this... I am marked, known, and always humiliated. I have no rights, and no dignity.

An unlikely fantasy to become true in the world we live in. But possible, to some smaller degree. Like when Master takes me out dressed as a tart... trotting alongside him in a tiny skirt, knee high boots, my cleavage bulging out of my top... an obvious slut. And him, dressed neatly, appearing unmoved by the sight of my cheeks jutting out from below my hemline, carrying on with his shopping or chatting to a friend, while I wait silently at his side.... making it clear to the astute observer, that I belong to him, nothing but his smiling whore.

And some people do notice, and make it clear that they do. Which is how I wound up with my skirt around my waist while the security guard at the local late-night shop casually strolled up to the car, put his hands in the window, and helped himself to a feel of my holes... then pull out his cock at the window, and speak one word to me: "suck." And thats how he knew, not to ask me, but to ask the mysterious man I was with, if I could be fucked.

Master asked me recently, for the reason why, if I enjoy being seen as a slut so much, do I dress so normally when I'm not with him? I found it hard to articulate a simple response... really, there are several reasons, and I'm not entirely sure which are most significant. But I'll try...

Firstly, I just like dressing the way I do - in long skirts or jeans, and singlet tops, outfits that show my tits and hide my legs. They are loose and comfortable, and I like to dress comfortably. I don't wear high heeled shoes, for example, because it is just not comfortable.

Second, I feel attractive dressed that way. And while I know that many men's attention is drawn by exposed flesh, mine is not. I find women who show it all off to be, well, kind of dull. I find a woman beautiful if she looks mature, comfortable, natural, and confident enough in herself to not try to seek attention. So I can't help but seek to look that way myself.

The third reason is pride. I will confess, I am like a lot of women, in that I judge people by the way they dress. When I see a woman in a short skirt shivering on a winter night, I think she is not very smart. If a woman can't leave the house without her hair and makeup done, I think she is insecure. And while I do want to be a public slut, I also want to be recognised as intelligent and confident.

All this begs the question, why, then, do I enjoy being such a slutty whore sometimes? Well, its the same list of answers. I enjoy the mild anxiety of feeling uncomfortable. I enjoy dressing in a way that is attention-grabbing, but, in my mind, not at all attractive - just obviously easy. And I enjoy the humiliation of being seen and judged to be 'less-than'... to be nothing but a whore. If I dressed in that way every day, it would soon lose these effects for me. I would become comfortable as the slutty type, and no longer notice I was being watched. And then, what would be the point?

0

2008-08-19T21:21:00.004+08:00

When Master asked me, What are you, deep down? If you strip everything away to the core, what is left? I could only answer, ‘nothing’. I didn’t think it was the answer he was expecting. But the truth of it was, the question left me feeling empty.

When Master found me, I was a slut. Now, I am his. I am still a slut, because that is how he wants me. See the change? Being his is the centre, the beginning. I am openness. Yielding. Submission. With him, anything. Alone, stripped of my reference point… nothing.

Being a slut was just a filler. A way I could be something that what was wanted of me. I want to please – that is why being a slut comes naturally to me. Now I have someone to please, and the slut part becomes secondary.

See how it’s not a choice? Once I let that become my purpose and my meaning, there was no taking it back. I don’t decide what I am anymore. The slut was given to him, in exchange for nothing.

The question of consent is a cunning one. The reality of who determines what, and for whom, can run people in circles. I am his because I gave myself to him. But at the same time, I was his long before I ever even considered making that surrender. Probably from the moment we met.

I may not ever leave him, and I am glad. If I ever try, I hope he drags me back. I would be devastated and grateful. Because that is his right. Oh, sure, I know that legally things are more black and white than that. But legal or not, and consenting or not, I would willingly serve him, and defend his right. He owns me because I gave my rights to him; and I gave them because he already had them. It's a chicken and an egg, and there is no answer, and no undoing the cycle. Take away any part, and you are left with nothing. Consent becomes a myth that you can try and believe in, or...

Inside, out

2008-07-08T23:00:00.000+08:00

I was chatting to Blknight a while ago and we got to comparing different styles of domination. He is very much the physical guy: the kind of Dom who wants to take control via the subbie's body - pushing the physical limits, manipulating by blunt force. Master, on the other hand, is a psychological controller - he pushes me with words and mental images, to the extremes of experience that sensation alone could not induce.

There is a place for both, and as I said to Blknight, a perfect balance is ideal, but probably we all have our predilection to focus on one over the other. For me, there is nothing like the psychological dominance Master uses to control me. Don’t misunderstand: he is undeniably strong and more capable of using force than most. But so much of his power comes from carefully-chosen words, making it seem effortless, and so all the more intoxicating. Anyone can take control with a pair of cuffs and a cane, but to do it just by speaking inspires awe. And it is that emotional effect that is most important for me…. (perhaps because I fear so little physically…?) Being physically controlled is amazing, but the mental control is what makes it real. When Master chooses what he will say - or what he won't - to show dominance over me; or when he uses words to push my limits until I am shaking and sobbing, wide-eyed and enraptured by what he is saying... that’s how he owns me: from the inside, out.

Like Master said, I am an emo slut. I know it’s not the perfect way for a sub to be, so I try and keep it within tolerable levels. Sometimes, though, I fail. I could write about how that lets him down sometimes, but to dwell on that would be making the same mistake even as I apologise for it. Instead, I want to say how that, too, means he owns me so deeply – because I feel so much. That is how his words capture me – by tapping into the parts of me that are most vulnerable, that hurt most easily: my mind and my heart.

It means I am powerfully dependent on him. All my inevitable ups and downs are deeply tied to him, because it is his influence that devastates me or relieves me. Yes, soaring from grief to bliss partially on someone else’s calculation is an agonising way to live – but also a very gratifying one. To borrow someone else’s words I am an “affect junkie”. An addict for intensity. An emo-slut.

Life’s stress can bring me down so low I don’t just want to die – I want to suffer, too. The tension builds up over days and I become muted, flat, and confused. I feel afraid and disoriented. I try and tell myself to keep functioning, but in retrospect I always know I wasn’t – and that regardless of how I try not to bother Master with my frame of mind, it is foolish to think he can’t tell. He can read me effortlessly……. And then eventually, if he decides I am deserving, he takes my body, and hurts me.

He takes me away from my mind and into only my body using physical extremes. It might be partly the endorphins, and partly the sheer cathartic effect of being made to cry and scream, but mostly I think it is the sense of absolute surrender that releases me. When it hurts, I need nothing but to know I am his, and then when it is over, I re-emerge, myself again. My despair disintegrates. It’s like hitting a ‘reset’ switch…. Or like shock therapy.

Emo slut

2008-06-06T13:42:00.002+08:00

Last night, as I begged Master to cut me, he said, "Are you an emo slut? Or just a slutty emo?" and for a second, I felt like I'd been sprung… exposed… a secret discovered. Of course, that is one of my Master's most captivating talents – he sees right through me, and speaks aloud exactly what makes me shy away.

I would like to pretend I am a poster girl for cheerful, emotionally stable submissives, but I most definitely am not. I am moody and anguished. I am drawn to darkness, and to the 'edge'. I try and hide it, even from myself, but a part of me is fascinated with the idea of my own destruction. I want to feel my blood running over my skin. I want to feel my head float away from lack of oxygen. I want to feel the fear and exhilaration of wondering if I will live through this. Recently when Master released his hold on my throat and allowed me to gasp for air again, I thanked him for my breath… for my life. I remember thinking I would also have wanted to thank him if he had chosen to deny it.

No, I am no rainbows and fairies girl.

But my Master makes me feel light. Pleasing him I feel blessed, comforted, and secure. I feel I can live and be happy. As he said to me more than once, I can do anything.

Today I had the pleasure of being the subject of a media interview – with my Master's permission, to talk publicly on radio about what it is like to be a slave without limits. The portion they played was short and sweet and positive, and I was pleased to hear what they chose to include. But there was one hard question they asked that was edited out of the final… they said, "has he brainwashed you?" That was a question I couldn't answer – not in a public statement. Instead I laughed. The response on my lips, though, was "I don't care." If the type of training my Master performs on me – on my heart, and on my mind – is brainwashing, then so be it! I am just as grateful to him no matter what the name.

.... and it doesn't stop there

2008-06-06T13:40:00.002+08:00

I was on my back, my arms spread wide and tied to the bedposts, almost hyperventilating with nerves. Master had just played back his recording of what I'd said to him: "Please, would you shit in my mouth, Sir?" The recording meant even more than the act – he had my plea, my longing, and there was no taking it back. A part of me tried to believe he wouldn't really do it… reaching for denial. But I needed to ask for it, the time was right. I opened my mouth and shut my eyes, and my mind was crowded with thoughts that came down to "YES/NO". Trying not to move. Putting all my will towards keeping my mouth open. Not failing him. Oh god, this is disgusting….

… and next thing I know, there is something in my mouth, and I gasp with shock so hard that for a second I am choking on it. It momentarily occurs to me how utterly absurd it would be to die now, choking on my Master's shit while he shifts position to fuck me, and then it dislodges and I can breathe again, but fuck its still in my mouth, and I can't move my hands and I can't sit up and I can't get it out of there…. And Master tells me to come, and I try, I really try, but for the first time since I've known him I simply can't… it's too shocking…

… But he was so pleased with me. I have never seen him smile so proudly. It was horrible, and I did it, and I would do it again for him. No matter what. Because I have proven it – I have no limits for my Master. He smiled and said to me later, "Now you have reached the point where you are really of use to me," and I felt elated… finally, two years of training and I know I have really become something he truly wants… something he would not throw away.

A good toilet

2008-05-26T19:57:00.002+08:00

Two years ago, I was in a hotel room, exhausted and recovering from the first of many gangbangs my new Master would have me available for. He dismissed me to shower while he showed out the last of the guests, then entered the bathroom where I stood - wet, exposed and trembling. He ordered me to sit down and open my legs, and I did as he asked with trepidation. He said "spread your lips" and I held them - swollen, overused, and open - and I knew. I briefly shut my eyes, then looked down to watch the first stream of his piss touch my skin, spraying my cunt. He emptied his cock onto me and I waited, accepting it, until he appeared satisfied, and told me to resume my washing. That was my first golden shower.

Last night, I laid down on Master's floor, and positioned a large funnel in my mouth. When he urinated into it, I didn't choke, and I didn't gag, I just swallowed. I concentrated on keeping the pace it went down my throat fast enough so it wouldn't spill, and I didn't stop until I sucked nothing but air through the tube. Afterwards, he told me he was pleased, that I had become a good toilet, and I felt proud.

When he asked how it felt, I delved deep and answered that it felt dirty, humiliating, and submissive - and that I felt happy to have pleased him. But what surprised me that I couldn't put into words was that I felt so little at all. That is, I felt a little of all those things, but mostly there was a sense of normality about the whole experience. Of course I would swallow his piss. Of course I would be his toilet. Those thoughts came well before any sense of it being degrading in any way at all. I remember a similar feeling two years ago: testing myself in my mind, replaying the scene, thinking: he PISSED on me... waiting for a reaction, and hardly finding one at all.

Yes, of course I will drink piss from my Master. If it pleases him, it is right. I thanked him last night for training me in this way - his content little piss slut. And of course, I know it doesn't stop there....

"Yes please, Sir."

2008-05-22T20:50:00.004+08:00

"Would you like to be whipped until you bleed?"
"Yes please, Sir."
"Would you like me to shit on you?"
"Yes please, Sir."
"Shall I fill your cunt with hot melted wax?"
"Yes please, Sir."
"Should I dump you naked in a group of drunks to be raped?"
"Yes please, Sir."

It's a powerful experience, to say those words: yes, please - to something a big part of me finds unthinkable. But I can't answer any other way, even if I try. Recently Sir asked me something I felt so horrified by that I did say "No, thank you Sir." .... but then I paused.... and retracted it with a "yes, please". When he asked why the quick change of heart, I answered truthfully - that I'd heard the no come out of my mouth, and felt disappointed. I couldn't stand to hear myself limit my desire. The high that comes with saying "yes" to anything at all, is enough to make me give up all my defenses.

For a long time, it has been a relief to be permitted no limits - to know my Master may do what he likes no matter what I say. It absolves me of choice, and thus responsibility. But it seems that is no longer enough. It seems that not only do I want to give up my control over what happens, and not just embrace and accept anything he decides... but I want to ask for anything he might consider entertaining, or that might prove my complete submission to him.

Sometimes I wish he didn't ask me so often. I want to be led, taken, and forced without even the opportunity to say no. But Master asks, even though his choices have little to do with my answer. I guess as much as he enjoys the thrill of force just as I do, my Master wants to know what I'm feeling - and he wants not just a slave, but a willing one. Or maybe he just finds it entertaining to hear me ask for it. *smiles*

Last night was a case in point. He was taking a jar of Tiger Balm, and smearing the contents onto my nipples, over my pussy, and shoving it inside my cunt and arse. Each time he asked if I wanted more, I hesitated, and asked myself, could I really stand that burning sensation engulfing me, to intensify again? And then I would realise that, pain aside, I couldn't stand the thought of saying no. Each time I momentarily feared the knowledge that once the balm was added, there was no escaping it - and then that was exactly what I loved the most once it was there. I was under him, swinging like a pendulum from yes to no...
.... and there have been far worse things...

----------------------------------------------------------------

It has been a disappointingly long time since I've blogged. I know Master is unhappy about that, and I am grateful to him for allowing my block to take its course. There are many reasons, and "worse things" is one of them... as the exploration of the depths of my submission to him becomes more extreme, there are more and more things I just can't write about. And that makes me feel despondent. When I started this blog I felt inspired by the freedom it brought - to express what was in my mind freely and openly, without constraint. As much as I longed to share it, I also appreciated Master's choice to limit the blog's audience - it allowed me to be much more honest to bare all without fear. And now the things I want to write most - the powerful, most meaningful things - I must censor. It is a struggle to write at all when no matter what goes down on the page, I really want to say something else.... and all I end up with is a bunch of fragments.

There are other reasons, too, but I don't want this to degenerate to a list of excuses. I still don't know how to overcome it. All I can say is that, my lack of words has certainly not been caused by a lack of inspiration.

Thank you, Sir.

A snapshot of blessings...

2008-03-27T14:31:00.005+09:00

I love lying in bed in the mornings and feeling a hand grab my hip, and a cock push its way into me without any lead-up. I love knowing that my Master can use his cunt whenever he wants to. I love that even more now that I may not use it when I want to.

I've been having more and more sexual dreams lately - and all focus on being owned, denied freedom. In one Master carved his initials into my flesh with a knife while I lay face down, quivering, my hands tied and his knee on my hair. In another, he owned a strip club and put me to work as a slave - while the other girls wore skimpy costumes, I was naked except for a collar and wrist cuffs, chained so that I was unable to reach my hands below my waist. Ranked below the other staff, the 'rules' did not apply to me, and I was free to be touched, teased, and played with in whatever way people liked.... but I was not permitted to orgasm.

It now feels amazing when Master is fucking me and he tells me to touch myself. I jump at the chance to feel that soft wetness that I can't take for granted anymore... and the scent on my fingers afterwards...... a rare delicacy indeed.

His cock is taking on a new personality for me now. It has become the foremost bearer of my pleasure and something I long even more to please. I find myself gazing at it openly and with admiration. After it has emptied into me, I don't want it to go away. I find myself fantasising about ways to keep Master's cock inside me forever, and it almost seems that I can't feel content any other way.

I'm feeling far too horny to string these things together fluently today.... just some thoughts on my mind.... things I am grateful for...

PS. I have written an online Slut Test.... enjoy if you dare

Evolutionary wank

2008-03-10T22:39:00.005+09:00

Masturbation has been a major pleasure for almost my whole life. I was an early starter, playing every night in bed as a child. Long before I was old enough to orgasm, I'd bring myself to a magical brink of something... and sometimes manage to slip over it into a sudden sense of satisfaction and contentment, sending me peacefully off to sleep...

No wonder, then, that for me, playing with myself is about far more than just getting off. It is a comfort, a release of endorphins, a way of decreasing anxiety and increasing wellbeing. I use it to de-stress and unwind, to cure insomnia, to wake myself up, as a motivator, and as a relaxation technique. If I don't get to play for a while, emotional stress accumulates in my body as sexual tension.

It has been quite some time now since Master took away the freedom to touch myself and made it an occasional privilege... and honestly, I'm surprised at how well I've coped. It has probably been good for me, not just for my training, but also for life - I'm being forced to find alternative, more 'traditional' ways of letting off excess energy.

But sometimes, it is so hard to bear. Like yesterday. Yesterday, I spent hours quivering on the edge of orgasm. When I sat I found myself tilting my pelvis and rocking back and forth against the chair. I compulsively pinched the skin around my pubic area, clenching my thighs, the closest I could come to touching my pussy without feeling I was being disobedient. Peeing becomes an intense experience at times like these, the stimulation of the warm fluid followed by the paper makes me twitch.... almost enough to tempt me to orgasm.... but I don't dare.

Does that even sound believable, that I wouldn't give in?

When I first became my Master's exclusive property, I struggled to convince some of my old "playmates" of my loyalty to him. Many tried endlessly to convince me to sneak a fuck, thinking that if they just said the right things, surely this horny slut would put out once more... he'd never know, right? But he would know. I would never be able to keep it from him, even if I somehow summoned the insolence to try. And thats beside the point anyway, because I would never want to keep my mistakes from him - and thats something vanilla people always have a hard time grasping. I don't want to get away with anything!

For starters, my dignity as a submissive and my pride as his property depend on complete devotion to him. If I compromised this, how could I respect myself? And secondly, I want, as much as he does, to be under his complete control. As much as it can torment, and even frustrate me at times, I belong there. His ownership and his faith in my loyalty mean everything to me. If I betrayed that, it would not just mean his anger, his disappointment, his severe punishment, and my own shame - but most of all, the loss of this blissful sense of belonging to him.

That was my reasoning in the beginning, for not breaking my Master's trust. Over time the reasons changed to one that is much simpler, but has even more meaning: I am my Master's property. I have no right to lend his property to anyone else, only he can. And the same applies to playing with myself - I don't have the right to use his property any more than anyone else does. I must wait until he offers me the privilege.

That principle feels deeply right when it comes to play with others, but when it comes to playing with myself, although I can recognise its truthfulness, the real meaning hasn't sunk in yet. I am sure it will, and in time, my reasoning for not masturbating behind Master's back will also evolve from rationale to philosophy. In my thoughts, not just my actions, I will become even more a slave.

I have changed from fighting my desire to sleep around, to dependence on his permission - even in fantasy. I have grown to need his permission to orgasm, to the point where last time I was able to play, I had to imagine his voice to achieve it strongly. Now I'm on the way - slowly - to needing him even to touch myself. What next? Will he eventually have control even over my arousal? Will he become the very definition of my sexuality so that without him I have nothing - no desire other than what he permits and creates...? If that happened, then even if I was given back my freedom, I would have no choice but to be a slave for life...

Take it from me

2008-03-07T20:23:00.005+09:00

Sixteen months ago when my Master first told me to blog, his instruction was that I should begin by writing about love. I was afraid then, and while I still am in some way, it is tempered by other things: most strongly the compulsion to please him. Some say that all emotions are made up of measures of fear and love.... that I'm not sure of, but I know that my feelings for Master can be summed up in that way. Fear, love, fear, love... fear of love... love of fear.... my most basic and most passionate self has its time through him.

I have learned to love him with a great deal more abandon since then - but by that I don't mean any degree of romanticism. It still amazes me that some people can remain, persistently, drawn to love as a cure.... as a resolution.... as a faith...
Love does not overcome. It does not give any more than it takes. Love is not an ideal of joy - it is an ideal of power.

The love I feel comes with a sense of sorrow, of liberation, and of death. It is utterly disempowering, an emotional sacrifice. It is no less consuming than it was sixteen months ago - what has fallen away is doubt.

Because it is beautiful in its pain. Owing to it. Those who only see beauty in the benign aesthetic are losing out - only half living. Incredible bliss lies in our most agonising emotions - because they contain so much life. Living - really living - is not about the accumulation of happiness and avoidance of suffering..... it is immersing oneself in both.

I am emotionally masochistic. I can take measures of sadness, and hurt, and guilt, and shame, in the same way that I do the strokes of a hand, a whip, or a knife - the goal being to surpass my resistance, embrace the feelings, and accept the bliss that is pain.

The shame when my Master is disappointed. The bitterness of his care for others. The hurt of believing that he does not love me. The horror of inevitable loss. These things are the grief that is love.

Bittersweet

2008-02-29T21:47:00.003+09:00

Some things you have to do, that you’d much prefer to hide from. Some things creep up on you and present themselves to your consciousness horribly at some pivotal moment in such a way that you are tied – and you find yourself merely existing through some excruciating event of your own doing, with no other path to take.

Right before her impending visit, I have disowned my sista. Not from hate, or anger, or even because I was compelled to, but out of appalling necessity. Unplanned and unanticipated, but unchangeably all I could do. I feel like I’ve had to amputate my own limb, keeping the preparations outside my own awareness, maintaining denial right up until the moment when the knife split my skin.

For a long time there has been a friction among the four of us – s., myself and our Masters. Naively, I thought I was powerless, caught in the middle. But now it occurs to me that maybe I was the one holding it in place. I apologise – both for letting go, and for taking so long to do it.

Even greater than the shock of my own actions, was Master’s reply when I told him what had happened: "I told you I’d make you pay.”

On the issue of whether I could see her, he had done nothing and said nothing. His silence on the matter had been eerie, deliberate, but complete. I had no sense of being subject to his guidance, just waiting uneasily. I had no suspicion whatsoever that it was I who would finally perform his will.

Did he really plan this? Is his power over me really that great that he can alter my own choices without so much as a word? And without even my own recognition? I feel like a toy that has finally looked up for the first time, and seen puppet strings. I now understand more than ever the question of why my Master so rarely chooses to force his will over mine. Why, when he can quietly change my will?

What also hits me hard is the irony behind his words. For so long now I’ve dwelt on what I might have to give in order to see my sista. I never would have anticipated that it might have been her. And not by force, either – oh no, that would not have been enough. I had to give it up willingly, straight from my own heart.

I still have love for my friend, of course. But in such a short time so much has changed, sacrificed to my Master. Not to please him in order to be rewarded, and not to do his bidding to avoid being hurt. Just to honour and serve him, because that is what I am here to do.

Spoils

2008-01-29T20:19:00.000+09:00

"The four friends gathered in a circle, and in its middle was placed the girl, dressed as she had been at the moment she had been seized.... she was stripped, and, naked, passed and passed again, five or six times over, from one of our libertines to the other, she was turned about, she was turned the other way, she was fingered, she was handled, they sniffed, they spread, the peeped, they examined the state of the goods, was it new, was it used, but did all this coolly and without permitting to upset any aspect of the examination."

I've been reading a delicious peice of literature lately, and its images are imprinting themselves on my mind. Its author is incredibly cruel to his characters, and I think what makes me enjoy that the most is the utter lack of feeling for them. They are described factually and coldly, and their tortures are outlined with total impartiality. Its not the events of the story that turn me on, so much as the incredible indifference - what can only be called pure sadism.

It was in this frame of mind that I waited in Master's bed last night, until he finally climbed in, followed closely by a visitor who walked in the front door and straight to the bedroom. I was fingered and fucked, loving feeling as insignificant an object as a girl from the book. The visitor knew not to ask what I wanted, that I was there to be taken, and regarded me as a thing for my Masters pleasure.

Afterwards, he told me I was spoiled. What can I say to that? Its true, on this occasion Master gave me permission to orgasm freely for some time.... and he did some things specifically to get a hornier, wetter reaction from me. But our visitor wasn't around when I had begged him for permission to masturbate that morning, then spent and hour in front of the pc touching myself at his instruction, but not allowed to come.... and he didn't see me squirming and sighing all day because I was so desperate for a fuck that I couldn't sit still. The visitor had never been there when I was deliberately made sick with jealousy, or when I was reduced to tears by having my emotional buttons pushed for Master's entertainment. He hadn't been there to see me tied outside, soaking wet and shivering in the cold, or forced to kneel until I cried from the cramps in my legs. Would he still call me spoiled if he'd seen that?

Maybe he would. Master sometimes asks, "don't you think you are spoiled?" and I really don't know what to say then. To answer "no" sounds so ungrateful. To answer "yes" sounds both critical and smug. The honesty rule doesn't give me an answer either: I genuinely don't know if I am spoiled or not. Who am I to measure how he should treat me?

All I want to say when I'm accused of this is, so what? Master treats me the way it pleases him to treat me. Sometimes that means making sure I enjoy myself immensely - but does that mean its just for me? What about the fact that it pleases him to see me writhing in lust and enjoying myself sometimes? What about the sensation he likes to get when I orgasm so intensely that he says it is like an earth tremour around his cock? If I'm spoiled, its not because Master feels an obligation to my enjoyment, but because he has much to gain from spoiling me.

The thing I have loved most when Master doesn't spoil me, when he is simply mean and cold and hurts me, is that he regards me with the exact same detached level-headedness as when he gives me more obvious pleasure. He is indifferently passionate, and tenderly cruel. Spoiled or not, I am his object, and I love it that way.

The last limit

2008-01-21T21:08:00.000+09:00

There is one last taboo left in nadi's mind that has not yet been transgressed. One thing that still makes me want to say "please not that, Sir..." (but I wouldn't dare). One thing I have never done, and a big part of me would prefer was left that way.

But the problem with that is, I would stay limited. My goal has always been to break the boundaries - to transcend myself. The one thing I was most desperate for, that Master gave me, was to have my limits stretched - to face them, and then to erase them. To become completely free of my own fears and embrace obedience without hesitation. Even I am stunned at how much I can do now. But this one thing sticks that still makes me struggle....

Of course, Master owns me and has the right to do what he likes - I may not refuse his wishes. So if he orders me to lie still and keep my mouth open wide while he kneels above me preparing to fill it with his waste, I will do that. And I did - with tears running down my face, my shoulders trembling, and mentally pleading, please don't.... And he didn't. This time.

Because that would miss the point. Forcing me to do something I truly find shocking doesn't push me far enough - it lets me off too easily. It would allow me to comfort myself with the knowledge that it was not my chioce. No, to truly become limitless, the dirtiest slut I can be, I will have to ask for it. And I suspect it won't be given until I mean it.

I know I will ask for it, as does Master. Because its my final frontier - the last line I need to cross to be all I can be. It repulses me, and disturbs me. But the promise of defying the last limit is within reach, tantalising me, and Master knows me well enough to be sure that I can't resist a temptation like that forever. I didn't get into BDSM to be inhibited.

All in good time (not my time)

2008-01-13T11:09:00.000+09:00

Sometimes, hidden in my jealousy is a kind of frustration. An "I-want" that I don't get. A fantasy of mine that is not yet fulfilled.

The latest two are local events I've been hearing about in my email inbox. One is an outdoor gangbang - something thats been circling my mind for the last few weeks... imagining myself spread out on a picnic table, wide out in the open, inviting anyone to play with me without speaking a word..... 'I want' it so bad..... but someone else is getting it soon, not me.

The other is a gangbang in bondage. This has been my fantasy as long as I can remember... and the first one Master spoke to me the first time he used me. To be restrained and helpless, and used over and over, nothing but a peice of slutmeat, degraded and abused.... that is a huge longing for me. And to make it even more frustrating, Master wants me to attend this one with him... making me watch as my fantasy is played out on someone else. I don't know what my role would be, but it won't be where I feel I belong. Sigh.

That is a lesson, I know. I don't choose where I belong, Master does. I am not there to get what I want, I am there to do as I'm told. And if I make it to this party, I will not behave as a jealous, selfish slut. I will be silent about my negative thoughts, and I will smile, and obey, and please. I will be restrained by my Master's wishes, made helpless by the futility of 'I want', and used as a good slave. It will be good for me.

The bigger picture, too, is a lesson. Patience. I can't have everything I want now. It takes time, and that is a good thing - if nadi's fantasies were all fulfilled on her own timetable, I'd have been bored long ago! Its also a lesson in gratitude. Master told me on the day I met him, that if I was his, my fantasies and more would be fulfilled. So far, he has absolutely kept his promise, and I should not forget that! Silly girl.

A week or so ago, I was tied up on his bed with my breasts bound and bulging, conductive pads stuck to my nipples, delivering a varied array of shocks through my skin. I had wanted to try electrical play for a very long time, and this was certainly a fantasy fulfilled. It was me lying there, pulling against the restraints, screaming against the duct tape, squirming and shaking, tortured and helpless. And grateful.

It is me who he has chosen to keep for this long. It is me who he has had gangbanged, not once, but many times.... it is me who he has used not just for himself, but for whomever he chooses.... me who he has whipped and pain-tested past the point where I was crying.... me who he has beaten, and pissed on, and abused, and cut, and suffocated, and so much more.... And most important, it is me who he has taken as his possession, invested his training, and made his own. I am far from neglected. I will remember that as I watch others have fantasies fulfilled, and remind myself to feel grateful that that I am my Master's slave.

Larger than life

2008-01-01T23:37:00.000+09:00

The first time I was allowed into Master's bedroom, my face was covered by a leather hood . I couldn't see a thing, and perhaps because my senses were limited to such a small, dark cavity, I had the feeling of a vast space around me. I pictured the room I was being led into, as enormous! A decadent hardwood bed.. elegant, well-placed mirrors... heavy, plush curtains... high-ceilinged and rich with the smell of lust.

It was just a regular-sized room, of course. There were mirrors, but otherwise it was nothing like I imagined. Master's bedroom is perfectly normal, and now I know it very well. But sometimes... when I lie in his bed and close my eyes... I sense that vast space around me once more, and again feel as though I am in some kind of royal chamber. Blind awe.

Master takes on larger proportions in my mind, too. When I am next to him, my body feels smaller. I am fragile and expectant. I kneel and feel tiny. I close my eyes, and he becomes mammoth.

Its not just his power over me that brings on this sense of his greatness; its him. Master seems full of endless stories about other lives and experiences, times and places I will never see. I admire him for his intelligence, his integrity, his sense of justice. I adore him for his playfulness, sense of humour, and incredible knowledge and passion for music. I revere him to the point where at times he seems omnipotent to me.... knowing every secret corner of my mind, all my fears, my longings, and my weaknesses. I could hide nothing from him, if I tried.

I was lying in a hammock today contemplating nothing, and I suddenly remembered a fantasy from childhood. I recalled wrapping a hammock around my young body so that I was cocooned, and imagining that I was trapped there. In my mind, I was bound, mummified, suspended and waiting for my captor to return. Lying completely still, I would summon the feeling of perfect helplessness, and the ambivalent longing to know where I was and who was holding me there, mixed with the fear that when they returned, I would wish for the familiarity of my restraints. I was blind to their intent and both eager and fearful of my fate. I would lie there, as an innocent child, secretly creating an erotic tension in my mind around the question of where I would be taken and what would be done with me.

Two years ago I never thought I could really become who I am now. But I did know I was ready for something, and I wanted to be taken as far as I could go. It was my choice to give myself to him, but I had no way of knowing where that choice would lead - mentally, emotionally, or physically. I could only wait and see. In many ways, I feel less that I went to him, and more that I was willingly captured.... and led blindly forward into a new place, able only to hope and trust, as I slowly learned what waited for me in his arms.

Happy birthday Sir, and thank you.

All the self-respect of a......

2007-12-29T14:55:00.000+09:00

Lately I've been loving being offered in exchange for work done on my Master's house. I'm being treated like a slutty object, a fucktoy to be used. The other day I had to be there on show for the refridgeration guy, then drive to another house to be used, and return in time for the electrician to fuck each of my holes. Walking through town in a tiny mini skirt and stockings on a hot day, I felt like an obvious whore... and, I hoped, a cheap one.

The other day, Master allowed me to make copies of many of the photos he's taken of me in use. It started me thinking about all the people he has had inside my holes since I've known him. I don't even think I'd be able to count. I want to laugh now, when I think about the promise he made me on that day..... that if I was his, he would make sure I was an extreme slut. I can't believe I doubted him at the time! Now, I honestly think I am far bigger a slut than I could ever have become of my own accord. And I know he will make me even better.

Two things are bringing all this to mind right now. The first is Master's observation, and my own, that somehow I've been less desperate than usual to have my holes fucked lately. I sincerely don't know what exactly it is, but I've been strangely "take it or leave it" a lot of the time. Its a little bewildering. I think a part of it is in my devotion to him - thankfully, the one lust that has not reduced in the slightest is my desire for Master and the drive to please him. Ironically, though, its led to him becoming somewhat disappointed with my sluttiness and desire for others.

Master's solution has not come as a surprise to me. Back when he took control of my sex life, bit by bit, I began to fear that one day he would take control of my masturbation, too. And now, the loss of that right not only reminds me that I am completely possessed, but it also serves another purpose: he is forcing me to remain hornier and hornier, so that I become utterly desperate to be fucked. Its a cruel kindness. And so far its working exactly as he planned.

The other statement bringing me to contemplate my slut's state of mind, is a suggestion, in an online forum, that to be used this way, I must have questionable self-respect. I found the idea intriguing, because it made me realise something vital: its amazing how much more pride I take in myself now, than I used to! And all it took was to be enslaved, whored, abused, and placed on the bottom of the heap for anyone to use! Its amazing what a sense of having found your place can do for one's self esteem :)

I believe there was once a time when my self-respect really was low. Its hard to remember now. But the way Master has trained me, my most degrading behaviours have become my greatest sources of self-worth. And I guess that makes it even more important that I re-ignite my horny state quickly - so I can be sure to maintain all the self-respect of a deserving, deviant, dirty slut!

Slut appreciation

2007-12-05T22:19:00.000+09:00

There are two types of men in the world: those who like sluts, and those who don't. The tricky part is, its not always clear which is which. Some guys who say they can't stand women like that, harbour a secret fascination for promiscuity. And others who truly get off on it, do so more out of anger and hatred than genuine desire. Its a shame, but I think its these mixed reactions that give sluts a bad name among women more than the sluts themselves.

There is nothing inherently offensive about a women who loves to be fucked indiscriminately. Not that I can see, anyway. There may well be some real objection to 'enticing' otherwise virtuous men, or to the degrading treatment of women - but they are characteristics of the men, not the slut. A true slut doesn't judge a man's motives, she just shares in the fun.

Master says all men love sluts, when they are honest about it. In a way I can see his point, there is probably some testosterone-driven part of all men that gets a reaction from a horny bitch no matter who they are. But on the other hand, I have been rejected enough for my sexuality that I can't help question the significance of that.

When I had only just met Master, when he was still gradually increasing his control over me, I went out on a date with a straight, vanilla guy. I look back and think, what the hell was I thinking? As I explained at the time, I didn't just want a hot sex life - I wanted someone to care about, and spend time with, and talk to. I thought D/s was unemotional, and you had to go vanilla to find love. Compartmentalisation. I'm now embarassed by how completely, stupidly, wrong I was.

I remember the anxiety when it came time to tell my vanilla guy about my deviant, slutty nature. I was convinced he would run a mile. Instead, in line with Master's theory, he was over the moon.

But in the end, it was the vanilla relationship that turned out to be exclusively sexual, and emotionally empty. Sure, his cock loved that I was a slut. But his brain forgot every conversation we'd had until that point. If we planned something that wasn't likely to involve sex, he cancelled at the last minute, or even worse, stood me up. Until I decided to forget it... and instead, turned to Master, and became his... and learned what I'd really been missing.

Looking back, I'm horrified to think what I almost lost with Master, and so grateful that he tolerated my short experiment in dating. I remember almost losing my chance with him, and begging him to allow me to serve, promising I would be loyal to him above my vanilla guy. I know now that Master does not tolerate ambiguity lightly... I am incredibly lucky that he gave me that chance.

Vanilla guy got so into the slut that he just wanted to have fun trashing her. Master, on the other hand, treats sluttiness like a talent - he uses it, but he also nurtures it, moulds it, and takes real joy from it. Its the difference between a drunk and a connoisseur. I can enjoy each, but I know where my place will always be.

That fresh feeling

2007-11-27T19:16:00.000+09:00

Last night, Master arranged for me to have the honour of deflowering a (male) virgin. I had done that before, but the other times had been rushed, or drunken, or just unforeseen. This was the first time I'd had the opportunity of consciously, and deliberately, taking someone through a totally new experience they would not forget..... creating sex for them. So rare to have the opportunity to knowingly make such a mark on someones life.

One might think I'm overdoing this, romanticising what was overtly a contrived act. It's not the culturally accepted 'ideal' way to lose your virginity - meeting a man online who agrees to allow his woman to take it. But to my mind, this guy was far better off skipping the awkward fumbles and anxieties of being with an equally inexperienced girl he feels pressure to impress. I was delighted to help him go straight to wanton world of exploring the possibilities of sex. Don't we all take delight in the pleasure of introducing someone to something we truly love?

It takes me back to when I lost my virginity - all four times. The first was after realising I was not actually gay, after all, and promptly found myself a boy I was attracted to, instigated the required romance, and invited him to my room. We toyed and teased and experimented with things that were new to us both.... and when it came to the final act we knew we were heading for, nerves got the better of him. But for me, I felt my innocence was satisfyingly lost.

The second time, I was hanging out with a friend and somehow, we decided it would be fun to 'do it'. We were in another friend's back yard on her trampoline, and we were playful, swinging between lustful seriousness and stifled laughter at our own lack of prowess. Finally, after uncounted false starts, he pushed his cock just inside me...... then jumped up, hissing, someones coming! .....our expedition ended with us frantically getting dressed and trying to hide our smiles.

Shortly after came the would-be gang bang that still fills my fantasies from time to time. I don't count that as one of The Four, but it led directly to the third. The male friends I'd been with that night all apologised to me, but there was one who did it with a glare at the others. That look said to me, that he was not sincere in his apology, that he was a victim of peer pressure who'd wanted to fuck as much as I did. That new year's eve, I rewarded him for his lust by riding him fervidly in the spa - twice. That was also the breaking of my exhibitionist virginity - my hot male friend omitted to tell me when someone approached, letting them stand behind me until a noise caught my attention and I turned to see our voyeur making an exit. I realised he'd let me unknowingly put on a show, and I was exhilarated.

Finally, the fourth time my virginity was lost, to put it daintily, I bled on the sheets. I was seventeen, a girl, and he was twenty-five, a man - and big. He was not like the timid boys I was used to - he had his way with me, and for the first time, I felt I'd been fucked.

These are the experiences I took with me last night, shaping one of life's most memorable events for a nervous young man. I wanted not to be his teacher, but his encouraging helper - someone to travel his own desires with. I tried to be gentle and dirty, kind but also a nasty slut - equal parts caregiver and whore. Master helped with the latter, of course - and provided our lucky visitor with some experiences that many first-timers would be shocked by ;)

Yes, it was a memorable experience - for nadi , too :)

Can the unowned choose their owner?

2007-11-26T12:31:00.000+09:00

"Hi my supreme Master. Please Sir may i obediently submit myself mind body and soul into your complete control ownership as your domain and as your slave today. I will completely submit to any and every thing you have in mind to force on me. As your possession I have no choice."

What is that?
What makes someone think they have the ability to write a message like that to my Master?
And why does it bother me so much?
He shares that with me and I am confounded. I want to share in his pleasure, but I also feel the bitter need to defend....... something...

It's not like jealously, so much as territoriality... which sounds awful - Master is not 'mine'. But statements like that feel like someone stepping in on my ground, with little or no effort, and that offends me. Most of the time these are messages from people who barely know Master, or haven't met him at all.... So my the first question in my mind is always, don't they realise we take this seriously? That when I say I belong to him, its actually true and not just something that applies when I'm horny??

When I met Master, I would never have said those things to him - and not just because I was scared of committment, lol. How disrespectful it would have felt, to just 'decide' that I was 'his', without him making that decision! And to suggest, by implication, that I wouldn't take it seriously if it was one day really so.

He spoke to me recently about how far I have come - from a naughty, risk-taking slut kneeling in my living room the first time we met.... trained in less than two years to become completely his. To take all the pain, humiliation, body fluids, and control that he wishes.... and still be an extreme slut, under his guidelines.

I have been noticing lately that I almost seem to have lost a part of my sluttiness - the part that is always wanting more. I was with him last night and I noted that after a week without cock I was coping far better than normal. He said that was good, that it meant I was changing my focus... and I realised he was right. These days, when he talks of playing with this person or that, I just don't react with the same enthusiasm I used to - not because I'm not interested, but because I'm not constantly wanting more. He is more important.

It's taken a lot for me to get this far. I've worked hard for him, and he has put a lot of work and effort into me. All the pain, the tears, the hard learning, the love, the submission of one thing after another..... it has been worth it. I have earnt my place... and I continue to earn it. No wonder its such an insult when a stranger sees fit to tell my Master they are his.

PS. That's 100 blog posts, today :)

Pain slut!

2007-11-17T21:05:00.000+09:00

One thing I love about Master, is that he knows how not to let life win over play. It wasn't easy to find the opportunity for my flogging today, and we almost ran out of time. I knelt beside him, becoming anxious that I would miss out on the pain I'd been so badly looking forward to. But he was calm and confident, and would not be rushed. And I know he was right to take his time - a hurried flogging would be worse than none at all.

He selected his instruments and placed them on the bed, then told me to lie face down. He secured rope to the bedposts, and I watched while he tied the first end to my right wrist, already drifting towards a blissful daze. I think I have mentioned before that I have a rope fetish... *smile*... The sight and sensation of him wrapping the binding around my wrist removed all concerns with the outside world for me, erased in the thought of rope.... mmmm..... I will have to blog more about rope some other time :)

After tying both my wrists, he used leather cuffs to attach my ankles to a spreader. I do love his spreader. He fastens my feet and already I feel open, and vulnerable. But then he makes an adjustment, and the bar lengthens, forcing my feet even further apart... just far enough so that I feel my lips part and the cool air between them. It's one thing to have your legs secured open, but another, more erotic experience altogether to have them secured, and then opened, having already become helpless.

I love the way he will secure me, then walk away. He is silent at those times, and all I am aware of, face down on the bed, are soft, busy sounds. I hear his footsteps back and forth, a drawer opening and closing, a quiet rustling... just enough so that I know he is there, but not enough to tell whether he is preparing to do something to me, or if I am simply being ignored. Both options are arousing. Of course, this time I knew something would come before too long. He told me to raise my head, and firmly stuck two layers of heavy tape over my mouth, ready to begin.

He started with the leather paddle - and for me, a paddle is the hardest pain to take. He stroked my cheeks with the fur-covered side first, letting me anticipate the hard stroke I was about to feel. I am used to him building up the sensuality of it before getting started on the real pain. But today he simply went about covering my ass with a shade that would satisfy him. I started squirming and yelling against the tape quickly, but he didn't pause - he was methodical. And I felt deeply that this was because it is his body he was hurting, and he intended simply to extract the reaction he wanted from its skin.

It feels freeing to know that. If there is an audience watching me be flogged, I feel an obligation to exercise self-control over my reactions, to take as much as I can, and that gives a sense of pride. But alone, just Master and I, my hands and feet secured and my voice suitably muffled, there is no need to control myself to please him - I am already controlled. I will take as much as he chooses to give me - what other option do I have? All power, even to beg him to stop, is taken from me.

When my skin was raw, so that when he ran a hand over it I could feel some of it had been stripped away, he switched to the flogger. What is usually a soft, warm thud now felt like a sharp, hot sting and I loved it. But before I got too comfortable he used the cane. I don't know what it is that makes a cane feel so good when I'm bent over, with my skin taught, and so agonising when I'm stretched out flat, face down. But I screamed.

I always feel unsure about making so much noise. So many seem to find it a sign of a better sub, to be silent and take the pain... perhaps because screaming is assumed to mean wanting it to stop. For me, the experience is all the more intense and intoxicating if I can let out a sound and express how it feels. It doesn't mean I don't enjoy the agony - I am quite likely to scream and even try to escape the blows, then still beg Master for more. Pain always comes with ambivalence, and to release it in sound is like letting go of my demons.

So today, I was grateful for the tape over my mouth, so that I could scream... and grateful for the ropes around my wrists and the cuffs around my ankles so that I could struggle, and know that Master would continue anyway, until he was satisfied. At one point he climbed over me and pushed his cock inside me, and I melted, both with the pleasure of feeling him there, and also of knowing that, despite him already having fucked me earlier, he was thoroughly enjoying doing this to me. Several times he ordered me to cum while he hurt me, and I did. Several more times he paused to photograph his handiwork. And at the end, while tears rolled down my face and I panted through my nose, he rubbed oil on my ass, and then let me lie there shaking and feeling the heat radiating from my cheeks... so relaxed, and feeling so beautiful...

I had asked him, when I had thought we had more time, to do my back, tits, cunt and legs just as hard. He asked me afterwards how I felt about that now. I hesitated, but then he suggested, "A little ambitious?" and I suddenly felt a surge of determination. If we'd had the whole afternoon, at that moment I would have begged him to do it all. Is that too much pride, for a slave? Perhaps I need it beaten out of me ;)

Love and cake

2007-11-13T18:45:00.000+09:00

I don't know if its something in the stars, something about the end of the year approaching, or just chance... but it seems like everyone I know is having a crisis in some way or another lately. Death, separation, reassessment, breakdown.... but mainly the stuff that's far too complicated to mention. These are times when you find yourself deep in shit, like it or not - and the only options are drown in it or swim in it.

Master has had quite a share of it lately, and while it would be inappropriate for me to give details, it takes its toll. Without diminishment, I feel for him - as a small, helpless animal feels for her owner who may be powerful, but not invulnerable. When Master suffers stress, it feels like the only thing I can offer is my loyalty - so having been near him for the last two nights has been the simplest of blessings. I don't know if it helps him, but being able to give him something that he wants makes me feel a little less powerless against his strain.

I have been feeling the pressure, too - but I've also never felt so looked after. Following the surrender I made the other week, I was unsteady. But telling Master my worries, everything became calm and clear... my fears disintegrated into trust. There is nothing at all like being with someone who truly understands you... enough to feel comfort in the presence of your darkest thoughts.

And today, I was having a bad day at work. One of the worst. And just as I was wishing I'd stayed at home, a card arrived, from my beautiful Sista, and her Max, brightening my day. Making me feel lucky, amongst the shit.

A welcome gift

2007-11-04T17:32:00.000+09:00

I've started reading a novel about a Sudanese refugee, and coincidentally, one of the characters has the same name as someone I met a long time ago. Its taking me on a trip down memory lane...

It was the first gangbang Master arranged for me, and I was waiting for him outside the motel, when I was approached by a thin African man. In stilted English, he chatted me up, telling me I was "most beautiful" and asking if I would see him again. I tried not to laugh, not at him, but at the absurdity of being asked out while waiting to be fucked by a group of strangers. I wondered, if he knew what I was there for, would he be scared off? Or would he want to join in? I wanted to find out, but I hadn't known Master long at that point, and was unsure how he would want me to handle it. In the end I told him he was very nice, but that I didn't think he would like to see me again, because I was "not a nice girl".

These days, I wouldn't be surprised by what happened next, but at the time it was an exciting shock to me. Master sought out my African admirer, got his number, and a couple of weeks later, offered me to him. Sitting on his couch, Master exposed my body and simply asked our host if he would like to use me. He was as nervous as I was humiliated, and asked if it was some kind of trick. But finally, as cautiously as he spoke in English, he invited me to his bedroom and fucked me.

What intrigues me most about this story, is thinking of how it went from our new acquaintance's perspective. He was so new to this country and this culture that he asked if I would be murdered after he used me. He was, in terms of our lifestyle, completely naive, a learner. And his first experience of women in his new nation? A very deviate man hands him a slut for use.

I keep thinking back to that time and wonder, what did he think of that situation? Did he go on to expect for some time, that perhaps other women were handed around by their men, as I was? And as he learned that wasn't so, did he feel more comfortable, or did he long to find another owned slut like me? Has our naive friend moved on to "normal" relationships, or did that small taste of debauchery leave him wanting to find out more about what was out there? Either way, I like to think he won't forget his first fuck in this country. I'm sure I won't.

Nothing else to give

2007-11-03T12:38:00.000+09:00

Have you ever woken from a dream so real and so frightening that the experience of it floats with you, confusing your reality for the whole day? Have you ever had that feeling, and realised that it wasn't a dream?

I barely know how to explain the intense evening with Master last night. I feel like my whole world has changed - and yet, I also know there is nothing new here. Master has owned me so completely for some time now, that I can promise myself to him for the rest of my life and it doesn't really matter - he can take that if he wants it, anyway.

But after the words we spoke last night I feel that - finally - everything has been handed over to him. My only choices are the ones he allows me, and my only task is to please him.... and please him..... indefinitely....

He rewarded me with some magical words: you are doing well; and more importantly: I am proud of you. Followed by the most fulfilling kiss.

Today I keep finding myself sinking into a strange reverie, going forward in my mind, and trying almost to rehearse what "forever" would be like. I can't distinguish between my desire and my fear - but I do know, that it feels good to know I may never leave him. Its like that time so long ago that I gave up my freedom and grieved.... I feel simultaneously so fearful and secure, both safe and unsafe. The difference is, this time I am so much stronger - strong enough to face what my commitment to him really means. I hope I can prove to him - and myself - that I'm strong enough to live it.

"Thus with a kiss, I die..."

2007-10-28T20:47:00.000+09:00

I've heard it said that a Dominant should never kiss a submissive. A kiss, some say, is a sign of affection that makes people into equals. I intensely disagree. A kiss can be so many things - all it takes is a little creativity. There are kisses that communicate love, lust, aggression, fear, awe, sadness, strength, and power. It isn't just an affectionate gesture, like anything else, depending on how it is done, it can be a most seductive tool of manipulation.

Master rarely honours me with a kiss, but when he does, it captivates me. He often pauses with his mouth close to mine and lets me strain forward, seeking him... sometimes allowing me that final touch, sometimes just letting me squirm under him until I give up, unfulfilled. If he allows my lips to touch his, it is most often a gentle, brief meeting, leaving me desperately wanting more. But sometimes he will push forward and take my mouth, his body saying, I own you - inside and out. A kiss like this makes my heart race and my cunt open.

Recently he placed a gag in my mouth - a leather one that covered it completely - and teased me by pressing his lips against it. He pushed against the leather, licked it, caressed it, smothered it with his mouth, while I writhed and struggled, as if the right movement could somehow make that barrier disappear. It was a frenzy of desire - I was overwhelmed with the sight of him attacking my mouth so passionately, while being denied the actual sensation.

Like orgasms, kisses are a way that Master owns and controls me, through pleasure and denial. Anyone who says they shouldn't be a part of D/s is just not thinking of the possibilities.

Truth takes you by surprise

2007-10-23T21:49:00.000+08:00

Its amazing how used to something I can get, so that it feels totally normal, and then suddenly experience all over again exactly how degrading it really is.

I was used four times the other day. I truly wish I could share the nature of the first time, but its one of the things on Master’s “top secret” list. Suffice to say it left me quite raw - my pussy swollen and sensitive.

Following straight after that was a fuck from a man I found very off-putting. While I don’t need to find someone attractive to fuck them, its rare for me to meet someone I’d prefer to say no to. This one was an exceptional turn-off. But it wasn’t optional – Master owed him. So I was used, and I tried to please him, even more aware than usual that it wasn’t my choice.

When I was told to go to Master’s house later that night, I was reluctant. Anyone who knows me would find it hard to imagine: nadi not wanting to be fucked??! Lol. But I was sore, red, swollen and very uncomfortable from the day’s treatment. On the one hand, I love it when being fucked hurts... but on the other, if I was sore now, after Master used me, it would get much worse...

Not only did he use me, but he also humiliated me and had me fucked and licked by a timid, apologetic sub boy, while I groaned in discomfort, unable to hold still from the pain and swelling by the time they were done. I stood there afterwards, holding on to Master's bed post, rocking back and forth in some vague attempt to ease the pain enough to walk properly, and it seemed totally natural to be there, feeling this way. Not once did it occur to me that there was anything out of the norm about this situation...

Not until two days later, reliving this in my mind, when I realised how normal it felt to be so used. And how high and warm and blissfully controlled it felt to know how normal it feels. Being owned, a slave, a slut, an object, is now so easily a part of me. What was once alien and exciting is now familiar and comfortable. I contemplated that today, and felt a rush of awe and pleasant shame that made me self-consciously wrap my arms around my body, at my desk at work.

In many ways its lovely to be getting used to this.... but I hope I am never too used to it, so that I don't have these hot moments of such strong awareness that this is all real.

Promises, promises

2007-10-19T22:53:00.000+08:00

There is nothing quite the same as the grim feeling of deciding to break a promise to myself. I'm stubborn in some ways, I suppose, though I prefer to think of it as loyalty and perserverance. But obviously, if anything can convince me to break a promise I made to myself, its my Master's will.

It was many years ago when, to escape poor body image and pressure to conform, I vowed never to change my shape for a man. A lot has changed since then. My body is no longer my own, and pride is no longer an excuse. It still took a bit of mental pressure to get me to accept breaking the promise. But just a bit.

Master has been too kind to make me feel bad about my recent weight gain, but he has given me a little nudge on the topic. It was in my dreams where he really got strict on it - I woke up panting after dreaming he had tied my hands and leashed me to a treadmill to get me moving. Lol.

In the end, I've got to get over myself and please my Master. I want to take care of his property as he would like me to. I want him to be as proud of my appearance as I hope he is with my behaviour. He owns my body, and he deserves to have it please him. So today, I walked into a gym for the first time in my life. This is a big deal for me. I am, I suppose, breaking another limit for him, and this one I have to do on my own.

I smile sometimes, when I think how much he has changed me in such a short time...

Answer

2007-10-15T10:30:00.000+08:00

Master has been noting lately that I have been prone to tardiness - delays answering his sms's, not answering the phone, not emailling him when I should.... I could make a million excuses but I know better than to try - none of them actually excuse anything. I should be attentive to him, always. This is not a part time, when-it-suits-me situation. No matter how busy I may be, he should have my attention.

Last night, he warned me. The punishment I will be given, if my attentiveness does not improve - a night with an unimpressive master.

I was surprised - it seemed light, for Master's usual choice of consequences. But then I thought about it... and thought about it... and I began to realise the meaning behind it....

Master tells me it is not just about pleasing him - he is training me to be the best. If I deserve to be owned by him, as his 'number 1', I will behave that way. But if I behave as an average sub, I deserve only an average master. I must prove I deserve more.

The experience of being sent to someone else for a night wouldn't, in itself, be that bad. But the more I consider it, the more the thought becomes very uncomfortable - being told by Master's actions, if you behave like a common sub, you will be treated like one. Him showing so little pride in me, that he would leave me to the devices of someone he neither likes nor respects. That would be misery, and shame.

There is another, darker message in this also. Its about showing Master the appreciation he deserves. It is an honour for me to be accepted as his possession, and something I must work to live up to. Because if I were not his, then the average, PC, unimaginative, undisciplined Dom is exactly what I would have instead. And I should not forget it.

Some time ago, I asked Master, Sir, how may I serve you better? It was a big question, and one I had considered before offering it. I feel now, coinciding with the arrival of my new sista-in-training, that I am receiving an answer. And I am grateful.

"SSC is so PC"

2007-10-07T12:11:00.001+08:00

Master said that the other day, quoting someone, I believe. We were visiting a D/s couple so that he could share me in exchange for another sub. They were a very "PC" pair, complete with a safe word, 'safe, sane, consensual' play, and very distinct limits. It was, as Master said, a chance for me to show off. He stood me in their living room in a collar and leash, with a bit in my mouth, and outlined my training, adding that I have no safe word, and "no real limits".

I didn't get into BDSM because of an interest in politics. I got into this to push the boundaries of safety, and bend the rules of sanity. Thats what feels good - the pleasure of there being no limits... no rules except the ones Master creates. He is in control - not me, and not a people-pleasing theoretical principle.

Consent is meaningless between Master and I. I gave up the right to consent a long time ago, near the beginning. It was a fascinating feeling, like emotional free fall, to give all my rights away - a kind of agony that felt so right. He demonstrated to me what that meant, pushing me far enough that I thought my heart would collapse, as I screamed and sobbed and begged him not to take me there... but he had to... to show me what I had promised... so I knew it was real. I spent one day grieving my freedom, but even then, when he asked me, is this what you want? the answer was a definite yes.

I hadn't known Master long then, and you could argue it wasn't the smartest thing to do - give up consent to someone I hadn't built a lot of trust with. But the only real way to know trust is to test it. I feared him sometimes, but always reminded myself to give him my trust. Now, I have never felt so safe. Not because of limits or safe words, or any other restriction, but because I have learned what it is to be owned. If Master looks after me, it is because he takes care of what is his. If he harms me, it is because he chooses to.

There was a time when I could have understood what the couple from the other day got out of power play, but I have honestly forgotten. If you give up power to someone, within limits, and with a way out, then you haven't really given up anything at all. I'm not criticising those who do it that way... but I don't see how they could be fulfilled. The couple we played with the other day may not be representative, but they certainly didn't seem to be.

Quick, call the paramedics...

2007-09-24T20:51:00.000+08:00

...there is no question in my mind that I will resist for him, right up until he returns and grants permission, not a moment too soon...

I didn't.

But I didn't disobey him either.

In the 1800s, neurotic, over-emotional women were diagnosed with 'hysteria', and treated with the medical administration of a vibrator until they reached orgasm and were able to function rationally again. (Its true.) I wholeheartedly relate to this. I've blogged before about the state I end up in if I don't get fucked for too long. If I can't masturbate either, hysteria is a very accurate description for what happens to me.

Yesterday, less than 24 hours after my determined post, I lost control. I was screaming senselessly at Betty, who didn't know what to make of me, shaking, and crying uncontrollably for a good half hour. It came on out of the blue and took me a long while to figure out that my behaviour was not normal. I felt like the world was crashing down around me and couldn't understand why nobody could make sense of what I was saying. I felt victimised, attacked from all angles and unable to cope. It was an extreme reaction to nothing in particular.

When I eventually saw what was happening, I sent a message to Master, pleading with him. I explained my lack of success at orgasming when I was permitted to, and the ongoing teasing I'd been coping with for 3 days without release. I told him I wasn't coping, and that it was affecting my emotional state, and asked him to please consider allowing me just one self-induced orgasm...

... after assessing my progress on my other task, he must have been satisfied with my answer. He granted permission. Thank you, Sir.

Of course, I am already horny again. Masturbation is like that - it only satisfies for a very limited time compared to the real thing. Or maybe thats just for sluts like me. But I do feel a lot better, and its restored my confidence to last until he returns tomorrow night.

On the one hand, I want to think about seeing him, and look forward to it... but on the other, it starts to get me excited... and I don't want to be a wreck when I greet him...

There's no aphrodisiac like it

2007-09-22T19:49:00.000+08:00

Before he left, I did get to spend a night alone with Master :) I was exhausted, and a little delirious, so he waited til morning to give me my instructions for his absence...

I am not allowed to touch myself while he is away.

For some people, that might sound fine. He is only gone for a few days. But for me, thats a long time not to masturbate. Particularly when I'm staying in Master's house, with so many arousing memories, under blankets that smell of him. Particularly when I have the other major daily task he has set me, the one that I'm not allowed to write about. It keeps me thinking dirty thoughts, and makes sure I am regularly on edge. I am allowed to cum under certain specific circumstances, but those circumstances are not optimal for release.

And then of course there's the fact of the rule he has set in itself. It keeps me reminded that my body does not belong to me. It is his, and he can choose to leave it at the disposal of anyone he likes... or deny it from anyone he likes, even me. That sense of possession in itself gives me an intense longing... And the knowledge of not being allowed to fulfil it makes me just want to touch myself even more. Its like saying, don't think about a big purple dildo. Nothing makes me want to bring myself off more, than not being allowed to bring myself off.

Its the third night and I am struggling. I have reached down many times and almost touched before remembering. I have been constantly wearing underwear, even to bed, just in case. Its getting harder today as my frustration has increased to the point where I am aware of my ability to orgasm just by clenching a little, without needing to touch. It would only take a very short lapse in willpower to fail him now.

But there is no question in my mind that I will resist for him, right up until he returns and grants permission, not a moment too soon. I am absolutely his, and as much as this is tormenting me right now, it would be far worse to disobey him. Not even because of the punishment he would give me, but because I would be ashamed of disappointing him.

Now, I must go... I have a task to complete before bedtime...

A chosen sista...?

2007-09-19T20:49:00.000+08:00

I met her last night, the new sub Master has begun training. I wanted to meet her, but at the same time I was disappointed. Master is going away again, and that makes me all soppy and emotional. I don’t want to share his attention when I’m feeling like that. When I know I’m about to go without him for a while, I want to be ultra close to him, try and soak some of him up, hang on to some energy or pheromone that will somehow make me less lonely in the days to come. But he seems to feel differently – perhaps even keener to make the most of the opportunities for group play… It’s different for him – it’s about maximising pleasure. Being without him is not just missing our fun, it’s feeling emptier… lost. It’s not just about pleasure for me... its about love. A part of me wants to wail, that’s all his fault! But that isn’t right – I gave him my heart willingly….. even willfully. So now I suffer some things he doesn’t.

The only thing worse than not seeing him alone at these times, is not seeing him at all. My only strategy is to please him the very best I can. Anything less will leave him disappointed in the play - and even worse, in me. So last night I dressed in my tiniest miniskirt and high heeled boots, and arrived at his house determined to maximise his pleasure, and earn his pride. I was obedient, and orgasmic when permitted, and he said “good girl.” I practiced the quiet strength that has eluded me sometimes, at the moments when I felt insecure. And there were a lot of those, the most obvious being when he was fucking her, holding her arms above her head and clamping one hand over her mouth, muffling her voice saying “yes, Sir.” But there were other moments when I was told to hold her head or push her down, and they made me ache even more. Because at those moments, I felt I was not “on the bottom”. As much as I believe him that it won’t happen, I still feared losing my place...

On the surface it would seem uncomfortable for me because the scene was overtly designed more for her training than mine. But that’s kind of the point. Being part of her training is my training - that its not about me. Jealousy, and insecurity, and that sickening sensation in my gut, are a lesson in powerlessness. In Master’s words, it reminds me who owns me. It forces me to face the fact that I can’t escape those feelings – no matter what my actions, he will still do as he likes, and my only acceptable response is submission and obedience.

Now that I’m not living with Betty anymore, I have a vacant room that, with Master’s encouragement, I have offered to this new sub. She is everything I would want in a roommate, and everything Master would want in a house with me. But I still feel apprehensive. This will challenge the green-eyed sub in me. But to avoid living with someone who is otherwise almost perfect, just to prevent that, would be denying my Master, for my own security. I may not avoid feeling whatever he wants me to feel.

Later, he also pointed out that having her in the house will give him even more of a hold on me. Through Sis.S, Master will have eyes on his property even when he is not there. That raises a whole world of possibilities…

Use me

2007-09-15T20:45:00.000+08:00

When I was 17 years old, the guy I was dating told me he loved me. It really pissed me off. He was 9 years older than me, and the major reason I was seeing him was precisely to avoid that sort of extraneous involvement. It was suppposed to be just sex. I didn't want all that other stuff along with it, not from him.

I felt annoyed. I asked, "why did you say that?" He responded "I just want you to know I'm not using you." Yes, he was. And thats exactly why I was enjoying myself. But what was I supposed to say? "Using" was supposed to be something bad. I was still too young to admit I wanted "bad" things. I had to grudgingly accept his romantic declarations and pretend I wanted them. But I was disappointed.

And I still have that disappointment on a regular basis. Some men just can't get past their feelings of obligation to give a woman something 'nice'. Even when they know I'm an owned slut, they still try and treat me to something. They still look at my face to check whether I'm having a good time. Why can't I just be used?

I guess that's why Master is teaching me to be more vocal about my depravities - telling me he wants me to be just as disgustingly honest with others as I am with him, when asked to say what I am, and what I like. I know he enjoys watching me lose my inhibitions... perhaps if I can give them inspiration, others can lose theirs and use me more freely?

The important bits are always in the silence

2007-09-10T18:50:00.000+08:00

When I started to blog tonight, all I was thinking was "look what I did today!" I have been feeling quite pleased with myself, wanting to show off. Then chatting to Sista, she pointed out one of the nicer pleasures of the experience, and I started to think, how nice it is to have someone else with rights over my body.

Two weeks ago when Master granted permission, it felt good, not just because he said yes, but because it was his decision to make. It feels somehow warm and safe to be subject to another's opinion... forgoing the final responsibility, and pleasing him in some way via my appearance.

Even better than that is the thought of him deciding to change me for himself - without my request. Perhaps a change in my body to make me more attractive to him... or something functional, to increase his pleasure... or best of all, something that labels me as his, or simply marks my submission. Anything he chose to do to me, I would thank him for it.

I haven't blogged for a long time, though I have wanted to. I have wanted to blog about the limitlessness of Master's power over me... the things he can teach me, the things he can do to me... and the paradoxical sense of security it leaves me with, knowing the possibilities... and some of the realities.......... But there are some things I just can't write - and for good reasons. It makes me sad. I want to share my gratitude, but I can't - because people wouldn't understand. So I've been kind of stuck.

So now, I'm trying to compromise with myself, by instead, writing about the delightful pain of having my nipples pierced, and the delightful pleasure of knowing they are Master's nipples, and the hope that he will like them that way. Just as there is so much here that must be left unsaid, there is so much of his will that remains undone. And the potential positively looms...

Being natural

2007-08-16T18:50:00.000+08:00

The day I met Master, he could see my awful potential, and he asked if I had ever been abused. A common enough assumption - how else does a person learn to treat themselves this way? I told him the truth, that as far as I'm aware, I never have been. He said that he suspected I was simply a natural.

I still vividly remember, at age 15, lying on the beach on a warm night, surrounded by boys. Hands stroking my thighs, massaging my shoulders, creeping towards my chest... a mouth on my neck... intoxicated with alcohol, THC, and exploitation. Had I had the comfort then that I do now, I might have said, use me.... abuse me...

Last night Master was fucking me and sinking his teeth into my skin while I shuddered and asked for him to draw my blood. He smiled and said "you are extreme, aren't you, babe?" and I felt myself relax and open up even more to him, from the peace in knowing that, under him, "extreme" is an OK thing to be. He started slapping me, making the tears come, with that beautiful release of endorphins that sends me to another world of bliss... the high of my body's natural chemicals, the pain, and the freedom of what it means to ride with it, whatever he may do to me. Afterwards, he let me fall straight to sleep, and I sunk into a heavy ecstasy, thinking, I could just die from this feeling....

When I was 8 or so, I wrote a fantasy that began with a boy from my classroom touching me, accidentally at first, then progressing to forcing me down while he stripped off my clothes. It ended in a frenzied gang rape by about 20 boys - despite the fact that I had little understanding of how sex was done, I knew even then that I wanted it forced on me, that I wanted to be mistreated and used. To my great shame, my mother found the story and was understandably horrified. I thought it best to hide my fantasies from then on.

Master has taught me to let go of so much inhibition, and to be so free from shame. If an abused victim can spend years exploiting their own body, and then learn to let go and treat themselves with love and care, then why not the reverse? Why not a born slut who has become repressed and ashamed, learning to let go and love expressing who they always wanted to be?

The more the merrier 2

2007-08-13T20:34:00.000+08:00

I once met a vanilla guy who had a fetish for gang bangs. Probably not unusual. What surprised me was his explanation of what appealed to him about one woman and multiple men. "It's a woman enjoying herself - it's all about her pleasure, and lots of it."

I was speechless, and then I laughed. I had never seen it that way before. For me, the appeal of a gang bang is completely opposed to that. Yes, its true that it is enjoyable. But not in the sense of being pampered or spoiled. I love to be gang banged because I love the degrading experience. I love to be groped and fucked from all directions so that I have no control over it, and lose all sense of myself until I am just a groaning, screaming slut - no thought, just pure carnal response. I love to hear people talking about me as an object: "someone else want a go at this end?".. "I think she needs something in her mouth" ... because my wants are irrelevent. Except as entertainment, when I am asked by Master to express them out loud so that everyone can hear what a debauched slut I am.

Last night I was used with my legs pulled apart by hand-held ropes, with so many fingers and cocks in me that I no longer knew what was being put where, with my hair being pulled and two cocks shoved in my mouth at a time, with a fist inside my pussy wanking Master as he fucked me, while I screamed in pain and asked for more. I was made to beg each person for permission to cum, and for someone to use my ass. Try telling me this scene was designed exclusively to make me happy. It did, because it wasn't.

For me, it's not about being pleasured, it's about being exploited. It's also about power, and the subtle threat implied by being thoroughly outnumbered - the knowledge that even if I wanted to stop, I would not have the opportunity. And it's about being dirty and slutty to the extreme, and not hesitating to show it fully... pleasing Master, knowing how much he likes to see me regress to that animal state.

I wonder if some men feel uneasy with that notion? Like my straight vanilla friend I mentioned earlier, maybe some feel more comfortable thinking they are being "extra nice". Maybe thats why at some point someone always says, "she loves it" - perhaps they are trying to comfort themselves?

Training

2007-08-05T20:30:00.000+08:00

Master has never once told me to be patient. There is no need - he can simply make me wait, forcing me to learn. I've become quite used to "not knowing" and rarely asking - because asking certainly does not mean I will get an answer.

When its just a matter of gratification for the sake of it, this is not a problem. It is not his job to gratify me. But occasionally, external circumstances can make it really darn hard to do things without being sure of his plans - and that's when "not knowing" really bites.

I was impatient last night, waiting for an answer from him about whether I would be able to see him, and not sure whether to prepare to leave or stay. I'd been arguing with Betty, and she had been indecisive all day, so it felt like I really needed something I could be sure about. I think he could tell thats what I was asking for, and probably made me wait for that reason. But I started to get frustrated. I can tolerate waiting when its only a matter of my comfort, but sometimes, when there are other things that hinge on his answer, it starts to seem like more than inconvenience. I start to feel as though trying to demand an answer from him would be almost justified. I get irritable and think, why can't he just tell me now?

It takes work to pull myself out of this selfish circle. Eventually I calm myself and accept it. The answer to the 'why' is so simple it makes the question obsolete: He will answer me when he chooses to, and not a minute sooner. Having what I feel to be 'good reasons' to get an answer right away doesn't change that fact. I can't push him to do anything according to my schedule - he simply won't allow me to. And that is so very right.

I apologise for my impatience, Sir. And thank you for not accepting my inappropriate behaviour.

Whore

2007-07-29T13:07:00.000+08:00

Watched The Libertine tonight, and as with all period-movies, I end up thinking, if I was alive back then, I’d be queen of the whores. I can never quite decide if I’d be the most notorious, sought-after, expensive whore, or the dirtiest, most shamed, most used whore around. Maybe both. The women would hate me, and I would shock them by inviting them in. No man would see me as anything more than an object.

I often fantasise about it somehow being public knowledge that I am a slut to be used. I imagine having some kind of sign, or notoriety, that means every adult I meet instantly knows they may have me. I imagine the humiliation of seeing that smirk on peoples faces everywhere I go. I imagine having no choice but to dutifully comply if anyone, anywhere, tells me to kneel and open my mouth. In line at the grocery store, with strangers pausing to snigger at me as they walk past. Or the waiter at the café turning the tables on me if I say that my coffee is cold. No need to be discrete if everyone there knows who I am.

The night I’ve spent with Master that most often returns to my fantasies, was a little bit like this. I was dressed in nothing but a collar, while a group of his acquaintances came by to drink and play cards. It was never spoken to me, but it was clear what I was there for. All of them treated me like a slave and a slut. I don’t think anyone played cards, lol. While not everything went perfectly, that night is still vivid in my mind as a very fulfilling experience. I was exactly who I’d always wanted to be.

Still more thanksgiving/crawling/whatever you call it!

2007-07-28T22:03:00.000+08:00

It makes me smile, when I realise what an unusually depraved match Master and I are. I don’t think of it much, he has made it seem so natural that I forget that not everyone is like us. But every now and then I chat to someone, or am allowed to read his conversation with someone, and I am reminded…

We are the ‘abnormal’ ones… and it makes me smile :)

Sometimes I imagine where I would be if I had never met him. I’d be fucking frustrated, that’s for sure. I’d probably be subbing to a Dom whose idea of punishment was a soft flogging and anal sex… and whose training goal was teaching me to suck his cock when he told me to. I’d be bored, and probably behave badly just to get some variety – knowing that he didn’t have the imagination to make me regret it. I think even the best sub is worthless with an inadequate Dom.

So, in my mind, I would probably also doubt my suitability to all this. Having never experienced anything better, I would probably think this was it, and if I couldn’t be fulfilled by it, it just wasn’t the lifestyle for me.

I would also be ashamed. My dark fantasies would go unexpressed and unshared. I would think, if this is as good as it gets, then I must be worse than I thought…

None of this is hard to imagine, because its exactly where I was before I met him. He showed me, in just a couple of hours, that my dreams could become real… That although very rare, a Master existed who could teach me something, and really be worth giving myself to.

Celebrating the slut

2007-07-22T15:51:00.000+08:00

As a 15-year-old virgin, I was so cock-hungry that I hand-made my first dildo. I used a pen as a frame to wrap a long bandage around, layer after layer until it was thick enough, and tight enough so that it would be firm but flexible. I added a layer of glad wrap to keep it from unravelling, then removed the pen and encased the whole thing in a condom, tying off the end. The result was a little scary - I'd never had anything bigger than a couple of my own fingers before, but I already felt that internal longing to be filled.

I still remember my first orgasm, at age 12. I had been masturbating my whole life, and one day the pleasure suddenly changed, and I thought, wow - its never felt like THAT before! I didn't know what it was, only that I wanted it to happen again. Three years later, when I tried my creation, it was like that again: discovering another world of pleasure. I kept that toy for another 3 years, until I was legally old enough to go sex shopping and buy a real one.

The other day, I attended a meeting for work, and one of the men there was someone I knew. The last time I had seen him, I was spread out naked on the floor, with his fingers and tongue teasing me, but denying me, while Master watched, amused, from the next room. Humiliating to sit across from him in a business meeting, the smile on his face growing wider as I tried to avoid his eyes. But realistically, something like this had to happen one day, and probably will again.

I was pondering this in bed this morning, and I thought, how long will it take before I've been used by so many people, that it is no longer a surprise to run into them like this? And I imagined one day, maybe being in a meeting with not one, but two, or even three faces smiling at me in that knowing way... maybe making a sly comment to me in the coffee room... perhaps even noticing each other, and becoming aware that they are not even the only one there who knows nadi... I imagined the shame and excitement of that this morning, as I made myself cum...

How are these stories linked, exactly? Just that sometimes, I think back, and feel amazed at what I slut I am. Its become a natural thing for me, but there are still times that I stand back and marvel at myself, and just think.... wow.... and I feel hot, and excited, and most of all grateful to Sir, for helping me enjoy it to the fullest.

slavery is in the eye of the beholder

2007-07-21T22:25:00.000+08:00

I watched a DVD tonight that, among other things, featured an interview with a male slave. His final response before the scene changed was "Love? No. I don't love my Mistress." And it made me wonder - is he truly a slave? I guess that depends on your perspective. Sista asked me once what I thought was the difference between a submissive and a slave. I found it hard to answer in general terms - I only know what makes the difference for me. For someone else, it might be about rules or freedoms, but for the slave its a state of mind. Only their owner can judge how sufficient that is.

So I guess its not really my question to ask if the man on the video was a real slave. But I do question, if he does not love his Mistress, is he truly owned? It seems to me that he keeps something for himself.

The first time I met my Master he said to me "A slave does not get to choose what they give up. You must give everything, and then wait to see what is given back." At the time, what scared me was the thought of giving up my freedom, my choice, my control... but love was the hardest thing I've had to give him. Everything since then has seemed trivial, not worth holding on to. When I gave him my love, that was when I really started to become his.

Love makes belonging to him a purpose in itself. Of course I know that loving someone doesn't make just anyone a slave... but for me, that was where I crossed that line, and gave him everything I had to give.

A conversation with vanilla Betty

2007-07-15T20:19:00.003+08:00

"Do you and your Master ever have normal sex?"

"Um... what's normal sex?"

She's asked me this a few times now, and it ends up with both of us getting confused - two people trying to communicate when, on this subject, we just don't speak the same language. Perhaps she doesn't understand that no matter what, he is always my Master and I must always serve him. If it didn't apply during sex, that would be the abnormal part.

Today, when Master started slamming his hand against my ass, I cried almost immediately - from the sheer emotional release it allowed, to feel real pain. I wanted to cling to him in gratitude, and I wanted him to keep hitting me until I shattered. Afterwards, I was a shaking, sobbing mess of joy, relief, and euphoria. Had he let me, I could have easily floated into a blissful trance. This is worth living for.

Whatever Betty means by "normal" sex, I'm sure that wasn't it. But if that's the difference, why the hell would I ever want anything to be normal?

And why is it, that I am the one stuck trying to explain whether I do or don't have so-called normal sex? It seems a far more pertinent question to ask why on earth she doesn't have abnormal sex??

Niche

2007-07-15T19:24:00.000+08:00

I just love to be close to my Master.

This is a wierd thing for me. Historically, in my vanilla past, I've never really been the cuddly type. Even in love, I could spend about five minutes snuggling up to a partner in bed before wanting to draw back into my own space. I'm just not the affectionate type - with an equal, anyway...

But being owned brings out an entirely different side to me. I get a real sense of joy from lying next to him, with one hand on his chest... or with his arm around me... or kneeling beside him while he watches TV, resting my head on his knee while he strokes my hair.... these moments are beautiful to me.

Perhaps its because I don't get to choose them or control them. With Master, unlike a vanilla boyfriend, every kiss is a privilege, and every embrace something earnt. If he chooses to show affection towards me, I feel grateful.

I think its more than that, though...

When I am physically close to Master, I relax into him and smell him. I have a sense of being much smaller than him, and fragile. I feel simultaneously lost and safe. When I lie in his arms, I surrender to them. A hug between us is not just a show of affection, it is a show of my submission and devotion to him - and in turn, his acceptance of that.

I know that, for vanilla types, cuddling up together can have its own meaning, and be a wonderful thing, but for me it never was. So maybe this means that I was always meant to be this way?

Dance with the devil... :)

2007-06-28T22:45:00.000+08:00

Its been one of those porn-watching days today - loads of it! I'm a girl who likes to store it for a rainy day instead of checking it out immediately. I just stash it away for months and then, when I'm suddenly feeling up for it, I'll go a whole day where all I do is go through and see what treasures I've accumulated. And there is some pretty nasty stuff that Master will just love :) But thats not the subject of this post.....

Just now I was watching this clip that started with no beating around the bush (and I love beating bush, but its not that kind of vid...) a guy on his back, with a woman riding him furiously. You could see she was enjoying herself. Then a second guy came up so she could suck his cock, and for a moment everyone was enjoying themselves. But then I found myself thinking... hang on a minute, she's not putting much effort in there.... she's barely trying to suck him at all.... doesn't she want to make sure he enjoys himself....? oh my god, now she's stopped sucking altogether while she orgasms - she's putting her pleasure ahead of his! ....why doesn't he slap her and shove that cock back into her mouth and remind her what she is there for????

And thats when I thought, um.... just a sec, that isn't me.... some women are meant to fuck for their own enjoyment, aren't they? Oops...

Sometimes I still surprise myself with how much I've changed, and it makes me smile. Concepts that seemed alien to me a year ago now seem totally natural - to the point where, I see a woman getting fucked, and my assumption is that she is being used for the man's pleasure and may or may not be allowed her own. Or the other day, I said to Sir, that I felt angry at the idea of anyone suggesting they would like to use me without his consent. Not being free to fuck alone was something I was still learning to accept when I started this blog, and now I don't even question that I am his property - and it makes me mad when someone else dares think otherwise.

Master's control over me is even evident in my dreams. I am a slut by anyone's definition, and I have a lot of fantasies and dreams. Now I don't have either without somehow incorporating Master's permission into it. There were a few times when I woke up from a sex dream in a panic, thinking I'd just disobeyed him, before I realised it wasn't real. And the other night, I couldn't even participate in my own dream! I just watched other people doing it, thinking, I have to wait for permission...

I used to think training was what happened in between play - a specified time and place where a sub is explicitly taught to please their owner. Now I know that's how crappy training is done. Quality training is done all the time, during every interaction, even simple conversation. You don't even realise its happening, except in hindsight. Thats the learning that sinks in, and changes who you are.

Wow, I am lucky :)

Dark shades

2007-06-23T21:50:00.000+08:00

Shall I share a dark truth? Something that gives me a knot in my stomach and makes me uncomfortably lower my eyes?

I make it no secret here that I have violent fantasies. I beg Master to hurt me, and long for him to bruise my body, make me bleed. I dream of being attacked, raped, abused and humiliated. I used to console myself with the thought that if that ever happened, if I was violated without consent, I wouldn't really want it. But when I'm honest, I doubt that it is true. If someone tried to rape me, I think I would fight, not to save myself, but to protect Master's property. If it weren't for him, I believe I would - shamefully - submit and enjoy it.

Is that offensive? It is to me. I don't believe anyone should harm others unless they want it, and the idea of encouraging people who want to perpetrate violence horrifies me. But here I am, admitting that I want to be the subject of that violence. Not in the sense of the relatively common rape "fantasy" many women are said to have, but not actually want. No, I am convinced I genuinely want it. And it doesn't end there....

I love movies that show sexual violence. The kind where the plot requires being horrified at what the "villian" does to others, and wanting justice to prevail... I just want to see the nasty scene again. I want to see the woman get taken, hurt, abused. I want to be her, made helpless, screaming, powerless. I want more. Those scenes make me wet. Irreversible. 8mm. The General's Daughter. But that's just fiction....

The really dark bit, the part that makes me feel dirty in the wrong way, is that I have the same reaction to these acts when they occur in real life. I won't mention specific stories, although many come to mind, because there must be limits to what I can write here and get away with, lol. But when I hear in the media about acts of sexual violence that have really happened, especially locally, my body reacts. I become aroused. I don't mean to enjoy someone's suffering, but I find myself thinking, what would it be like to be them.... with someone doing those things... those degrading, humiliating things.... Yes, I know that they didn't enjoy it, that it was most likely a terrifying, traumatic experience. I'm not glad that they were harmed in such an awful way. But I can't help thinking, what if..... what if it was me.... if only it was....

Shameful, yes? Sick. Insensitive. Disgraceful. For Master, I'm sure it won't be at all surprising. He has known all my dark secrets since the day he met me. He read them in my eyes - the first person who was not afraid to see. Try feeling these things, thinking these awful things, being so ashamed, hiding from yourself, and then meeting someone who knows it all without it being said, and smiles. That person will own you. When someone accepts in you what you find unacceptable, you become more vulnerable than any judgement could ever make you. You cannot not love them.

Slut's advocate

2007-06-19T21:24:00.000+08:00

You know what sucks? Men who feel that they have to please and impress a woman during sex. These guys put so much effort into their suave moves, spend hours on foreplay if you let them, and lick pussy using robotic, over-practiced strokes that go on forever in between murmurs of "Mmmm, yum.." Its obvious from the look of concentration on their face that their main motive is the ego-trip from believing they are a good lover. And you have no choice but to let them think they are, otherwise they only try harder!

You can see the type on online sex and dating sites - they are the ones who go on about supplying sensual massage, and how they just love to give oral. They say things like "I know how to please a woman" and make promises about the number of orgasms the lucky lady will reach.

As a slut who likes to be used, I find this only slightly more entertaining than reality TV - they are both poses, but at least if its sex I have the expectation that I'll get a cock into me at some point. If I can stay awake. Ok, I'd better settle down now before I get just too darn mean....

I blame other women for creating these dull guys. Women who whine and complain about their man not trying hard enough, not doing enough foreplay, expecting to just cram it in and fuck repetitively, using them as though they don't have their own needs. These women who are so common that it becomes a stereotype, and then people joke about it and men end up with TV, movies, radio, advertising, everything telling them from all angles that women need a complicated routine with a ten page list of techniques, and you'd better please them or you are some kind of lazy chauvinist.

Sigh. Many women would hate what I am about to say, but they can stick it. Not enough men are comfortable enough to just fuck anymore. Take your massage oils and edible body paint elsewhere - I just wanna be used, dammit! I don't want to feel like any man is putting effort in for my pleasure. I want him to just bend me over and please himself. Pure selfish animal fucking.... Mmmm........ That is hot sex.

Of course, in my sex life I don't get to be discerning. Master chooses who fucks me and how they may do it, and that means occasionally I wind up acting with someone who, despite it being obvious that I'm just a slut, feels that he needs to try hard to impress me with his handed-down techniques. And that's ok, because I am a slave. I am still being used, even when its more about their ego than their erection.

But sometimes I really want to say it: guys, if you want a soft, loving, sensual woman, then by all means go the slow, gentle option. But if you want a slut - for fuck's sake, treat a woman like a slut!

Come as you are

2007-06-12T15:36:00.001+08:00

I can't believe I didn't blog about this – it's such an achievement! I guess at the time my focus was more on other things: Master was about to go away for a week, and his last night with me before he left I was feeling typically emotional. I was anticipating the agony of missing him, and sad because he was so busy with preparations he had little time for me that night. OK, I'll be honest – I'd tried not to get my hopes up, but I kept thinking it would be the perfect time for him to mark me before he went – all that healing time with no-one to be offended by it. I knew it was unlikely, as he had so much to do, but a part of me was still childishly disappointed.

He joined me in bed, and was so tired, he didn't even make a move to use me. That made me even sadder, until I gained the courage to tell him how I felt. Once it was out, I could relax more, and I reminded myself of the good points: yes, he was busy and tired on his last night before his trip, but what an honour that he still wanted me there with him, not to be used, but to serve him and cuddle up to him at night. I started to feel much happier just to be allowed to be near him. I wanted to express that, so I started gently touching him. He became aroused, so I thought, why not? And quietly asked permission to suck his cock. He allowed me to, and I savoured it – my last taste of my Master for a week to come. I wanted it ingrained in my mind. I tried to put love into it, and I found myself hoping he wouldn't fuck me – just cum down my throat and leave my cunt aching for his return.

That's when I made my big achievement. I was totally absorbed in him, sucking, and I hadn't been touched all night. And he ordered me to come. I thought for half a second, "can I?" and then tightened my muscles, and I did. A few moments later he ordered it a second time, and I succeeded even easier, and orgasmed even stronger. No stimulation except the desire to please him, and the order given. I was so focussed, I barely recognised what I'd done.

He did fuck me, by the way, and then half-smiled and said "You're a spoiled bitch, aren't you?" :)

The first time I met my Master, he told me I would learn to give him control over my pleasure. He allowed me to orgasm freely that day, but was very clear about future meetings: "After today, you will not come without permission in my presence again." And although sometimes its been a struggle, I never have. But the other side to that promise was something that seemed daunting to me – he said he would train me to orgasm on his command, not just when being used, but from pain, and eventually, only from his order.

I wasn't sure it was possible, but I hoped not to disappoint him. The first orgasm I successfully had from pain alone was incredibly intense and surprisingly easy to attain. But that was heavy stimulation, and I still wasn't sure I could come from none at all. Then, two weeks ago, I did. Simply from the sound of Master telling me to.

The next day, I was driving and feeling very horny. I remembered his voice demanding me to "come" and to my surprise, I did, alone in my car, instantly. I have again, sitting here writing this, just to test myself. Success. My body has been trained – all it takes is his order, or merely imagining his order, and I can orgasm immediately. He owns my orgasms.

Let me be honest, the sensation itself is no replacement for being filled and fucked. But being able to do this is its own kind of bliss – the pleasure and pride in knowing that it is not just my conscious behaviour that he has taken control of, but some of my most basic, automatic physiological responses. Its like my body knows it belongs to him.

Hooked

2007-06-06T22:00:00.000+08:00

I've long hated the idea of being dependent on anyone. It probably sounds silly here, but I'm actually a very independent, in-control kind of person. Perhaps thats what makes giving up control so powerful for me. Or maybe thats just nonsense, and it would be a powerful experience for anyone. But anyway...

I asked myself tonight, to imagine a scenario. Imagine I'm not involved in D/s at all. I'm happily attached in a totally vanilla relationship. (Already a stretch...) My guy goes away for a week, to the other side of the country, for work-related stuff. And on the night he is due to return, I get a message from him saying sorry, but he won't be back til the following morning. How do I feel? Pretty annoyed, probably pretty sexually frustrated. But I'd deal with it.

Master has been away for a week and I got exactly that message tonight. How do I feel? Fucked up. I cried. I wanted to scream and throw myself on the floor and kick my legs. I sulked. I feel like a child.

A long time ago, before I could say the 'L' word out loud, I remember Master asking me "How do you feel about me?" I said as much as I could at the time: "I need you, Sir." It was an easy answer, but very truthful. I have needed him since the beginning.

So what is it that has brought about this dependence? Is it a natural consequence of intense power exchange? Or is this something more specific to the way Master has shaped my attachment to him? Or is it just something characteristic of me? I worry about this sometimes. It may just be my own discomfort with it, but I worry that he finds my dependence an inconvenience. Other times I wonder if maybe he likes it. And sometimes I think maybe he likes it to be there, but unexpressed until the right time.

If you love someone, and the object of your love has immense power over you, and you, none over them, perhaps that will always create a dependence on them. The powerless seeks the beloved powerful... seeks their approval, their kindness... or their meanness.... anything of them. Anything to know they matter, that their existence has some effect on the powerful other... yes, I can see how it might be unavoidable.

Dependence makes me shift uncomfortably in my seat. I don't want to need. Anything. But he makes me constantly aware that I do. I fucking do. I console myself with a reminder that it is just another way he owns me. That he owns whatever it is inside that seeks to be fulfilled by my need for him.

I barely even care about how well I am expressing this tonight... except that it is for him. It has been a long week without him, and I feel drained knowing that he was going to be here within a couple of hours, and now..... who knows when. Thats the worst. The not knowing when. All the times I go nuts not seeing him, compared to the times I cope, the difference is in knowing when. If I at least know what hour to look forward to, I can hang in there without regressing to nadi the child.

It has been lonely looking after his house for him, but also a comfort to be surrounded by 'him' in so many ways. And the comfort of doing things I know would please him, if he were here to see them. It is an honour that he entrusted me with such a responsibility. But now I'm past it. I just want him back. I want to kiss him. I want to smell him, touch the soft skin on his face. I want to hear him breathe. I want to feel his arms holding me, his weight on top of me. I want to tell him I love him, and that I've given him my life.

I'm delaying going to bed, it will feel empty. But maybe I'll dream about him, and maybe when I wake up, he won't be far away....

Catharsis, exposure, and a nice place to be

2007-05-26T10:44:00.000+08:00

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

2007-05-23T17:59:00.000+08:00

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

2007-05-21T18:22:00.000+08:00

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

2007-05-19T11:19:00.000+08:00

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...

2007-05-14T19:58:00.000+08:00

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

2007-05-09T20:22:00.000+08:00

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

2007-05-08T09:07:00.000+08:00

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

2007-05-05T23:07:00.000+08:00

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...

The happy prisoner

2007-04-25T09:40:00.000+08:00

"You belong to me. There is no getting away. You cannot leave. You are mine for life unless I choose to let you go."

I love to hear those words. Each time he says them I stare at him, spellbound by the implications they hold. I have believed it fully since the very first time he told me I could be his - and that meant no freedom to escape. I said "Yes" and it was a release, with all the anxieties the idea held gone at that second, and me sinking into a place of peace. It was so intense, I think I cried. I've long been too afraid to believe he would want me for long, but over time, when he reminds me I am his, I've started to think that it could be a very long time.

It is truly bliss to feel so captive. Some might have trouble understanding it, but it makes me feel so safe to know that I may not choose to leave. I can't even imagine wanting to, but I feel joy to know that if I ever asked, he can say "no." That if I tried to escape, he may well drag me back. And I am absolutely sure, that if that happened, no matter why I wanted to go, I would accept that it was my place, because I am his until he decides I am free.

There are lots of things that remind me. I like to remind myself, in my mind, and it makes me smile. Sometimes when I masturbate I say it out loud: "I am yours.." I am reminded of it every time I kneel in front of him and rest my head on his knee, with his hand absently stroking my hair. I remember it each time I sleep in his bed, when he rests his arm across me, the weight of it seeming to say: Mine. And there are so many other ways, but the best is always when he says it to me directly, looking straight into my eyes.

Thicker than blood

2007-04-22T23:21:00.000+08:00

I met Sista online a long time ago now, when Master was still new in my life. I was instantly impressed by her wit, intelligence and sheer cheekiness. Not long after, I was lucky enough to meet her in person, along with her Max, when they travelled to my side of the country together. I was impressed again - she had a stunning presence, with wide round eyes that sparkled with so much life I wanted to sit with her for hours and share her dreams and fears. She was not a traditional 'looker', but at first sight I found her genuinely beautiful. My admiration for her only grew when I had the pleasure of playing with the two of them, watching her let go of her apparent strength and become a "little girl", her stoic acceptance of pain that I longed to live up to, and her intense involvement in the moment that took her from joy to tears.

After the visit, our friendship quickly deepened as we talked more with each other. We connected as two subs with enormous respect for one another, and each saw qualities in the other that we wanted to learn to develop in ourselves. We shared her evolution into 'sluthood' and my journey of surrender. We supported each other through our own painful love stories, confided our fears, and problem-solved each others dilemmas. It was Master who first referred to her as my "sister", but I felt the need to modify it to Sista - because she knows me better than my biological siblings ever will.

I was touched and delighted when Master took an interest in getting to know her and offer her guidance of his own. He chooses his friends carefully, and it meant the world to me that someone I cared so much about was subject to his time and effort. I rarely knew what they were talking about, but from each of them I got a sense that it was meaningful, sometimes challenging, sometimes warm and respectful. I felt the contentment one can only get when two people of great signifiance in your life meet and like one another.

Now here is a little truth that will most likely surprise both of them. I didn't exactly know that Master and Sista were planning a secret visit, but I had an inkling. The idea occurred to me somewhere along the way, I don't know how or why, but it was there in my mind and I imagined how amazing it would be if it were true. I love surprises, but I'm an intuitive girl, and when it comes to the really big gestures, stuff that takes planning, at the most I'm only ever about 60% surprised. I don't know why. I try not to know whats going on. But it just happens.

Anyway, it was still a big jolt when Master told me, not only were they planning a surprise visit, but that Sista had cancelled. Firstly, amazement that they really were doing that for me. I felt overjoyed, and so cared about! What a blessing to have two people that mean so much to me come together to do something that would make me so happy! And then the disappointment. I imagined how overwhelming it would have been, to arrive at Master's house and see the beautiful face of my Sista looking back at me, smiling - and now it wouldn't happen. She's not coming. I've thought so much so often about how wonderful it would be to give her a real hug and laugh with her - and now I've lost an opportunity.

And then there was Master's response to it. After a series of recent disappointments from people, he was in no mood to tolerate Sista's turnaround. They are still not talking.

I feel a loss. Loss of the chance to see my friend, loss of the fun we would no doubt have had, loss of such a beautiful gesture from people I love, and loss of the happiness I felt when the two of them were getting along on their own terms. I miss her all the more knowing she would have been here. And without disrespect for him, I don't feel Master's anger. I know little about Sista's reasons for not coming and I don't really want to know. Evidently they were reason enough for her, and I'd rather just accept that than dwell on that part of it.

The beauty of having a sub Sista is invaluable. Nowhere else can I express my worries freely without criticism for loving and wanting to please my Master. No other girl friend can show the support that she can through the simple understanding that we will never, ever disrespect one another by being critical of the other's Owner. No one else can act as a neutral sounding board for the issues we face when its just too confusing to go to Master straight away. And there is nothing more comforting in this world where our relationships are so deviant, and hard to find in genuine form, as knowing we are not alone.

They say the road to a friend's house is never long. I still hope I see you someday soon, gorgeous x.

nadi, forever

2007-04-22T18:15:00.000+08:00

Sir, today I mentioned that I still think a lot about you marking me, and I would like to take the opportunity to share my thoughts, if that is ok....

I remember very clearly on the day we first met in person, you saying that if you ever collared me, you would brand me. I took that very seriously, Sir. You know how devoted to you I have become since that day, and it probably wouldn't surprise you to know that I want to be collared by you very very much. I fantasise about it, but I don't mention it because its something I feel I should not ask for. Partly that's because of what your comment about branding meant to me: that if I am ever collared to you, that is how seriously I should be prepared to take it.

In the last twelve months I have been internally transformed. I understand things about myself, and about life, that I never thought I could, and I've found a new part of myself via a relationship I thought was beyond me. Everything I am for the rest of my life will be altered by the experience of being owned. No matter what happens, some part of me, hidden or right out in the open, will forever be 'nadi'.

I felt very unsure about the idea of having something permanent on my body representing ownership of me. I was worried about what would happen if later, I was no longer yours, and I regretted being marked. You know I am very dependent and attached to you - what if I lost you and a mark of your ownership came to be a painful, hurtful thing for me, associated with what I had lost? I was also worried about possible future owners, and their dislike of it, and possibly feeling pressured to be marked again one day to counter this. I keep thinking, I am only 27 - I will have many years of play yet, how many of them will I actually be yours for? You know how my mind works - as much as I love you, I can't trust that, and my assumption is always that it can't last.
I am very lucky to be owned by my Master. I sincerely believe I will never find anyone else who could understand and accept me like he does, who could see straight into the dark cellar of my heart like he can, who could take me there, even farther still, and show me the way back... teaching me to be me in my rawest form, all the while holding me securely like he does...

A few months ago I had another thought, though... What if I regret NOT doing it? You have taken me further than I ever thought I could go, Sir, taught me so much, and you are very special to me. I may be inexperienced, but I'm observant enough to know that a Master like you is extremely rare. In all likelihood, any future "owners" I may have will be measured against you inside my mind. There is a good chance that I won't find one who comes close for a long, long time - IF I find one at all.
I want to offer him everything. If there will ever be anyone in my life who deserves so much, it is unquestionably him. He will always be the one who saw through me and showed me my potential. He will always be the one who taught me that, whatever I am, I am ok. He will always be the one who knew nadi, and made her real.

I promised myself I would wait until I had known you for one year, and see what I thought of it then. So I could be sure. And a year isn't even that long - if I was talking to another sub and they said this to me, I would think she was NUTS! But I've found that in those few months, I've only wanted it more. Its almost a year now and I'm finding myself longing and fantasising for you to mark me - with a collar or without.

I think that perhaps I need to earn it. I know it is your choice, not mine. And so I should not ask. I am letting you know my thoughts and feelings currently, and thats all. I know you will do what is best for me, Sir.

your nadi xx
I am honoured that he has allowed me to give myself to him as much as I have. I want to continue to have the chance to please him in every way I can. I want him to be proud of his property. If one day I deserve it, he will fully accept me as his, and I will be marked for life, inside and out. Even if he one day releases me, I will still, in some way, remain his.

On the bottom

2007-04-20T13:24:00.000+08:00

Master has always said to me that my place is on the bottom. No matter who is with us in any group, I am always of lesser status than anyone else there. I am the one with no rights, with no limits, with no power of my own.

It sounds like something that should bring me down, doesn't it? Something that reduces my worth, that should make me doubt myself and feel insecure. But the truth is the exact opposite. As long as I am on the bottom I remain his "number one slavegirl". As long as I am below everyone else in a group, there is no need to compete, because I am already less than them. As long as I submit more to him than any other he plays with, I may be jealous of their attention, but I know my position is secure. It is my submission, not dominance or power, that makes me valuable to him. As long as I am allowed to give that as completely as I can, I know I am worth something to him.

My stomach clenched this morning when he asked me how I would go whipping another woman for him. It felt all wrong. I felt confused and frightened. Naturally I would do anything he told me to, even try to dominate if that pleased him. But what would that mean, if he wanted that from me? That I had lost my place. This goes beyond jealousy - if I am no longer on the bottom, I don't know where I belong. My whole position is threatened. What if I'm no longer his "number one"? It was a huge relief when I was honest with him and he said he would let me sub with her instead. But a little anxiety stayed with me the rest of the day.

I am naturally submissive. There is not a cell in my body that wants to dominate another person. Its not that I refuse to try, either. A long time ago, I met a sub guy, and with both of us starved for action, we tried to top each other. It was pathetic. Each of us, in our turn at the dominant role, was only trying to please the other. In the end, he started to warm to it a little, and said he might like to try doing it again. But not me, I felt so basically wrong and completely out of place that I could barely bring myself to touch him. Going back to subbing was a huge relief, like being released from a tight space and finally able to breathe again.

I just can't switch. I am not permitted limits, and may not refuse to do anything Master asks of me, so if he ever decided to train me to do it, I would have no choice. But I sincerely hope that day never, ever comes. I want to stay on the bottom, and feel grateful to him for putting me there.

The reason I wouldn't tell Betty about

2007-04-19T10:43:00.000+08:00

Being owned fulfills me, it makes me happy. It makes me feel liberated of myself, and of my life. It makes me feel natural, content, and like I am truly me. But there's one other reason I am made for this, one thats a little disturbing: I would be unsafe without it.

I am made to be used. I invite it, explicitly and through my behaviour. And before I met Master, I got exactly what I was asking for. No control, no boundaries. Anything. Anyone's. Show me something dirty, tell me something seductive, touch me, grab me, hurt me, and I lose my limits, become open, malleable, thirsty... a slave to my own cunt.

But we all need a measure of control. Where would I be now if allowed my freedom? Would I be dead? I am sure I would have at least come close. Belonging to someone protects me. It seems scary that it should be necessary that I am owned to have a degree of control, but I have to be honest about it. I have never had much of a care to look after myself, except for someone else.

When Betty found out I was his slave she was worried for my safety. I knew she would be even more afraid if I told her that I was more at risk without him. Master gives me boundaries, and keeps me safe. And it feels good, to be looked after with limits, rules and discipline, as well as with warmth and affection, like a parent looks after a child.

I'm a dirty girl, but....

2007-04-15T12:15:00.000+08:00

A long time ago I remember chatting to Master and moaning to him that my previous "owner" had made me do his ironing. He quickly put me in my place, and let me know with his usual implicitness that those complaints were not acceptable. I'm glad he did - it was insolent of me to bitch about something completely appropriate and by doing so, imply that Master should not ask the same of me. He has every right to demand that I do his laundry, or wash the floor, or do his dishes, or clean the bathroom with both hands tied behind my back if thats what he wants.

When he did start directing me to do household tasks for him, I surprised myself by actually enjoying them. I'm not a domestic person, and struggle for motivation to do housework under normal circumstances, but I found myself jumping at the chance to please him. I remember one night at his house, kneeling in my usual corner and waiting for his attention, when he asked me to sort his socks into pairs. I was delighted to do it, and spent far longer than necessary folding them neatly and placing them into a pile. He was completely indifferent (they were only socks) but I felt enormous satisfaction at having done something for him to the best of my ability.

Sooner than later, I also started doing things he didn't ask of me. After a night at his house, when he leaves and I am there alone, I've made a habit of checking for chores that I can do before I go home. Sometimes he notes it and thanks me, sometimes he doesn't. Either way, I feel a warm pride and pleasure to have done something to serve him, however small.

Today I noticed something new: I didn't have much time, but it felt wrong to leave without taking care of the obvious chores to be done. I just had to wash the dishes and clean the floor. I know there are plenty of neat-freaks out there that feel this way all the time, but I'm certainly not one of them. My own house is a mess and that suits me fine. But I just can't leave my Master's house with something clearly undone. Not because he told me to, or even to earn his praise (though it sure is nice when I get it!) but just because it might please him when he comes home : )

So why the difference in attitude now? I sure as hell wouldn't complain about doing the ironing these days. I'm convinced its simply because I belong to a better Master. Others have ordered me around and I've complied, but Sir can bring out the natural slave in me.

The more the merrier

2007-04-12T11:11:00.000+08:00

Master knows how to get what he wants - I am a testament to that. When an opportunity arises, he doesn't let it slip by. So the other day when we were gathering in the hotel room for a small gang bang, he didn't just comment on the hot looking hotel maid in the hallway like the other guys - he went out to talk to her to see if she might like to join our fun. Unfortunately she finished work before he was able to get quite that far, but he still returned with her phone number. And I have no doubt that, if that woman would ever try group sex in her life, she would have then, if Master had spoken to her long enough to bring it up.

He teasingly asked me why I was so impressed, did I not think he could pick up? But the way I see it, most men couldn't under those circumstances. A woman only has to be in any public place to pick up, its effortless. If a man can do it, he is talented. Far from being jealous for a change, I was proud of him for showing the other guys what he could do : )

It was a small group, but I was well used, particularly my ass. I always find it challenging to take more than one cock anally in a session - it hurts a little more with each new penetration. At one point I almost told one guy to stop, but then I remembered what Master said last time I'd used the 'n' word in this situation: he'd held me down and whispered, "what makes you think you have the right to say no to us?"

I don't.

I want to write more about the joys gang bangs, but better to wait til another time, when I have to chance to blog before the afterglow wears off, lol. Its already faded to a memory this time - a warm memory that gets me lusting for the next one : )

I do have one thought enter my mind that I'll share, though - imagining the next group of men to use me might be spontaneous, unexpected... a random selection of strangers, perhaps picked up much as the hotel maid had been, and offered a slut.... mmm...

...I'm off to indulge in some personal playtime now, lol....

Take me away

2007-04-08T16:22:00.000+08:00

Few things make me feel as powerless as someone taking control over my breath. And Master really does take control of it. In the past, a handful of people have clamped a hand over my mouth and nose or around my neck for a few seconds of breathlessness while we fucked, and that was a great high. But Master has taught me to go much further than that. I don't really know how long he typically does it for - the senses become warped and seconds stretch themselves out and gel into each other when you are lacking in oxygen. Not long enough for me to pass out... yet. But I'm sure I've come close. Close enough, sometimes, to leave me temporarily immobolised, my arms just flapping loosely if I try to move at all.

My social conscience feels the need to interrupt here and say something about safety. But that would be totally hypocritical. I don't ask Master to play it safe. I expect him to do what he wants with me. He is experienced enough to read my body signs and choose when to stop, and I trust that no matter how far he takes me toward the edge, it is completely intentional and he is fully aware. Yes, I know there are risks. I know there could be permanent damge. I know I could die. And I want him to do it anyway. If anyone finds that offensive, they are reading the wrong blog. Lol.

I used to fear unconsciousness. Each time he placed his hand over my mouth and nose would be the beginning of one scary ride, mentally crossing back and forth from submission to panic, trying desperately to control my impulse to fight him. Not that I could have anyway. His body pins me down so there is nowhere to go, and he is more than capable of holding my head in place. Mmmm, that cosy helplessness.... : )

At some point I stopped being afraid of losing consciousness. Now I just try and keep moving my hips against him for as long as I can, trying to control the relflex to gasp and choke for air, and let myself float away..... the whole world seems to dissolve and nothing exists except Master and I, my awareness cuts down to the sensation of his cock inside me, and his weight above me. Eventually not even I exist, he is the whole world, and if I am facing him, even he is fading as my eyes roll back and my mind stops registering his skin against me. Sometimes I think to myself, will it happen this time? Will I black out? And will I wake up? It's now less a fear than a curiosity.

When I panicked, he used to say to me "Don't worry, baby, you'll just go to sleep for a while... and when you wake up, I'll still be fucking you." Its still a nice thought, and sometimes I fantasise about it alone, wondering if he really would keep going as I gradually came back to the present, and how it would feel to slowly wake up being used, as just a body, the presence of a mind inside it completely optional.

I wonder if its possible to orgasm while unconscious? : )

Warning: the following contains absolutely no material that may offend anyone :(

2007-04-08T09:15:00.000+08:00

The most surprising thing just happened. I was a bit distracted while logging in to my blog this morning, typing on auto-pilot, and I entered completely the wrong login information. I didn't even realise until the page loaded and I thought, hang on, thats not Viti Levu... Then I realised who the author was: me! A totally different blog, one that I had completely forgotten existed. Even now, I barely have any recollection of actually writing it.

It is a mere half a dozen posts long, and was written in late 2005-early 2006. And contains nothing particularly exciting, kinky or sex-related. In fact, from the timing, it looks like I may have stopped having the time to write after entering my uncontrollable slut phase (lol). But I'm sure if I told Master this, his response would be "Lets see it." So, here's a link to what I called "Nadblog".

A warm shower

2007-04-07T14:35:00.000+08:00

I'm embarassed to say it, but I have a shy bladder. There's no point hiding, it became obvious months ago when I went into Master's bathroom while a guest was at the sink, and I just couldn't go.

It started a few years ago when I realised that, at work, if my boss walked into the toilets after me, I had to wait until she was gone before I could urinate. It wasn't a problem if it was anyone else in the cubicle next to me, only the manager. It was the power difference that made me too tense. I would try closing my eyes, counting backwards from one hundred, even just pressing on my bladder as hard as I could, but no matter how full, not a drop would come out. Eventually I would hear her shoes tapping their way across the tiles, and the instant the door closed behind her: relief.

At the time I thought it was embarassing but kind of amusing. Now its a real dilemma. Master wants me to learn to piss at his command - and if there was a gap of power between me and my ex-boss, there's light years between Master and I. I genuinely want to be able to do it - there are so many ways he can use it to humiliate me if I am able to wet myself for him. Not to mention the principle of it: I have no right to keep anything private from him, body functions included. I want to comply, so why can't I get my body to cooperate?

I got to his house last night really needing to go. I had even considered pulling over on the side of the road on the way there, thats how badly I had to piss. (Which is another interesting question, why can I go in a public place, in the open air, with the risk of being seen, but not in a private room if Master is there?) So I got to his house, stripped as usual, and asked permission to use the toilet. Instead, he took me to the shower, made me squat, and stood there watching. And of course, I couldn't do it.

In the end, it was him who pissed - sprayed it over my body, then made me kneel in it and lick some of it up. One day, I'll be able to drink it straight from his body without gagging. Why? To please him. His toilet slave.

Pants are overrated

2007-04-07T13:41:00.000+08:00

I've been working on an essay for uni lately and the topic has got me thinking about feminism. Specifically, about how my point of view on it has changed. I am still all for gender equality as much as I always was, but I guess now my experience is different. I used to feel sorry for those women who would argue that traditional gender roles made them happy. And now - who'd have thought it - I'm even more under a man's firm hand than them, to the point of being a possession. And I love it.

I was watching Betty interacting with her good little boyfriend the other night, and I thought, you can certainly tell who wears the pants in that relationship. No doubt she would be proud of it, too. But who the hell wants that? Not me. Pants are overrated in my book. I can't even imagine what the appeal might be of having power over another person. I'd rather be powerless any day. I don't question why Master likes it, I just feel grateful that he does.

To reiterate: 3 virtues of men

2007-04-01T11:47:00.000+08:00

I could never bring myself to choose between men and women - too long with only one, and I will always crave the other. Women attract my attention far more often. But my fantasies, and desires? They are almost exclusively for men. There are 3 reasons why:

Cock! I just can't live without it. Fingers and mouths can be nice, but there is nothing as (physically) satisfying for me as being filled and fucked. And a strapon just isn't the same. Only a cock allows the pleasure of satisfying another. And when someone invents a dildo that squirts warm white fluid - well, that would just be silly really.

Aggression. I need to be treated unkindly - slapped, grabbed, dragged, bitten. Yes, technically a woman can do those things. But I have never found a woman who can do it like a man can. A woman can cause pain, but they never seem to have the same testosterone-fueled impulsiveness about them. And a man can suddenly fuck you while he does it - for a woman, the spontaneity would be lost.

Power. The most important reason for me. If I were just out to fuck around, the first two would be relevant but compromisable. But the main thing I need is to be controlled and owned. And yes, woman can do that, and I'm sure their subs get what they need. But for me, it needs to be a man. I know its chauvinistic, but I can't help it: D/s is about gender for me. I want to be a vulnerable, objectified, degraded, owned slut kneeling with a man standing above me. A man who treats me exactly how women are not "supposed" to want to be treated. I love to play with women, and even be dominated by women, but I could only belong to a man.

Venus and Psyche

2007-03-30T11:49:00.000+08:00

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

2007-03-25T09:05:00.000+08:00

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...

2007-03-23T22:45:00.000+09:00

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

2007-03-20T10:19:00.000+09:00

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?

2007-03-19T15:10:00.000+09:00

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

2007-03-16T15:09:00.000+09:00

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

2007-03-14T19:25:00.000+09:00

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

2007-03-12T10:46:00.000+09:00

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

2007-03-11T17:21:00.000+09:00

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...

2007-03-11T08:44:00.000+09:00

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

2007-03-10T11:58:00.000+09:00

"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.

Mmm make it hurt

2007-02-28T15:21:00.000+09:00

The other night Master and I finally got to christen the pool. Betty apparently noted this: today I found a waterproof book of aquatic sex positions by my bed. Amusing that the book was waterproof. As if somebody is going to keep it by the pool so they can pause in the middle of a fuck and say "Hang on, I'm just going to look up the instructions for this position..."

I'm glad we got to do it, even though it was probably too late at night for the neighbours to catch us. I really love sex in water. Probably for the same reason some wouldn't: it washes away the natural lubrication, and hopefully, usually, that hurts. For most women it washes it away, anyway. For me, the effect is sadly short-lived.

I'm just a really, really wet, horny slut. Master regularly marvels at it. He sometimes tells me to touch myself to show me how wet I am, and sometimes even I am surprised. I get wet enough for it to run down my legs. There have been times when I've been so wet that someone has fisted me and I haven't even noticed. Once, after a session of fully clothed foreplay, I had to borrow underwear and a pair of jeans because mine were soaked to the point that they were unwearable. So when Master fucked me in the pool, it wasn't long before the water made no difference and his cock was wet from one thing only: nadi juice. And he proved it to me by placing it in my mouth afterwards, and I tasted no chorline - just, well, me.

Funny then, that as someone with so much lubrication that it makes people wonder if I dehydrate, I get off on being fucked dry. An ex used to spend a long time holding my legs apart and blowing cold air on me to make me dry out, then force his way in hard, giving me about 3 seconds of delicious pain before I flooded again, then pull out and repeat.

The easier way for me to get that kind of pain, or at least close to it, is when Master fucks my ass, as he also did that night. Some men I can take with no problem at all, but he hurts, every time. It took a long while before he could fuck me anally without me screaming and trying to pull away. Now I usually manage with just loud groans and gasps, hold my breath, bite something if I can, and clench my fists... but I hold still, and then try to force myself to move with him. My struggle doesn't mean I don't enjoy it - on the contrary, I love crossing back and forth over that mental threshold between "no, stop" and "ooohh yeahh". And I love the way he ignores my pain and reminds me that my body is his property and he will treat it as he likes. And I love that raw, grinding friction that only comes with fucking a tight, dry hole.

I'm glad we got to try the pool before summer ended. Now I just hope the warm weather returns long enough to still get the chance to do the outdoor thing. I can almost hear his reply to that: "What makes you think I won't make you do it in the cold?"

Honesty

2007-02-26T22:30:00.000+09:00

If I'm totally honest with myself, that whole last post was a load of BS.

Its all true, and relevant, but not the main thing bugging me at all.

The truth is, I'm just uncomfortable being so dependent on him. I'm looking for reasons why dependency is inappropriate, when really its just that I'm scared and I want an excuse to care a little less (as if thats an option).

My secret neediness has been showing, and it makes me fear driving him away. So I try and cover it up as quick as I can.

There. That was real.

Fucking patience!

2007-02-25T00:41:00.000+09:00

I have the patience of a two-year-old sometimes. Well, a lot of the time. I've been carrying on a bit about missing Master and waiting to see him lately (and I don't just mean in this blog, I've been whingeing to him a lot, too.) The silly part is, I haven't really been seeing him much (if any) less than usual - its just that, he's recently been working less for a couple of months, and I kind of got used to spending more time with him than usual. Now going back to normal feels like a cruel deprivation.

Being aware that its all in my head doesn't make it any easier. As time goes by between meetings, I get more anxious over how long it will be before the next one. Its like a countdown to losing control. And when I reach desperation point, I get a little demanding. I know I'm getting near the edge of acceptable behaviour then. The naughty, I-want part of myself tries to push harder, and I really fight with myself to stop crossing over the line from persistent to insistent.

But I just want to see him. And touch him. And be with him. I miss him. And I love him. Not to mention that I'm so damned horny all the time. Fuck. Sometimes, I get angry and frustrated. Other times, I just get sad. Always, I am so grateful for every minute I get to be with him. Every morning I wake up and wonder if I will be lucky today.

What annoys me about the whole thing most of all, is the knowledge, deep down, that this is probably good for me. A while ago I asked, among other things, for help to think less selfishly, and I think this situation might provide that by sheer chance. What is the previous paragraph but a list of nagging "I-want"s? Its not about what I want. And right now thats just fine because I can't get what I want. If I can find a way to accept that, and wait patiently, I'll be doing much better. How to do that, though... thats another matter altogether...

Try anything twice

2007-02-20T18:41:00.000+09:00

Its a simple but clever trick: get me horny and wet (no challenge so far), take me close to orgasm but don't let me reach it, and then give me a suggestion, and I will want to do it. Anything at all, even things that I'd find shocking or repulsive when I'm, say, doing my grocery shopping. I've lost count of how many times I've come home after seeing Master and found myself thinking I can't believe I said I wanted to do that - and not just that I would if I had to, but that I really want to. And the desire doesn't completely dissipate, either - things I'd initially file under please-don't-make-me, go to yes-please-let-me while I'm in 'the zone', and then after the high wears off, they end up somewhere around not-my-favourite-but-ok.

Take me there often enough, and the idea ends up permanently promoted to yes-please. I can think of a lot of things I would have been horrified at, or at least very cautious about, before I met Master, that are now, thanks to his manipulation, my most desired goals, or savoured among my favourite things to do. Things like lengthy asphyxiation, knife play, toilet play, and other things he prefers me not to talk about. I never would have done these things a year ago. And I'm not complaining - its great! One of the main things I was looking for when I met him was someone who could help me explore, and as much as possible eliminate, my limits. Its just turned out to be much more possible than I had anticipated.

I suspect I could write a book on "what subbing has taught me about life" already (and I am by no means notably experienced at it). One of the big themes would be that you really never know what you are capable of doing, and capable of enjoying. Even if you have tried it, there is nothing to say it wouldn't be a vastly different experience under new circumstances. Never rule anything out. Ever.

Held

2007-02-16T20:29:00.000+09:00

I was woken by my son at 5.30 this morning, and after settling him and going back to bed, I was drifting towards sleep when I heard my phone buzz next to me. I knew only Master would sms me at that time of the morning, so I roused myself enough to read what it said: "Glad to see you are beginning to realise just how much I know you."

It was perfect timing. I was just awake enough to read it, then fall back asleep with a smile on my face and into a stunning dream about his hands, larger than life, not just touching me but going right through me and knowing me inside and out.

Now, today, I felt that wonderful, warm, confined, enslaved feeling again. I had to laugh at myself - the experience that brought it on wasn't even real, lol...

But in a way, it is real - he knows me so intimately that I have trouble believing it possible. Right from the beginning, he has seemed to understand me completely. A part of me just can't accept that - surely its all in my mind? But time and again, he proves its not. It doesn't make sense, but its true.

Its also true that I don't like people to know me too well. I think I've written this before, but even my closest friends are around for years before I let them know much about me at all. I like to keep me to myself. Why? Control, I guess. Less risk. Less chance of showing weakness. But with Master, I am ultimately vulnerable, and it feels good. Scary, but good. And it doesn't make me weak, it makes me strong.

Strength

2007-02-14T22:07:00.000+09:00

I had a job interview today, and just prior, everything that could go wrong went absolutely wrong. I reached the interview location with 10 minutes to spare, but with my stress levels at a maximum. I wasn't ready for this. I took a deep breath and tried to calm myself down. I knew I had to think positive, confident thoughts, and fast. What came instinctively to mind was a memory - Master's voice, after crossing a boundary with me, taking me past an unwanted limit: "Look what you just did. If you can do that, you can do anything, babe." It came to me so clear and real for a second I was convinced I could smell him. I can't even remember now what it was he said that in reference to, but I remember him saying it like he is still there lying on me, holding my gaze and repeating "You can do anything."

At the time I didn't think it sunk in the way it should have - a part of my mind resisted the words and I struggled to accept them. But today they came to the front of my mind like a natural certainty, and I believed it. If I can give myself to him, relinquishing my body, pledging him my mind, promising him my heart and all my love, freely offering the ability to harm me, literally, happily putting my life in his hands... then what else in life is there to be afraid of?

Some things I think I understand, then one day they really do fall into place, and I realise that all that time I thought I knew, I really had no idea at all. I thought I knew that submission gives me strength. But today, for the first time, I know that belonging to Master... GIVES ME STRENGTH.

Happy Day

2007-02-14T11:28:00.000+09:00

I've always had a thing against Valentine's Day (yes, I'm another one of them). No, its not because of loneliness, but more because, despite my attachments to washing powder, I'm just not into romance. I'm more comfortable with this time of year when I'm single: all the defiant single women get out and have a few drinks, making it a good time to get laid. Its also a nice chance to send flowers to my friends and let them know they are special. This morning, for example, I left a velvet rose on the front doorstep for Betty to find when she went out (shhh! don't tell her it was me...;))

To me, valentines day is really best spent celebrating friendship. Maybe I prefer that because the unexpectedness makes it seem more genuine... or, maybe it really is just because I'm such a cynical old commitment-phobe.

Whatever it is, here's a thought I'd like to share on this V-day:

nadi's anti-valentine links:

Anti-Valentine's cards (the source of the image above)

Sexy Greg (note: sarcasm)

Condom Day (thats more like it - let's all get shagged)

The Velocity of Gary (A movie I personally enjoyed, but had terrible reviews, about a slutty bi guy named Valentino, his boyfriend, and his girlfriend - played by the very sexy Salma Hayek).

Need

2007-02-06T16:03:00.000+09:00

Like I wrote a couple of days ago, lately I have been needing him - craving him. Its been a very emotional ride in my life lately and the constant thought in the back of my mind has been that seeing him will make it all better. So its been a frustrating week, with all the shit of daily life constantly getting in the way of me seeing Master, and each time it does, I've felt weaker and lonelier.

Last night was the breaking point. I probably would have taken no for an answer, to be a good girl, but I really didn't want to, and I would have been a very unstable girl. I waited at home, naked, as he would want to find me, praying to who-knows-what that he would come. As it got later I got more anxious, knowing that each hour meant less chance I would get what I needed tonight. I hesitated to sms him and ask, afraid of hearing that the answer was no. Eventually I had to. The answer wasn't no, but it wasn't positive. I started crying. I fucking needed him. I sent him another message saying so, begging him to see me. It was very late, and I knew my chances were slim. He suggested I make the drive. I hesitated... Betty was asleep, and if I left the house, and my son woke up, and she didn't know I wasn't here, surely she would be furious...

Fuck it. I grabbed my phone and my keys and walked out the door. Did I mention I was naked? Yes, still. Putting on clothes seemed a trivial waste of precious time, and my nudity felt right - to drive over and walk up to his front door, presenting myself to him bare and vulnerable, seemed perfect for my state of mind.

Driving over, my confidence waned a little as I wondered if other drivers would notice. I thought about the jacket in my back seat, wondered if I should put it on. But I gave myself a pep-talk instead - it was late, and dark, and who the hell would see? .... try a dozen council workers on late-night roadworks on the highway, that's who. I crawled along in slow traffic with them all standing around within spitting distance from my car, cringing under the gigantic floodlights. But if any of them noticed, they didn't show a sign.

It was probably a good thing, going through the roadworks actually, it gave me something else to focus on for a few moments besides my overwhelming need to be with Master. After I passed them, I felt calmer, a tiny bit more ok. I got to his house and jumped out, walking straight to his front door, and rang the bell. He stood there looking at me, through his security door, leaving me standing there for a few moments, naked in the night air. I felt ready to try and claw my way through the door, not to get inside, but to touch him. Finally he opened it, and I could, but I struggled with self-control - all I wanted was to throw myself on him, and cling to him. He allowed me a brief cuddle before telling me to go to my corner and wait while he finished what he had been doing.

I had to force myself to do that, and it was the hardest wait I've ever had for him. I'd been needing him and waiting for him for days, and now finally he was in the next room, and I had to wait some more. I started to cry again. I toyed with the idea of begging him to let me sit with him instead of in my usual corner. I tried to distract myself by staring at the artwork on his walls. I tried to be quiet, but he could probably hear me, and he let me wait.

I feel a need to interrupt myself here and point out that Master is not a cold man. He is calm, and has a great deal of self control (not to mention nadi-control, lol). He knew how much I needed him, but still he let me wait, and it was right that he did so. He is not callous or indifferent to my feelings, but he doesn't indulge them indiscriminantly either. He owns me, and its up to him what he gives me and when I am allowed it. If I was able to demand what I wanted through emotional displays like this one, I would lose respect for him. So I needed to be with him, but I also needed to wait.

So I sat there crying and waiting for him, feeling more than a little ashamed and stupid for the whole thing. He wouldn't want me like this, I thought, he wanted a stable, rational slavegirl, not one who would lose the plot from missing him. Was I really worth it for him, with all this drama? Finally he came into the room and sat in the chair next to me. This time I didn't have to restrain myself from throwing myself at him - I couldn't even look at him until he ordered me to. Then he guided me close to him, and finally let me hug him with my head on his chest...

What do people say when they see someone in tears? They say something reassuring, tell them its all ok, or going to be, or ask why, make you talk about it to feel better - in other words, they want you to stop crying. But not Master. He held me to him, and said "Cry." And I did, and I felt such gratitude and relief, because he didn't reject the way I felt. I give him everything, and he gives me acceptance. Thats even better than love.