Still more thanksgiving/crawling/whatever you call it!

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.

Niche

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?

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

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.

Mmmm, tamed...

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

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

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

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

"The aim of life is to live!" (Henry Miller)

I just heard a fantastic song on Triple J - a cover sung by Old Man River, originally by Dan Bern.

Marilyn Monroe should have married Henry Miller

And if she did she might be alive

Cause if she did

He'd have taken her to Paris

Tied her to the bed

And eaten dinner off of her

I love it! Such simple truth.

I was shocked the other day to hear Vanilla Betty say she couldn't understand why anyone would want to try new things when they'd found something that was "good enough". Who the fuck wants good enough?! Give me amazing, and delicious, and exquisite, and thrilling... even give me awful, and dangerous, and terrifying - but never give me good enough! Where's the passion in that? Where's the life?

Marilyn Monroe didn't marry Henry Miller

I don't even know if she knew Henry Miller

But if she did he'd have taken her to Paris

And if she did they'd have fucked every day

And if she did she'd have felt like a woman

Not a photogragh in a magazine

A guest house

Written 24 December, blogged today due to being offline for a while.

When I saw him today I felt swept away. I know that’s when somebody has really gotten into me: I’m suddenly caught up in their every physical detail, admiring with new eyes their now perfect form, regardless of how they may have looked the day before. All at once, he is radiant to me. I want to run my hands over him, caress him, smell him, taste him. If we were vanilla I would do all of that, hungrily, giving him no choice, but ironically if we were vanilla I wouldn’t have this kind of desire. So I content myself to simply gaze at him, indulge in some gentle, permissible touches, and ride that internal wave of feeling.

In most arenas of my life I have been fearless – I embrace change, I forgo caution, I dismiss security and risk anything for something beautiful and inspiring. But not so when it comes to emotional risk. Then, as much of this blog has pointed out, I prefer to hide away in a cool place so I don’t have to miss the heat when it passes. I was terrified when he first suggested I did, or would, love him. But, to my own twisted fascination, it seems my surrender has proven greater than my fear.

And the fear is withdrawing steadily. A small part of me is alarmed to notice this – as if somehow, staying afraid of something could offer protection from it. A bigger part of me is just bemused at the whole situation. Will I ever, in my life, freely offer love to anyone, or will it always be necessary to wrench it out of myself by force? A question I may be able to answer in another twenty years.

To begin with, I couldn’t say I loved him without battling with myself to form the words, and then breaking down into sobs of grief, feeling as though my body would implode. A few times he had to "assist" it out of me. I still hesitate, but now I have been able to offer it once or twice spontaneously – even in writing, shock horror, lol.

So, I’m not quite fearless about this yet – but the fear is offset by a kind of acceptance. I still believe I’ll one day be dismissed, and heartbroken. But it’s true what my favourite musician once wrote; that’s when you know you’re really living.

Who needs a holiday?

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

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

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

Contained

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

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

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

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