Intruded

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.

Take it from me

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.

"SSC is so PC"

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.

Hooked

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....

The happy prisoner

"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.

On the bottom

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

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.

A warm shower

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

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.

Questions I couldn't ask

How does it feel to own another human being? When I say that I love you, that I am yours, body, mind and soul, does it give you joy? Is having a whole person at your disposal, to do with what you will, anything like the warm bliss I feel at being that person?

Do you think of me, Sir, as tenderly as I think about you? When you ask "how much do you love me?" and I struggle to express it, do you trust that I do love you? Do you understand the fear I feel? Do you know just how much you own me, and how easily you could break me?

When we met, did you decide that this new slut would become your property, or like me, did it take you by surprise? Did you want to rescue me from my self-destructiveness, or was that a side effect? Did you see straight through me the way you seemed to, or was it just confidence and luck? When you stripped away my dignity and exposed my dirtiest self, then praised that, did you know it would make me need you? Did you know it would make me love you? Was it kindness? Was it just a way to bring out what you wanted? Or did you deliberately use my vulnerability, even as I could see what was happening to me, but was powerless to resist it?

When you pointed out the origin of my son's name, did you really know it, or were you just observant and attentive to items in my house? And how did you know my surname?

Some questions that I could never ask, and some that I would never get an answer to if I did. But I surrender to that, as I must - humans all have curiosity, but when we push for it to be satisfied, it is only for a sense of control and power. So I leave these mysteries alone, except in my imagination. None of the answers would make a difference, anyway: because I love you unconditionally, Sir.