Take me away

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 :(

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

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.

To reiterate: 3 virtues of men

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:

1. 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.


2. 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.


3. 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.