"Yes please, Sir."

"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...

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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...

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

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

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

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.