Merry Christmas

I found this on the Slave Isabelle's Journey Blog a couple of years ago...

Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the town

Her pleas could be heard as her panties came down.

“Oh Santa, dear Santa, don’t spank me, I pray!

I’ll be ever so good, starting right from today!”

But Santa just chuckled, “I’ve heard that before

From many a bad girl with bottom so sore

As she wriggles and squirms ‘neath his hand’s hearty sting.

But a promise like that –why, it means not a thing.

What matters, dear One, as you’ll very soon see

Is that you should be spanked across Santa’s broad knee.

Till your sassy bare bottom is burning bright red!”

And with that, the old fellow did just as he’d said,

And proceeded to spank her with all of his might

Till her yelps echoed loud in the cold frosty night,

And each swat, ringing out like a loud pistol shot,

Turned her soft, round bottom increasingly hot.

Then, when she’d been hand-spanked with many a smack,

The jolly old fellow reached into his sack.

He produced a fine paddle of well-seasoned wood.

“Now, this is the thing that makes naughty girls good.”

He remarked with a grin. “And I think you’ll soon find

How effective it feels on a soft, tender behind!”

“Oh please, Santa! No more!” she cried in dismay,

But the paddle cracked down without further delay,

And despite all her protests and wailings and shrieks

It soon deepened the blush on her squirming, rear cheeks.

Poor Dear how she wriggled but all was in vain,

For the paddle descended again and again

Till her bouncing bare bottom was sizzling and sore

And as red as the costume that Santa Claus wore.

But at last he relented allowing her to rise,

Hugged her warmly while wiping the tears from her eyes,

And murmuring, “There, it’s all over, my dear!”

Rubbing soothing cool cream on her blazing, hot rear.

Then he exclaimed, “Well Miss, your sweet bottom so curved

Has had the sound spanking it so richly deserved.

From now on, I’m sure, I don’t need to explain,

If you’re good then I shan’t have to spank you again.

But if you are naughty –remember, my dear,

That Santa keeps watch for the whole of the year!”

Then smiling, he shouldered his bulging big sack,

And sent her away with a crisp farewell smack.

So she hurried to bed with satisfaction you know,

With a song in her heart and her bottom aglow

And a sense that all manner of things were all right.

But she slept facing down on her tummy that night!

~ Author unknown

Slave Sonnets

X

The name stamped onto the lock says, "Master."
But the keys are yours, Mistress.  My body,
wrapped in this neat little package, is yours.
Do I dare call myself a present?
I'm the one who's on the receiving end.
You took me on, taking in my stiff prick
and swelling my head with your compliments,
your complaints, even out and out neglect.
Nothing - when it comes from you - is a gift;
wrapped in your aura of authority
even shit tastes sweet, and the void you leave
leaves me full.

It's Christmas whenever you put your foot down,
and the stars I'm seeing must be heaven.

- Bob Flanagan

Sonnet 58

That god forbid, that made me first your slave,

I should in thought control your times of pleasure,

Or at your hand the account of hours to crave,

Being your vassal, bound to stay your leisure!

O! let me suffer, being at your beck,

The imprison'd absence of your liberty;

And patience, tame to sufferance, bide each check,

Without accusing you of injury.

Be where you list, your charter is so strong

That you yourself may privilege your time

To what you will; to you it doth belong

Yourself to pardon of self-doing crime.


I am to wait, though waiting so be hell,

Not blame your pleasure be it ill or well.

- William Shakespeare

My Christmas Wish

Tomorrow is a big day for me.  Tomorrow I take the first step towards reclaiming my life.

I am anxious.  My stomach hurts.  My fingers have butterflies (ecD knows what I mean).

I need a way to process the pain I am feeling inside.

As a sub, do you ever have days where you need something?  Is your D/s relationship one where you can ask and your D will help?  Will He understand that your asking for something goes beyond being greedy and is a true, deep need and that you wouldn't ask if it wasn't very important?

Mine is like that.  In play, what I want is of no matter to him, of course (though usually, we want the same thing).  But out of play I can ask for something and he obliges.

Unfortunately, he can't help me tonight.  My need requires a hand - his hand.

My Christmas wish:

I need to be tied up and hung.  Whip me with the horse whip along my back ribs.  Start slow, but firm.  Build the intensity, keeping the tempo slow.  Switch to your wide leather belt.  Aim across the small of my back - 3 smacks should do.

Spin me around to face you.  Take the blind fold off if it's on; I want you to see the pain in my eyes.

The bridle straps are next.  Bring them down hard and quick from by breasts to my thighs.

Take me off the hook, but leave my hands bound.  Bring me to the bed, lie me down and secure my hands over my head.  Put the blind fold back on because now I don't want to see you, I just want to use you, take from you.

Spread my legs wide and run your tongue along my clit.  Make me cum.  Again and again and again.

Untie me.  Cover me up with a blanket.  Kiss my forehead.  Climb in next to me, or leave - I don't care - I'm asleep by now.

So Real

You are so far away from me.  3125.33 miles door-to-door, yet I swear you were just here.

The pillow next to me is crumpled; the bed is still warm...

I felt you reach for me and pull me to you - like you do.  Your hands ran along my body, following my curves; pinching and pulling at my nipples.

I rolled towards you and twined my leg around yours.  My head rested on your shoulder and I nuzzled your neck, inhaling your scent.  I ran my fingers through your chest hair before teasing my way down and wrapping them around your cock.

I moved and settled myself between your legs, reaching with one hand to wrap around and hold onto your thigh, keeping the other on your stomach.

As I took you into my mouth, you broke the silence -  part moan, part sigh.  I ran my tongue down your length, gently sucking.  Your hands tangled into my hair and you pushed my head down onto you, forcing your own rythym.

I pulled away from you, thinking: "Enough of this.  I am wet and I need you."  My eyes closed as I eased myself slowly down.  How I love that moment - when you first enter me.

With your hands on my hips, we moved together. 

You sat up.  My hair in your fist you pulled my head back - running your tongue up my neck, over my chin, where our lips met. 

Slowly you bit down...

I wake up.

And you have disappeared.

Wax On...Wax Off...

I have tried on MANY, countless occasions, to wax. 

Oh, but the pain!

In salons and on my own, I have only gotten as far as a very wide landing strip.

"You will wax.  Everything gone."

Or something to that effect.

Because he (ecD) wanted full access to my clit.

My answer was; "Of course.  Because being fully waxed would offer SO much more access than a landing strip would..."

I spent the day shopping.  I tried on countless frilly, featherweight, silky, slinky, lacy things.  I had my hair cut and colored.  I drank too many lattes...

Then I waited for my appointment with Aria. 

I sent a text to ecD letting him know.  He replied that he likes knowing that I am doing this for him.

The waiting area is very quiet.  There is a waterfall in the corner.  The sound of the water cascading off of the pebbles is the only sound until Aria comes to greet me.

"girl?"

Of course she uses the my real name.

We walk the into the room and we talk about the whole process: what she will be doing, how long it will take, aftercare and questions or concerns I have.

She leaves while I disrobe.

When I am done, and before I lay down, I text ecD to let him know that it is beginning and that I am anxious.  He assures me I will be fine.

She starts.

OW!

Okay. I suppose it wasn't that bad...

But as she works her way in, it gets worse.

The area right down the center - right above my cleft - is painful beyond words, but I manage to find a few choice ones to utter loudly.

I don't stop her.

In my mind, ecD is here with me.  Holding my hand.  Shushing me.  Whispering soothing words in my ear.  Stroking my hair.  Telling me I am a good girl.

This is to be a Brazilian wax.  Everything off - front to back and everything in between. 

It's the in between part that has always scared me in the past.  If the bikini area hurts bad, that area should hurt more, right?

It didn't.  At all.  There was sensation, but I wouldn't call it pain.  

She finishes up, goes after any strays, and shows me her work.

Wow.

I usually shave everything, so I'm used to how I look with no hair, but still...

Wow.

I like it.

I text ecD after I dress and tell him it is over and that there was a moment, although brief, that I hated him.

I am kidding.

He knows this.  He sees right through me.

My phone beeps when he replies.

"Show me."

Day 3 - Night

This is our last night together. 

He will catch a late morning flight back east and that will be the end of it. 

I am sad.  I know my mood isn't light and I am trying very hard to lift it, but I'm not doing a very good job. 

Maybe he senses it.  He must. 

He sees right through me.

We get to the hotel and lounge for a bit.  It's a very nice hotel - the decor is crisp, clean and urban. 

After awhile he has me undress.  I am still wearing the zip tie cuffs from the day before.  Even completely undressed, I don't feel naked.  I play with them while he slowly unpacks the play bag, examining each item, turning things over in his hand as if thinking up new and cruel uses for them.

He takes one of the hooks and places it over the bathroom door.  He removes a zip tie and threads it between both cuffs on my wrists. 

I am led to the bathroom door and hung on the hook.  My feet touch the floor, but when my legs are spread apart, the pull on my arms is uncomfortable.  The zip ties almost feel too tight now.  Wasn't it just moments before that they were objects I found comforting?

The mask comes out and is placed over my head.  He carefully adjusts it, smoothing it over my eyes and clucks softly.  He whispers near my ear that he doesn't think it blinds me enough.  I assure him that I  keep my eyes closed when wearing it.  I don't like the mask, or rather, I don't like sight being taken away from me.  But looking back on the play, I think I prefer it now to seeing everything.

Clothespins are placed on my nipples.  He isn't easing them on any longer.  He opens them wide, and then he lets go, and they snap down on my flesh.  The pain makes white spots appear behind my eyelids.

He leaves me.  I hear him walking around the room and then the door opens and shuts.  I wait for a moment, quieting my breath and trying to be still, to hear if maybe he is still in the room, but I  know better.  Plus, my arms are so close to my ears that they block some sound and I hear the thump of my heart beating and blood pumping more than anything else. 

I say something.  It is said quietly, but clearly.  If he is actually in the room he would be able to hear it, and it would be something just between us.  But as he isn't there, it is an affirmation to myself and I will never tell him what is said.

After a while, he comes back.  He says nothing about his absence.

He stands close to me on my left and then it starts.  A hand lands first on one side of my ass, then the other.  He hits hard.  There is no build up tonight.  It is full on pain. 

The bridle straps are next.  He has them doubled and knotted at the end for a handle, and four straps act as the whip.  The first blow lands in the small of my back - once, then twice.  My legs get his attention for a bit before he stops and gathers my hair to one side and tucks it between my neck and arm.  He starts to beat my shoulders. 

I am grasping at the door hook at this point, as if holding on tightly will transfer strength from the metal into my body.  I am still, though, and let the blows land with minimal movement and noise from me.  My chest starts to heave and I am quietly crying.  Not from the pain, though, but from where my head is.  I'm floating.  I'm above everything and beyond the pain.  It is registering, just on a different level than I'm at. 

Subspace.

He stops.

I hear the clink of the votives and the flick of a lighter.  I shiver in anticipation.  He stands behind me.  And slowly starts to dribble wax down my back.  This lasts long enough for the melted wax to build up and he starts to pour it - the wax burning as it hits and streams down my skin. 

He reaches between my legs and he moans.  I am wet - very wet.  I hear him undress and he presses his body against mine and I push back into him.  His hand is between my legs again, his fingers inside me. 

He moves to the play bag and hurriedly goes through it and tells me that someone forgot to pack the scissors.  "No.   No, they're in the outside pocket," I tell him.

He comes back to me and cuts off the middle tie and leads me over to the foot of the bed where I kneel.  My hands are raised up to him and he starts to cut off the ties that cuff my wrists.  I panic and plead with him not to, grasping for the tie that has just fallen off, and holding my other hand behind my back, away from him. 

He shushes me and tells me he will replace them later.

He lays me on the bed and enters me.

After, he takes me into the bathroom and he puts me under the warm shower, climbing in behind me.  He holds me to him and we just stand under the water.  It is relaxing.  He cleans the wax off my back and then towels me off.  Wrapping a robe around me, he guides me out and tucks me into bed, holding me again.

I fall asleep in his arms, surely with a smile on my face.

This is our last night together.

ecD Day 2 - Morning

It was a long night for me.  After dinner, I took a long hot bath before climbing into bed. 

Sometime in the early morning I rolled over and snuggled into him.  I traced my hand along his body and he reacted.  I don't think he really woke up during that hand job. 

I fell back asleep, but not for long.  I had a need for him and did my best to wake him up, short of shaking him by the shoulders or sitting on his face.

The next morning while he was making coffee, I told him this and he chuckled.  He told me next time to wake him up.  He didn't seem to get it - I tried.

He handed me a mug of coffee and I stood at the counter that separates the kitchen from the living area.  He came up behind me and placed a zip tie on one wrist, then the other.  All the while, I am lazily sipping my coffee.  The same was done to my ankles and I was led to a chair. 

He gently pulls the straps of my night gown down over my arms and lets it bunch around my waist.  He has not yet blindfolded me so I watch as he places clothespins on my nipples.

My feet are brought back against the rear legs of the chair, off the floor, and  a rope is drawn between the ankle ties and threaded into the wrist ties behind my back.  My thumbs and middle fingers are also bound together. 

No more coffee for me. 

The mask is put over my eyes.  Two strips of duct tape are placed down each inner thigh.  He gingerly places earphones in my ears and turns his iPod on. 

The music he plays is beautiful and centers me.  It is operatic chamber music.

My body is whipped.  It seems that with every crescendo of the music, a series of blows hit my arms, my thighs, my legs, my stomach.  He later told me that he could hear the music and planned this.

He cut the rope bindings and as he stands me up, eases my nightgown off.  He tells me to lie down flat on my back.  I struggle, trying to position myself and find that with my fingers zip-tied together, I can't.  He snips the two ties from my fingers and then I am able to lay back, my chest thrust out from my arms and hands being pinned underneath me.

He places his coffee mug on my stomach and tells me not to spill any of it.  It is warm and feels nice, but that is all quickly forgotten as my body starts to shake and he raises his voice to me, "Don't spill it." 

I tense my legs, trying to absorb the movement from my torso and manage to keep the mug from wobbling too much.  He is in the kitchen, I think, possibly just watching me.  The thought makes me shake anew. 

He has lit a candle and starts to drip wax onto my breasts.  The pain is sharp and I breath sharply in.  My natural reaction is to arch my back and he has to remind me again to not spill his coffee.

He tells me to open my mouth and to nibble.  A small piece of dark chocolate is placed on my tongue and I eat it.  He places something else in my mouth and tells me it is wax that he has taken off my body.  I eat it along with the chocolate.

He removes his coffee off my stomach and tells me I am a good girl for not spilling.  He has me roll over and cuts off the tie holding my wrists together but leaves the two around each wrist as cuffs. 

The movement while I am bound and blinded is unsettling.  I feel clumsy not being able to see where I am walking, and the simple acts of maneuvering like this - walking, lying down, rolling over - is awkward and degrading.

He knows this. 

He removes my blind fold, holds me for a moment, and tells me to go take a shower.

Day 1 With ecD - Afternoon

I am tired.  We have been on the road for at least 5 hours, including a lunch break.  My shoulders and neck are tense and knotted.  He tells me to take a nap when we get to the condo.  I am looking forward to a small rest before we wander about town.

We find the condo with no problem and carry our bags inside.  I make the decision to only grab my clothes bag and plan on getting the rest after my nap. 

I am placing my bag on the floor when he tells me to undress.  I'm confused for a moment - thinking that I didn't plan on laying down naked.  Then it dawns on me:  Mind Fuck 101.

I undress and he takes off my watch and necklace for me.  He tells me to get the play bag.  I mentally moan as I tell him I left it in the car. 

"That wasn't very smart, was it?" he tells me.  I agree yes.  "Get dressed - completely dressed - and go get the bag." 

My hands are shaking as I start to put my jeans on with no panties and he repeats, "Completely dressed."

After my clothes are on I head for the door.  Once again he says, each word clipped, "I told you to get completely dressed."  I forgot about my watch and necklace.

I quickly return with the bag, set it down, and get undressed again.

He has me lay out the contents of the bag.  I carefully remove the following items, most of which were from a shopping list he sent me, some I purchased on my own:  a riding crop, a riding whip, duct tape, clothes pins, zip ties, 50 ft of nylon cord, clothesline, 2 bridle straps, 2 metal door hooks, a bit, scissors, nipple clamps, and condoms.

He asks where the eye mask is.  Of course, I left it in the car.  His patience is thin as he tells me to get completely dressed and get it.

The tone of his voice and the look on his face has me frightened.  Instead of cowering and averting my eyes as I dress, however, I stare back at him - the fear falsely starting to feel like anger behind my eyes.

"This would be much easier if you would just go get it yourself,"  I say to him.  My voice gives me away - it is shaky and cracks.

He comes over to me and bends over so his his mouth is next to my ear - his hand wrapped around the back of my head holding me to his face.  The touch, although not meant to be, is comforting.

"This is not about what is easy for you or about what you want," he says firmly and icily into my ear.  It sends a shiver down my spine.  "Do you understand?"  I nod my head yes and look at my knees, shamed. 

I finish dressing and get the mask.

When I am undressed for the third time, he has me get on all fours, legs apart, back straight.  He uses me as a table as he looks through what I have laid out.

He fastens zip ties around my wrists and places the mask over my eyes.  I hear the clinking of the bit as he handles it and soon it is in my mouth and fastened around my head.

Another limit tested, and pushed out of the way.  The first was from the summer, and didn't happen during play - breath control.  The trust I have in him makes me feel like he is mentally holding my hand as I explore new things with him.  I had always feared being gagged and not being able to talk.  I don't like it much, but it won't kill me.

He helps me up from the floor and points me towards the door.  He tells me to walk forward to it.  I stumble the short distance.  He has placed a hook over the door and suspends my arms above me onto the hook.

He uses each whipping/flogging item on me, testing them out.  The long horse whip is the worst.  The cane part of it hurts more than any other item I brought, and it seems to be the one he uses the most.  It's cane is flexible and he flicks it in the air a few times and I can hear the whipping whoosh noise it makes.  It sounds angry.  When it hits my back, it bends and wraps around the front of me a bit.  I don't know it at the time, but the 2 hits that wrap like this, will leave the most long lasting marks.  They welt up and turn red and when we are driving, the seat belt sits right on top of them.

He remarks that I have beautiful skin - it marks almost instantly and weals quickly follow.

He continues until I hang exhausted from the hook.  He cuts me down and removes the mask and bit.  I am held for a moment before he leads me down the hallway and tucks me into bed.  The rest is welcome. 

He undresses and climbs in next to me and the nap is perhaps the sweetest I have ever had.

SAM I Am

...not really.  

Alright, maybe sometimes.  But truly only when things seem playful and light enough for it to be okay. 

Don't get me wrong, I know it's not okay and I expect to be punished, but sometimes that's just what I want and I push back to get what I want.

He knows this.  He sees right through me.

There are times, though, that I am mouthy and don't mean to be.  Like when I'm nervous or frustrated.  That happened last weekend and I thought for sure I was done. 

Maybe he took pity on me, knowing I was anxious and slightly frightened - this was our first in-person play, after all.

Or maybe he is waiting and biding his time...

"And my knees fucking hurt (yes, I'm complaining)..."  This was part of my Twitter post today. 

Mouthy. 

Insubordinate.

Punishable.

But again, I'm frustrated and scared. 

I'm still frustrated about last night even though I shouldn't be.

I'm frustrated that I really liked our play last weekend and the horizon seems empty for me.  The level of trust I have in ecD is no small thing and I can't imagine how long it would take to find and build that somewhere more local.  And to be perfectly honest, I don't want it from anyone else - at the moment. 

I'm scared that there are no promises that we will share that play again.  Time passes, life happens, and things change.

So, SAM I might be, but it's a scared & frustrated SAM.

Gone, But Not Forgotten? - A Lesson In Pride

It was a misunderstanding, really.  I wouldn't have considered it an infraction, but, it wasn't up to me.  He considered it something I didn't do for him that I was supposed to. 

I was given time to reflect on what my misdeed was before he just told me - all the while wearing clothespins.  They were to be rotated 90 degrees every 5 - 7 minutes or so & I rotated them 3 times before he finally told me, since I couldn't figure it out.

I told him why what he said I failed to do didn't come to mind during my timeout, and admitted that they were just excuses as it is not up to me to read and interpret loopholes in our system.

The rice came out and I started cleaning @ 6:52pm.  I texted him at 7:26 that I had finished cleaning everything I could reach while on my knees, and then I waited.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

8:29pm - my knees are screaming and I'm getting concerned that it is almost time to take care of some things at home, so again, I text him and ask to be released.

"Yes" is his response. 

Then, "Sorry, I'm working."

I texted back without thinking, "You forgot me?"

"Yes, I did.  Are you hurt?"

Again, without thinking I reply that the only thing hurt is my pride.

His reply was very sweet, "I am sorry to have turned away from you. It was pretty unavoidable. You are so loyal you deserve a reward."  He then went on to tell me what that would be if we were local.  Every girl's dream, let alone any sub.

So I have a reason to feel wronged, right?

No.

My last texts to him shame me.  I accused him, through a question, of forgetting me.  I told him, ecD, that my pride was hurt.

Shame on me. 

I'm sure that he will recognize this, also, when he reviews our texts.  And there may be further punishment.

Did you know that after 1 1/2 hours kneeling on rice, you develop blisters? 

And the prize?  Beautiful bruises.

Post Play - Day 3

I'm feeling much better.  Each day it is getting easier. 

Tuesday I wore my corset for the majority of the day.  I can lace it completely shut now, so it isn't as tight as it used to be, but it still provided what I wanted & needed - constriction.  It held me up and helped me walk through my day. 

When I got home, I was feeling well enough to take it off.  Too soon.  Within 15 minutes, I was sobbing.

Keeping in touch with ecD has helped.  I actually texted him and pleaded with him to tell me this feeling would pass.  And of course, he did - and it is.

Tonight we "debriefed".  We talked about our overall impressions, what we would do differently, what we will do next.  The specifics are personal, so I won't be sharing them.  It was a good conversation, though.

Now that my head is clearer, I will start outlining my weekend and hope to get posts up soon.

I've never said it before, but thank you for reading.

The Aftermath - Coming Down

...there's a song that's been running through my head today.  From the moment I pulled away from the curb and left him...

This weekend was my first real in person play.  I've dabbled with one person, but not with someone who knows what they're doing or has experience of any sort.

Sub-drop.  I was warned about this.  I was told what to expect. 

I did not expect this.

I'm a wreck.  It shows in my writing.  It's disjointed, bouncing from thought to thought.  It's all connected, though, trust me.  Stay with me and it will make sense.

I'm home now.  Everything is as I left it.  Nothing has changed.  Yet I find myself searching for what's out of place, missing. 

It's me.  I'm out of place.  I'm missing.  I've changed.

I know this will pass.  Hours will go by.  Chores will get done.  A day or two will pass.  And before long I'll be back on track again.  How many cups of tea will it take?  How many hot baths?  Will the box of chocolates he brought me see me through?  Will I feel better before the bruises heal so I can trace each one and remember the exact moment the straps hit without feeling sadness?

I have an odd feeling about me.  The everyday part of me is saying, "pull yourself together, this is your life.  This is who your are"  and the sub half is telling me, "but this is who you are, also.  You are both."  My being separated this weekend and I need to find a way to meld back together...

I need to let the tears that I have been fighting since last night come.  I need to let them out.  I think that's the first step.  I will lace up tomorrow.  The corset might help. 


This song has nothing to do with things, but I can't get the chorus out of my head.

Come Down In Time
Music: Elton John  Lyrics: Bernie Taupin

In the quiet silent seconds I turned off the light switch
And I came down to meet you in the half light the moon left
While a cluster of night jars sang some songs out of tune
A mantle of bright light shone down from a room

Come down in time I still hear her say
So clear in my ear like it was today
Come down in time was the message she gave
Come down in time and I'll meet you half way

Well I don't know if I should have heard her as yet
But a true love like hers is a hard love to get
And I've walked most all the way and I ain't heard her call
And I'm getting to thinking if she's coming at all

Come down in time I still hear her say
So clear in my ear like it was today
Come down in time was the message she gave
Come down in time and I'll meet you half way

There are women and women and some hold you tight
While some leave you counting the stars in the night

I Want - or - What Every Sub Wants To Say But Can't

I Want. 

I know you don't care.  You've already made it clear this isn't about what I want.

I want - 
non-the-less.

I want -
you to roll over.  Caress the welts on my back.  Press into one until I gasp. 

I want -
you to stretch the length of your body to mine.

I want -
to feel you, like I'm laying my body against a warm rug.

I want -
your hands run along my hip, fingers digging into my flesh.  Pulling me into you.

I want -
to feel your hardness against me.  Go ahead - feel the wetness between my legs. Part me and enter me from behind.  Hold still.  Let me savor this.  Grind slowly into me.  Hold me tight against you.  Only when you get close, pull away a bit, press into the small of my back - folding me over more.  Move faster.  Slam into me. 

I want -
to hear you grunt, breathe, swear, cry out, say my name...

I want -
you.  Please wake up.


I want.

Anxiety

Is it normal to question your submissiveness?

Boundaries.  Limits.  Breaking points.  Thresholds.

I expect to be pushed, to be tested.  What if I can't?  What if I won't?  What if that word comes out of my mouth?

In theory, I know that I have freely made the choice to not say "no". But I also know there is a safety net waiting for me if needed.

What does a Dom want?  Complete submission sans contest?  Or is there triumph in witnessing that internal struggle each sub must eventually experience when asked to do something or have something done to them that they don't want?

What if I fail?

Feeling Sexy

by Kim Addonizio


There's an arrow wound in my amygdala
leaking honey into my parietal lobe.
It makes me want to say things
disallowed from serious poetry
and employ instead the lexicon of porn spam.
I want to make crude statements involving fluids.
Obscenity, expletive, body part.
Imperative verb, possessive pronoun, body part.
I want push to show up at shove's office.
I want to change my address
to last night's wet dream,
I want a plot in that cemetery.
Come and unearth me anytime.

I Might Be Pro Pain, But...

...that hurt.

You Can't Make Me

Cry out, that is.

I see it as a sign of weakness in me.

Play or Punishment?

If I like the punishment, does it count as play?

Tomorrow is punishment day - i just thought I'd let you know.  I have no idea what to expect, but it will be in person.  Excited and anxious at the same time.

I'll blog about what led up to the punishment later, and of course, the punishment itself.

edited 8/15/10 The punishment and maybe even what led up to the punishment will be blogged about by the person who administered it.  He will be a guest blogger from time to time to give a different perspective on matters.

Road Maps And Other Adventures

Here is a little fun from my weekend.  These are texts I received.  They were sent to me, and not the girl, over the course of 3 days.  The person sending the texts refers to a road map of places on my body. 

"Left inside thigh right above the knee.  I want a picture of just that spot.  For now."

"Right hip exactly where you want it.  Show me."

"More skin.  You can use the blanket to cover other parts."

"Go to your room

Lock the door



Unbutton your pants



Take off your shirt... Slowly



Lower your pants slightly



Trace your fingers along my path. Slowly



Again



Caress your left breast.



Pinch just a little bit.



I think it's time for me to see me third stopping point. (as much as you are comfortable with)

After you send it, wet your fingers a little. You know where.



Caress your belly



Good girl. Beautiful.



Move your fingers back down. Down. In.



Be sweet. Sweet and slow. Take your time. Enjoy yourself. You feel great.



I remember a slight punishment is due, too. Pinch where my first stop is.
(I can't pinch myself hard, so I slapped instead)



Now you can finish."

Sticks & Stones May Break My Bones...

but names will never hurt me.

(That's how the girl learned it. Conventional wording is "words" not "names")

What's in a name? What names are you called by your D? How do they affect you?

The girl's wcD calls her "slut" and "whore" during play. Before play and in texts, email and on the phone she is called "my pet".

EcD refers to the girl as "slut" and "whore" also, but not really as names - more as descriptive nouns. When he does use a name, he uses the girl's proper name, and more often than not, at the end of the session. He doesn't usually use any name for the girl, so when he does, it makes the girl feel like she has pleased him

Mistress J. She's new here and the girl is unsure how involved they will be. MJ used the girl's proper name when correcting the girl, and "sweet girl" when she was pleased.

All-in-all, "slut" and "whore" don't bother the girl, and she actually is fond of being called "slut". When MJ used her proper name, it felt completely different than hearing it from ecD. The girl knew it was not said warmly. Quite a different experience. The girl's favorite is when ecD uses her proper name.

And you?

Master vs Mistress

Oh Mistress J, you are good to me!

How This All Started

The girl is not a slave, she is a sub.  She has a D - she has 2; she also has none.  The girl is in limbo.  The girl finds this unsettling. 

This all started when the girl was first married.  She had needs.  She wanted to be tightly laced into a corset.  She owned four of them - 2 custom made, 1 leather and one off-the-rack.  The nice thing about corsets are the laces.  They are long enough to use to bind your arms or hands.  Very handy.  She wanted her husband to hit her while she was bound.  She asked her husband to do this and he did.  He was very good at it.  It was a magical experience, but only to her.  Her husband found it made him uncomfortable.  He never did it again.  He eventually slipped and fell into another woman's vagina.  Oops.

The irony is that he lives the lifestyle now.  Pisses the girl off to this day.

Then the girl married another man and again, it was not a hobby she shared with him. He never was able to answer the question, "Top, Bottom or Switch?"  He didn't understand it, but never made an effort to try to.

What is a girl to do?

It started one night on Facebook.  The girl couldn't sleep and was watching her favorite movie Secretary.  She made a silly post about changing her name to Lee Holloway.  A friend from high school messaged her about it and they started talking.  About lots of things current and in the past.  She told him about the things she liked and the situation she was in.  They continued to share messages, although the "just talking" turned a bit inappropriate in a really good way.  But still, it was her talking to him, that's it.

Then one day they were talking about boring everyday stuff and out of the blue he tells her to do something and not to text him back until it was done.

The girl didn't know what to think:  Was he serious?  He couldn't be serious. He's joking, right?  So three days go by without a word from him.  He ignored her.  And it excited her, and drove her mildly insane.  Finally they talk and have an amazing round of sexting/phone sex.  Nothing more was said about the order he gave her...

Memorial weekend was coming up and the girl needed to get her house in order for company to come up.  Her house is 4200 sq ft and is a bitch to clean.  Add to that 3 kids and the clean up is never ending.  Out of the blue she gets a text:  "Bathrooms scrubbed now."

She didn't hesitate or think this time.  She got up out of bed, got her cleaning supplies and started working.  She was also told to put on her tightest heels to work in.  It was the most thorough  job she has ever done cleaning her house and the most fun she had while doing it.

There is of course more to the story, but that is enough, for now...

It's All In The Timing

My wcD & the girl have decided to put things on hold for awhile.  Both Sir's and the girl's everyday lives are hectic so the timing just isn't right.

The girl has a feeling, however, that even though she may not be in a formal D/s relationship yet with wcD, she will be seeing him soon, OOC.  That will give her a bit more freedom with Sir, but she knows that the minute she sees him behind closed doors, she will be at his feet.

Corsetry

The girl ordered a corset to be made back in May from Meschantes and got it the 2nd week in June.  She has only had the chance to wear it a few times, but she is already in love with it.  It gives her a sense of comfort and safety to wear it, and she feels settled.  Not to mention naughty, and sexy as hell.

It is a plain busk, under bust corset made out of black cotton coutil.  It is designed for tight lacing so it's pretty heavy duty.  It is very well made for the price.  The next one the girl gets will be from Puimond.  She had him make one for her about 10 years ago and it was the best corset she has ever owned (out of 5 customs) and also the most expensive.  Maybe a Christmas present for myself?  Check his gallery out at www.puimond.com.  He may still have some pics up of Julie Strain modeling some of his earlier work.  She is gorgeous.

The girl wants to know how you use corsetry in your training?  Is it just for costume?  Do you tight lace?  Are you looking for waist reduction?  How often and long do you wear yours?  Do you take advantage of the extra long laces?

The Effect Words Have

The girl is very tempted to go OOC and write in first person just to get this post done and out of her head!  But she is trying to be good, so she won't.

She is amazed how words have to the power to move a person in so many different ways.  They're just a grouping of letters, just shapes - symbols to represent sounds that together represent a thing, an action, a description...

and yet they can make you cry from sadness or from joy.  They can make you recall a specific time and event.  The power they have is amazing.

It is 5:19 am and the girl has already been moved by 3 words today: "Are you ready?"

Okay, to be truethfull, 2 other words moved her first, a first and last name she saw before opening an email.  Excitment woke up her foggy head.  Then her eyes jumped to these last three words and that excitment changed from a skipped heart beat and moved south to that familiar, and somewhat painfull pull that happens right before the girl gets wet.

My wcD has summoned me.

Sonnet 57

Being your slave, what should I do but tend

Upon the hours and times of your desire?

I have no precious time at all to spend,

Nor services to do till you require.

Nor dare I chide the world-without-end hour

Whilst I, my sovereign, watch the clock for you,

Nor think the bitterness of absence sour

When you have bid your servant once adieu.

Nor dare I question with my jealous thought

Where you may be, or your affairs suppose,

But, like a sad slave, stay and think of naught

Save where you are how happy you make those.


So true a fool is love that in your will,

Though you do anything, he thinks no ill.

- William Shakespeare

Pain

The girl will be the first to admit it - she's a pain slut.  She can usually turn pain into pleasure very  easily. 

There is, however, certain pain that even she can't transform: 

1. nerve pain
2. that awful, burning pain when your baby crowns
3. the pain that only someone you have allowed into your heart can inflict. 

The girl has endured a lot of the latter pain.  She may come off as indifferent when talking about it to people, but inside she hurts.

The rules and orders she receives from her ecD help for some reason.  They calm her down, settle her and distract her. 

Does anyone else out there have the same reaction to rules & punishments?

Frustrated

Yes.  Stamp your feet, scream at the top of your lungs til your face turns red or hold your breath until your face turns blue frustrated.

1 week before the girl's wcD's primary girl goes HOME.  This girl wants to play, too.

It's not fair.

Thank you.  The girl is done ranting and will now go back to kneeling like a good girl.

Outing

The girl is going out tonight!  She thinks.  An ex-coworker who lives in Seattle, and doesn't celebrate birthdays (just like the girl) decided to acknowledge his age this year and the girl wants to go. 

The girl misses going out and everything that goes along with it:  girlfriends showing up and taking over the bathroom, early pre-evening cocktails, doing each other's make-up, big hair - everything that goes with it.

If the girl can swing a couple of hours with her son babysitting the younger kids, then she will probably get to go.  Fingers are crossed.

If this party was 2 weeks from now, the girl could have arranged to meet with her wcD (West Coast Dom), or even take him with her.  That would be fun.  A collar with a delicate chain that HE held onto the whole night?  Yes.  But as fate would have it, his primary s is in town for another week and a half, so this girl doesn't get to play.

She only recently hooked up with her wcD.  They used to work together and he was a manager in their department.  It had been at least 6 years since the girl saw him and he looks as good as ever, probably better.

And YES, the girl has expectations and thinks that it is only right and okay for her to have them.  The girl wants to serve, the girl wants to be punished, but the girl wants her D to be worthy also, otherwise, why play?

Thoughts on ecD

The girl has known her ecD since she was 15.  They went to the same high school.  She lost her virginity to him, so they have some history, albeit limited.

He used to come into her work, a small convenience store.  He had eyes that sparkled with intelligence and a crooked grin that reeked of trouble.  He was tall, dark and handsome and she was quite taken with him.

Although she gave him her virginity, he was never her boyfriend, for reasons that don't belong in a blog.  Their differences were erased in senior year with an apology by the boy.

She did not see him much after graduation.  He left for college.  She worked at a bank while going to a local college. 

And then the girl moved to the West Coast and thought very little about the tall, dark and handsome boy with the crooked grin.  She eventually got married, had a child, got divorced and married again, and had 2 more children.

Facebook changed all of that.

The girl strongly believes that things happen for a reason.  She is trying to figure out why they have reconnected and clicked so well.  There is some reason that the boy with the crooked grin talks with her, shares things with her and helps her.  And there is also a reason he is indulging her need to be controlled.  She will let you know when she has figured it out.

She is very fond of him, as she expects one must in a D/s situation.  She marvels at the changes in him.  The boy with the crocked grin has matured into a fine man and father.

And he still has that crooked grin...

Where To Start?

The girl doesn't know.  There is so much that she wants to write about and convey and share, but how to organize it?

From the beginning?

From the present with glimpses into the past?

From a specific event in the middle and just let it flow from there?

The later.  The girl thinks she will start in the middle...

From YOU

I was thinking about making you
walk barefoot up the hill to my house,
undress in my living room
and stand there naked, and I ignore
you while you wait

to be touched, slapped, hair pulled
spanked, fucked...

An Offering

joined

  wrist to wrist

  hands clasped and pressed

  into the small of my back

sightless

  from the blindfold

  left only to imagine that

  you are there with me

exposed

  in nakedness

  kneeling ankles crossed, knees wide
  wetness forms between my legs

bound and waiting