Sunday, February 20, 2011

The Zen of Slavery

Some days it seems as though the universe is against me.  Today was one of those days.  Even though T thoughtfully let me sleep in, I felt like I woke up on the wrong side of the bed and it went downhill from there.  Nothing major, just the little things that wear you down and make you feel 100 years old.  And my offspring and I had a battle of wits all weekend long and I hate to admit it, but she won.

I don't even remember how I used to deal with these kinds of days before Mr. G.  Maybe I just huffed around more, or drank more alcohol, or ate more junk food.  Today, I knelt.  About five different times today, I took a moment, hid myself in my closet and knelt.

It's funny because on Oprah the other day they were talking about the amazing health benefits of meditating.  And let me tell you, I've *tried* meditating.  I love the idea of lowering my blood pressure and all the other major physiological things that supposedly happen when you meditate.  But I've never been able to just sit quietly for even just a moment or two.  I feel stupid or like I have a million and one things on my to-do list, stopping in the middle of my busy life and meditating just wasn't something that happened.

But now, I guess I do.  It's not meditating, though.  It's kneeling for my Master.  I feel myself at the breaking point, where I'm about to go all Mommy Dearest and *really* teach that little demon spawn a lesson (I'm kidding.  I don't strike my child, the strongest discipline I give is time out) I go and I kneel for my Master.  I don't think.  I breathe and try to imagine myself presenting prettily to him.  So I don't call it meditating, but really, it is a meditation of sorts and I always feel more centered and less on edge afterward.

It's amazing all the things I've learned in the last seven months.  This, I think, is one of the biggest.

Thursday, February 17, 2011

I Know This For Sure Today

  • My blog is boring me so I'm changing it up today.
  • My Master gets more total and complete control over me by exercising it less often.  Now when he talks to me in his Dom voice, I have an even more intense reaction. 
  • Just like my (thankfully, enough to keep me sane) allotment of orgasms.  I now treasure them.  I don't run off and immediately diddle until I'm screaming like I used to when I was given permission for a play.  Now, I have mental foreplay with myself for a few hours first.  The anticipation of getting to cum is amazing in itself!
  • Running hurts but burns a lot of calories.
  • I have decided I'm not a masochist.  I crave satisfying my Master, the man I worship, who just so happens to be a sadist.  So I yearn to give him whatever it is he needs. 
  • I worry that my pain tolerance is going to be lower than my last visit, and I'm going to disappoint Mr. G.  And when I speak to him of my concerns he always reminds me that he'll enjoy it either way.  It's very comforting really.  He expects me to hurt and cry and beg.  I don't have to be brave, just obedient.
  • I just wish I was more creative at photos/videos.  I need a camera person (just kidding, Master).  I ache to give my Master good visual stimulus.  And yet my body issues prevent me from wholeheartedly throwing myself into this endeavor.  It's very frustrating.

Tuesday, February 15, 2011


There are times I am rendered speechless.  Don't get me wrong, it doesn't happen often.  I am too often very loquacious.  There are certain people in my world that I could talk with nonstop from now until the end of time and we'd never run out of things to talk about.

And I honestly don't even know anymore if it's some form of subspace or if i just get so turned on, the blood rushes out of my brain and into my nether region and I can't think.  And I don't even just mean when Master lets loose with filthy words and thoughts and orders.  The other day, he was teasing me about something very nonsexual and just having fun poking at me.  Then he laughed his sadistic laugh and I was left mute.  I went to that foggy place that his control takes me.  And here I am, being teased for being a cabbage, and I can't even speak. All I can do is breathe into the phone and eventually giggle like a moronic schoolgirl.  Luckily, Mr. G has seen me go to the foggy, can't talk or sound like Minnie Mouse when I do place enough times that me just grunting like "can't talk" and he knows he's pressed my slave button so hard I'm practically a zombie.

Which might even be what Master was teasing me about when I spaced out on him.  He keeps um...jokingly (I hope!) teasing me about us watching zombie movies on my next visit.  I really do hope he's just messing with my head.  I don't watch scary movies.  Haven't since "The Blair Witch" and "The Ring" scared me to my core and I slept with the light on in my bedroom for over a year.  I am afraid of the dark.  I have an overactive imagination.  Watching scary movies is detrimental to my health.  You *are* just teasing, right, sir?

So I wonder, what is that?  That dreamy, foggy place where there's always something right on the tip of my tongue but I feel like I've been wiped clean and I find myself consciously unconscious.  I'm pretty sure that's subspace.  Right?  And lots of times, my next reaction is wanting to be naked and crawling.  It usually takes me a bit to pull myself back together.  My only previous experiences with subspace and talking with others about it really only focused on the play aspect of subspace.  Like when you're tied up, gagged, blindfolded and like hurt then fucked.  That kinda subspace is completely understandable.

Master just mentally pushing my buttons and sending me off into subspace is truly amazing to me.  I guess it's silly that I'm so in awe of this.  It's been seven months since I became Mr. G's.  He's always launched me by talking filthy to me (he brings dirty talk to a new level) or speaking in a commanding way, using his Dom voice or something similar. And now it's fascinating to me, how his power grows and I go to that slave place from simply a sadistic chuckle.

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Sir, yes, Sir

I love Eminen's song “I'm a Soldier”.  It makes me want to run and punch and kick ass.  And I really identify with this today.  I was thinking earlier how I often transition from poor me sad slave, horny depression girl to a more motivated, more militant slave.

It's like the dormant drill instructor in my head wakes up and he's totally Full Metal Jacket in my face and he screams “what'dyou think life is?  Orgasms and champagne?  Get over yourself!”  I really like when my own inner motivator wakes up and gets me back in line.  Master deserves more than a self-indulgent bratty slave.  Luckily, I only have short, almost unremarkable pity parties.  And thankfully, I get over myself pretty quickly.

Plus, there's a Biggest Loser type competition beginning this Friday at my office.  There's 14 weeks of  weigh-ins and then cash or prizes but mostly the bragging rights.  And I felt my competitive side really
want to kick ass and take names.  I have been losing but I know I can do better and this is exactly the kind of motivation I needed.

Have to keep this blog short.  I've got to go work out!

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Me So Horny

Yes, I know.  This is a shocking revelation to anyone who has read more than one blog of mine.  I also have been listening to a lot of late 90's, early 2000's rap and hip hop.  This all feeds into my mental state of mind, though.  I remember listening to "Put Her In the Buck" and the noises that the girl is making in the background used to make me want to touch myself right then and there.  I have had a lifetime of probably too many orgasms.  I don't exaggerate when I say I used to masturbate pretty much every single day, sometimes more than once.  And usually my plays don't consist of one quick orgasm, then back to work or whatever.  I usually would give myself a minimum of four, up to as many as EIGHT orgasms in a day. 
And I know that orgasm control is so much a part of it for my Master.  He likes to decide when and if his slut gets to cum.  And I was a bad girl Saturday night.  I was disobedient and stupid and got in trouble.  I really do wonder if I just acted out to get a punishment.  I hope that wasn't my true motivation.  I do really pride myself on wanting to be a good girl.  I want nothing more than to make Mr. G proud to call me his.  But I do crave the Dominance part of him so much.  I am very very lucky in that we get to have regular contact (more than you'd think, really, living two continents and five clock hours apart).  But minus the following of his rules, which is an everyday thing for me now, sometimes I don't get to hear his Dom voice for days and days and days.  And I crave that as much as I crave serving him with my body.  Maybe even more so.  I can't think of any other reason why I did exactly the opposite of what my Master had said except that I had a bratty, selfish moment.  And now I'm being punished.
No orgasms until further notice.  Part of it that makes me crazy is the not knowing for how long.  I so rarely get punished, I never really know what to expect. 

So I am wearing clothespins on my nipples right now because my need is so great, my craving so intense, that pain is helping slightly to fill that ache.  The best part is, I have them on under my bra, under my sweater.  So they are pinching and wrenching my nipples sideways in a fantastically uncomfortable way.  It's bringing a smile to my face as I type this.  I need to hurt for him.  I need to be used by him.  I need to hear him call me his whore, his dirty girl.  When I get like this, I go darker and darker places.  I want him to spank me until I cry.  I want to feel his teeth biting at me so hard that it leaves imprints for hours, maybe bruises after.  I want to hear his sadistic laugh and know my body is his to abuse in whatever dirty, slutty, whorish way he wants.  I go to that place sometimes in needing, in craving, where I fear I would do anything he asked, without a second thought.  I'm thankful I have a trustworthy Master.  It's a seriously scary thing even admitting that.  And luckily, our kinks match up very well and there's only a few things that he's threatened me with that did anything except make me moan and turn into a mouth-breather.
I wish working out helped this need to be pillaged.  It doesn't, sadly.  And since I've been his good slave and have faithfully been keeping my food/exercise journal, I can't even go eat my sorrows away in a big fat chocolate cake.  So no cumming, no food orgy, another MONTH before I get to see him.  Wow.  I might need more clothespins. 

What a horribly vicious cycle.  I want some Masterly attention from him so I act out.  Only to get orgasms taken away from me.  Which makes me needy, short-tempered,  snarky, and bratty.  Damn it.  My Master deserves a better slave.  I really do wish sometimes I could dampen my wants, my yearning, my needing some of Mr.G so much.  And when I tell him this, he always says "you need to learn to love me/need me more" or something else that just makes me laugh and love him more.  And I have to say I have been so much better about keeping an even keel on the days we don't have much contact.  I try to be fun vanilla me when he's otherwise occupied and I think I've gotten much better at it.  And I have whole hours, afternoons, days even, where my vanilla happiness is more than enough.
But then the slave, slut, girl who needs his abuse just gets more and more restless.  And when I let myself think about him, us together, it's all about throat raping, ass-fucking, hurting for him.  I crave helping him cum more than even my own orgasm.  I want to bring him pleasure, either sexual pleasure with my mouth and other holes or sadistic pleasure, by being the object he so enjoys to torture.  And now, I feel a little lighter having typed this.  I think I'm going to go and put as many clothespins on my body as I can find and then smack them off one by one. 

Friday, February 4, 2011

I am a masochist?

I can't get my head around this.  I am starting to really think I might be a masochist. (is there a quiz somewhere at like the BDSM version of the Oprah magazine?)  I have always merely considered myself submissive.  And then, more recently have identified myself as a slave.  I have just never really even considered that I'm a masochist.  And maybe I'm not.  Maybe it's truly just my inherent need to serve, to fulfill his desires.  But I have found myself more and more lately craving him hurting me, marking me, making me sore and worn out.

I think my problem with the word masochist is because, to me, it evokes visions of needles, or emotional abuse (I am so not an emotional masochist), both of which make me feel a little queasy.  See, that's all baggage from my past.  Before I discovered the wonderful world of bdsm, I used to always fall for the bad boy, the alpha male, the possessive, jealous, mindfucking dirt bag.  I didn't realize I was a submissive (slave) seeking out her Master.  So instead, I bumbled along and dated some serious headcases.  As I evolved and matured, I turned into a woman who would rather be alone than be with someone who is alpha and controlling and sadistic and out to destroy me.

So then I discovered this safe haven of bdsm.  I completely identified and was enamored with the d/s part of the bdsm realm.  I love the b/d part, as well.  And although when I was single, I toyed a bit with some sadists, really, that didn't appeal to me.  And I was afraid it was too easy for me to fall back into my old pattern of the type of men I was attracted to.  

Fast forward to now.  I find many times lately instead of thinking of the sex or even the loving cuddles, I think a lot about needing to hurt for him. Taking whatever he has to give in any form; spanking, biting, slapping, pinching.  I guess it's because I feel safe enough as his girl, who is loved and cherished as his slave that I can go to these darker corners of my fantasies. I find wanting pain more than I'm even wanting pleasure.  I crave seeing that look of pure intensity on his face and hearing his sadistic chuckle.

I guess even someone who is completely at ease with being considered a masochist doesn't stub their toe and moan in ecstasy.  But when Master said to me the other day how he can't wait to mark my body again, it touched me in such a primal need, making me want that more than air or sex or chocolate.  And how I know it's a good sadist in him?  My litmus test of sorts is how I feel after he's been sadistic to me.  And always, I feel good about myself, even if humbled or made to feel more submissive, I never ever feel that icky bad about myself feeling that you get when dealing with a not-so-controlled sadist.

It scares the hell out of me, too. That I love a sadist. That I trust my heart and my world to a sadist. Luckily, Mr.G is very controlled and also a very loving Master. But it doesn't go unnoticed how I usually loathe being teased or laughed at. But I love to hear his sadistic chuckle so much, times when he's teasing me or poking a bit of fun, I don't go to my defensive and therefore witty sharp comeback girl place.  Instead I feel a little....humbled, put in my place.  Hearing his sadistic laugh brings out something in me I don't think I knew I had.

Upon looking at my favorite dictionary site online, I found a few widely ranging definitions for masochist.  Macmillan says:  someone who gets sexual pleasure from being hurt. (well, I do get soaking wet when he spanks me)  Merriam-Webster says:  1. a sexual perversion characterized by pleasure in being subjected to pain or humiliation especially by a love object, or 2, pleasure in being abused or dominated; a taste for suffering.  (this one is so far all over the place.  what exactly is a "love object?  and I'm pretty positive I don't like suffering).

Then I stumbled upon this definition, on  It says: 1. (psychiatry) the condition in which sexual gratification depends on suffering, physical pain, and humiliation.  2. gratification gained from pain, deprivation, degradation, etc., inflicted or imposed on oneself, either as a result of one's own actions or the actions of others, especially the tendency to seek this form of gratification. 3.  the act of turning one's destructive tendencies inward or upon oneself. 4.  the tendency to find pleasure in self-denial, submissiveness, etc.  (oh, so masochism is a psychological condition? and i always turn my destructive tendencies inward.  And I *do* find pleasure in submissiveness and more specifically, serving a sometimes sadistic Master.)
So I end this blog back right back where I started.  Am I a masochist?

Wednesday, February 2, 2011

When Normal and Perverse Happen Simultaneously

As I've said before, I love dichotomy.  I love something going on that's unseen or unknown to anyone around but my Master and myself.  Something happened the other night that I just have to write about.  I find that I mostly want to blog when I have something slutty to say.  So, I guess I'm resigned to the fact that my blog is not filled with thought-provoking intelligent BDSM discussions. And more so just filled with the smut that permeates my brain. I don't even know if I love to blog about it so much because I want to brag about my Master and our super hot experiences or if it's because I want to relive and memorialize it through my writing.  Either way, I write when the muse strikes.

The whole situation the other night was such an ultimate fantasy type thing for me.  I will explain.  I have a fairly common submissive's fantasy.  I love the whole being naked while He's completely dressed thing.  The very obvious demonstration of him completely in control, almost seeming bored by it all. And then there's me, wanting to cum, begging to cum, caring about nothing other than my throbbing pussy, my too-hard nipples, wanting/needing to be fucked and used. Meanwhile, he's talking to me on the phone and he's grocery shopping.

Damn, I'm getting ahead of myself again.  Always getting straight to the wanting/begging to cum.  I know one thing that's becoming abundantly clear to me is that I'm an orgasm-addict.  I have to struggle to keep myself from begging every single day to have a play.  I know he's limiting my orgasms because he can.  And I hate to admit it, but when I'm cumming less, I certainly do appreciate them more.  I just get to an I-hate-the-world-you-can-all-piss-off place pretty intensely when it's been a few days.  But I've really been working hard to get past my own selfish needs and swallow down the hornies.  Plus, I'm not above begging to cum, explaining how I'm going to die, explode, launch into outer space, etc.  And although I won't ever say Master is too generous in this area, I will say that he keeps me sane, yet still under his thumb.  And most certainly not the lazy masturbating slut who never had time for much beyond her toy bag that I had occasions of being before I was his.

So here he is, walking around Tesco, grabbing a few groceries.  And I can't hold back my inner whore.  My inner whore is so insatiable.  She'd love to get fucked and spanked and hurt and made to cum so much that the English language no longer exists.  But she wants that shit every day!  So I don't listen to my inner whore much.  But sometimes, I can't contain the need any longer.  And I start telling him about my hands and they can't stop touching my body (while I'm at home, in a dark room, in a bed, with comfie clothes on and easy access to all my most needy and whorish places) and he's walking around a brightly-lit grocery store, (obviously) completely dressed and normal-seeming, just talking to me like we're talking about the weather.  

And we were talking about something, which obviously has slipped my mind. But every few minutes I'd tell him how I couldn't keep my hands out of my panties.  And I couldn't stop running my hands over my rock hard nipples.  I was just teasing myself and making myself crazy.  I'd just blogged about how I kinda lose my mojo when I go so very long without cumming with/for him.  So he knew how desperate I was for that kind of connection. 

And at the same time, I was trying so hard not to cross the line if he just wanted me to tease myself and nothing more than that.   He's walking around the store, "oh, look diet coke is on sale."  And he'd said I could touch myself, maybe even said I could fuck myself with my fingers (actually, I know he must've, there's no way I'd do this without permission).  I get so foggy when I'm just full-on in the slutty moment, I can't tell you what/how it was said.  But beyond just teasing myself and being so lost in that, I'm also thinking about his sadistic side.  And I truly wasn't sure if he was going to really let me cum.  I wouldn't put it past him to let me work myself all up and then be like, "girl, I am in the grocery store.  You need to behave" or something equally horrible.  And then I would've pouted and tried to not feel psychotic.

So here's the fantasy.  I keep trying to get control of myself.  He's in a public place, doing a vanilla normal thing and yet here I am, nothing but a needing, begging, panting, fucking myself, rubbing myself, pinching myself sex object.  But then I stopped myself, because what the fuck?  He's in a grocery store for God's sake, walking around in a public place.  I really am nothing but a wanton whore.  But I truly couldn't stop myself. And more importantly, he wasn't encouraging me, but wasn't stopping me either! He just continued our talk about whatever it was about (groceries maybe?)  And I finally stopped touching myself and said, "I have to stop, I'm going to cum" and that's what he said those most hoped-for words.  "I didn't tell you to stop" when I realized.  He's actually going to let me cum while he's getting diet coke and milk and snacks!!!!

So I fucked myself into oblivion.  I have to say, Mr. G's limiting my orgasms and inner whore like he does makes me appreciate the simple things in life.  Like his voice, a dark room and my usually too-short can't quite hit the right spots fingers.  When I started to beg to cum and he told me to cum for him, I didn't care what was fucking me, he told me I could cum and that was all I needed to hear.  God, I really didn't think I could cum that hard without my toys!!  It was so intense, when he was saying "good girl" afterwards, my pussy was clenching my fingers so tight, I was like...hmmm...not letting go. It was like a five-minute orgasm.

The convenient part is, I had time to recover from my earth-shattering o while he checked out. So I could try and regather my thoughts and then I could attempt to be the interesting and entertaining slave my Master deserves while he's at work and running errands instead of an orgasm-addicted junkie who can do nothing more than talk dirty and beg for plays. I wonder if there's an herbal remedy for this addiction....some tea I can drink or bath I can soak in that makes me feel more like most 30-something-year-old married women, instead of the raving nymphomaniac that I tend to be.