Day 112 - On Victorian Servitude and Being a Maid of All Work, On Getting Flirty with a Very Cute Actor at a Christmas Play, On Being Flogged for my First Time (and Loving It), On Getting My Birthday Spanking, On Coming in Second With Master During a BDSM Competition, and On Having Trouble Watching "Upstairs Downstairs"

I was attempting recently to watch “Upstairs Downstairs,” the British television show from the 70’s about the lives of the servants (downstairs) and their employers (upstairs) in an Edwardian household.

Master and M’Lady desire me to watch it so that I can understand how they would love things to be here. Master often says he considers his household to be “neo-Victorian,” and although he doesn’t believe in emulating Victorian life in a lot of ways, it’s how he wishes to see my service to him. (And, no, I’m not going to get into the debate of “slavery versus servitude” again. I’m sick of that.)

Master has all the episodes on DVD. The problem is that I’m quite hard of hearing, and the DVDs aren’t closed-captioned, and the audio and video from the American DVDs is absolutely horrible, and they’re speaking with deep British accents, so ... I’m hardly understanding a word being said. I was able to get the novelization of the series out from the library, and that’s been delightful to read, but it naturally cuts out quite a bit of everything. Nonetheless, by combining what I’m reading in the novel with what little I can make out from the show, I’m getting a grasp regarding what’s happening.

I also need to understand Victorian servitude because Master desires me to teach a class on the historical roots of modern consensual slavery. Part of it will be to discuss Victorian servitude because, Master said, much of what is expected in modern consensual slaves comes from the ideas of that time period.

From what I’ve seen just in the first half of the first episode of “Upstairs Downstairs”, I can see what he’s saying. Domestic employees are treated by their employers almost like chattel, to the point of being renamed with a “servant” name to which they are forced to respond (just like many slaves have been renamed by their Owners throughout history). The big difference is, of course, any servant can leave their employer ... in theory, that is, as some servants simply weren’t able to find other work (just like many people in jobs of all types today often have to work in awful conditions because they desperately need the job, or because any other jobs out there would be even worse) or had other reasons to remain (such as the fact that many servants came from a tradition of servitude and wouldn’t think of doing anything else).

Oh, yeah ... in case you didn’t notice, I just compared a lot of normal jobs out there today to slavery. I’m not the first, and I won’t be the last, to make that analogy.

I’ve been researching Victorian servitude in other ways, and it’s clear I would be what’s considered a “maid of all work,” which is basically a female servant who does everything. I’ve attached at the bottom of today’s post a good description of it, taken from a book written in 1858 titled “The Dictionary of Daily Wants” (which is viewable and searchable online). Here’s the first paragraph of the definition, though, with emphasis on the last sentence, which makes me realize just how close to home this definition is for me: “A domestic servant, who undertakes the whole duties of a household without assistance; her duties comprising those of cook, housemaid, nurserymaid, and various other offices, acccording to the exigencies of the establishment. The situation is one which is usually regarded as the hardest worked and worst paid of any branch of domestic servitude; it is, therefore, usually filled by inexperienced servants, or females who are so circumstanced that they are only desirous of securing a home, and of earning sufficient to keep themselves decently clad. In many of these situations, a servant may be very comfortably circumstanced, especially if it be a limited family of regular habits, and where there is a disposition to treat the servant with kindness and consideration.”

*blinks*

After looking online, I found out that I’m not the only one with problems with the series. Apparently, people with very good hearing are complaining left and right that the American DVD set is absolutely terrible. The British version, however, is apparently fantastic. Master came in while I was reading that, and I told him what I had found out, and to my delight, he spontaneously ordered the British DVD set for me to watch (he has a DVD player he bought specifically for British DVDs, so that’s no problem). The set wasn’t very expensive, but, even more, he really wants me to watch them, so it looks like I’ll have a better chance soon!

Anyway ...

It’s Friday night, and I’m behind in my posting again. I’m a little loopy tonight because Master flogged me for ... err ... I have no idea how long he was at it.

We went to the Denver Sanctuary BDSM Club for the opening night of a theater play being performed there called, “Who Killed Santa?” It was very silly and funny in places, and fortunately I got to read the script so I could know what was being said.

The guy who played “Tiny Tim” (who was one of the suspects) was quite cute, by the way. And he had a fantastic singing voice. And did I say he was rather cute? *grins*I made no bones about how I felt to Master, and he very nicely let me go to the actor when he was getting ready to leave and tell him I thought he did a great job. And the actor and I talked ... and I told him I was a slave full time ... and he told me he had a list of fetishes as long as his arm ... and he loved getting dressed up like a little girl and spanked ... and I practically melted ... and he wanted to give me his phone number but couldn’t find a pen ... and I told him the lady who runs the club knows my Owner and can give him my number ... and ... I came back to Master dreamy eyed ... and Master knows I’d love to ... err ... get together with the actor some day and ... y’know ...

*giggles*

The night continued to be a good one because later on Master got out his box of floggers, as I previously noted. He soon ordered me into the dungeon, made me take off my shirt and bra, placed me against a St. Andrew’s Cross, and (literally) before I knew it he was flogging me and ... it was my very first time. Yep. Never flogged before tonight.

He kept moving up to more and more intense floggers as the time wore on. First his flogging was soft ... then got harder ... and more painful ... then annoying as hell ... then loosened up ... then sort of flowed together ... then became a very nice stinging ... and at that point Master showed me he had been using a very painful single-tailed whip ... and to me it was a pleasant sensation when it hit me ... and that’s when Master knew I was flying, that I had crossed over ... and instead of flogging me he started rubbing my back and caressing it with a very soft flogger ... and ... after awhile he brought me to a bench ... and ... mmmm ... I was flying tonight ... And I still am a bit ...

Within the last month I’ve tried needle play, paddling and flogging ... and I love them all! *bounces*

Speaking of spanking, I got a rather nasty paddling last Saturday, which so happened to be my birthday. Master brought his favorite paddles, laid them out at the club, made me drop my pants and bend over a bench, and proceeded to whack my ass several dozen times (and I’m not saying exactly how many! *winks*) I was buzzing that night, too!

But the fact that we had done a scene earlier in the night made it even more powerful.

The earlier scene was part of a big contest going on called the MacGyver Challenge. Dominants were each given a bag of random stuff bought at a dollar store, and they had five minutes to think up a BDSM scene they could do with their sub using only that stuff.

Master got some Christmas-tree wire tinsel, hair curlers, a toilet brush, latex gloves and three plastic rulers. Soon I was tied to a pillory using the tinsel with my fingers locked together in the hair curlers in front of my breasts while Master started torturing my vagina with the brush and attacking my nipples with the rulers and gloves. I made sure the judges could see I was having an intense experience, and I think that helped. *grins* I did orgasm at least once while he was thrusting the brush between my legs, so I wasn’t pretending or anything! *chuckles*

Out of 13 teams there, Master and I won second place. First place would have been admission to the club for a year (a $700 total value). Second place was admission to the club’s New Year’s party (a $50 value). We probably won’t go, so Master plans to give the tickets as a Christmas gift to somebody.

We’re heading back to the club again tonight. I’ve amazingly got another night off from cooking because they’re having an after-Thanksgiving buffet there. Beats me what Master and I will do afterward. Probably “beats me” is an accurate prediction. *chuckles*

Hmmm ... Maybe the guy who played Tiny Tim will be there again tonight ... *smiles*

La kajira!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Maid of All Work -- A domestic servant, who undertakes the whole duties of a household without assistance; her duties comprising those of cook, housemaid, nurserymaid, and various other offices, acccording to the exigencies of the establishment. The situation is one which is usually regarded as the hardest worked and worst paid of any branch of domestic servitude; it is, therefore, usually filled by inexperienced servants, or females who are so circumstanced that they are only desirous of securing a home, and of earning sufficient to keep themselves decently clad. In many of these situations, a servant may be very comfortably circumstanced, especially if it be a limited family of regular habits, and where there is a disposition to treat the servant with kindness and consideration.

The duties of a maid of all work being multifarious, it is necessary that she should arise early in the morning; and six or half-past six o'clock is the latest period at which she should remain in bed. She should first light the kitchen fire, and set the kettle over to boil; then she should sweep, dust, and prepare the room in which breakfast is to be taken. Having served the breakfast, she should, while the family are engaged upon that meal, proceed to the various bedchambers, strip the beds, open the windows, etc. This done, she will obtain her own breakfast, and after washing and putting away the things, she will again go upstairs, and finish what remains to be done there.

As the family will in all probability dine early, she must now set about the preliminaries for the dinner, making up the fire, preparing the vegetables, etc. After the dinner is cleared away, and the things washed and put by in their places, she must clean the kitchen; and this done, she is at liberty to attend to her own personal appearance, to wash and dress herself, etc. By this time the preparation for tea will have to be thought of, and this being duly served and cleared away, she must employ herself in needlework in connection with the household, or should there happen to be none requiring to be done, she may embrace this opportunity to attend to her own personal necessities. Supper has then to be attended to; and this finished, the maid of all work should take the chamber candlesticks, hot water, etc., into the sitting-room, and retire to rest as soon as her mistress or the regulation of the establishment will permit her.

The duties here set down can only be regarded as an outline rather than a detail, the habits of every family varying, and thereby regulating the amount of labour demanded, and the order in which the duties are to be performed. As a rule, however, a maid of all work, if she wish to retain her situation, must be industrious, cleanly, and thoughtful; and not only able to work, but to plan.

Day 109 - On Gor and How It Still Affects Me Deeply, On Gorean Parodies, On Meeting Goreans at the Inner Sanctum High-Protocol Event, and On Being Nervous about Plans to Have Dinner with Goreans Next Week

Gor! Huh, yeah.
What is it good for?
Absolutely nothing
Say it again, y'all

*grins*

Okay, recovering Gorean here, playing around with the lyrics to “War”.

I’m one of those weird cases of a Gorean who hates Gor. To be more precise, I hate the Gor as it’s presented in the books, in which human life is worthless, compassion is considered a character flaw, and every woman is considered by men to be nothing more than a slave (although some simply haven’t been collared yet).

I don't necessarily dislike people who live the Gorean lifestyle. Heck, I really like some of them, and it wasn't that long ago I was seeking a Gorean Master to serve permanently full-time. In about a week and a half, my Master and I will be eating dinner with a Gorean Master and his kajira, and tonight I wrote a long letter to a differeng Gorean kajira I know praising her inspiring devoition to her Master and her beautiful skills in service.

So I don't hate Goreans. But I hate Gor, as it's presented in the 20-something novels written by John Norman during the last 40-plus years.

I’m a kajira at heart ("kajira" is a Gorean word that simply means "female slave"). I'm that in my soul. I am the type of woman that the Gorean books claim all women are. And, as such, I would serve as a kajira joyfully and lovingly on Gor, and I’ve often wished to be there, in a place where all women are beautiful and sensual and ...

But not all women are like me. When I look at the books now, I feel a sense of horror and dread for the lives of the women in the novels, who at any moment could find their existence and freedom stripped forever away from them, to go from being physicians and scholars and mothers to being sex toys in a heartbeat without rights of any kind.

I was a Gorean for years. It’s how I was introduced to the lifestyle. And it’s how many Masters and slaves find their place.

As I've indicated, Gor isn’t just a series of science-fiction books to some people. It’s the basis for a way of life.

The Gorean books are horribly written, without a doubt. Even the most die-hard Gorean will admit to that.

A couple of quite clever parodies have been made of the awful writing, by the way. One is Gay, Bejeweled, Nazi Bikers of Gor, and the other is Houseplants of Gor. Both are worth the read.

Despite the awful writing, there are some actually quite intelligent people who attempt to take something of value out of the books.

Things like honor. And being true to yourself.

And there are not-so-valued things. Such as a belief that all women are naturally submissive to men, and that’s the way evolution intended it.

Things like believing that all women were created to serve the desires of men.

So why do I love and hate Gor at the same time? How can some Goreans be very respectable and honorable, and others be misogynistic and sociopathic?

Well, the thing is ... Gor started off as a pretty fun series of books. There was sex and slavery and action and daring do. There was a great hero and a great (and very intelligent) female sidekick who was his match in every way.

So if you're going to read Gor, the first five books are okay. Hell, I'd have to say that "Nomads of Gor" and "Tarnsman of Gor" are among my favorite science-fiction books of all time.

But after then, they started to spiral downward into eventual insanity.

There's a fantastic article called "Looking North to the Sea, She Finds the Weather Fine", which explains the contrast between the good first books in the series and the awfulness of the later books. It's extremely well written, and worth checking out if you want to understand why Gor can be seen in both good and bad lights.

I wrote a Website years ago about Gor (it's at A Dog's Life: Gorean Thoughts), and I put in some links to a few essays that don’t exactly praise the Gorean way of thinking. I haven’t updated it in awhile, but it’s continued to get quite a few hits over the years, so I keep it up as a resource for people who want to understand a particular perspective.

One of the sites I link to is an essay entitled "Chain Gang", which is possibly the best online article I’ve seen on the subject. It manages to blast Gor in an incredibly intelligent yet entertaining way. I highly recommend you check it out, whether you’re Gorean or not.

I probably should also mention one of the best humorous stories on the Web that pokes fun in a nice way at Goreans, called “Geeks and Greeks on Gor”.

I mention all that because Master and I made the acquaintance of two Gorean Master/slave couples at last Friday’s Inner Sanctum meeting (the monthly high-protocol event at the Denver Sanctuary BDSM club). Everybody at the Inner Sanctum that night got along wonderfully, and it was one of the most enjoyable formal meetings I’ve ever attended as a slave.

The following was written by a Gorean Master who attended that meeting for the first time. His words were so eloquent that they moved more than a few people who attended:
“Only my times of sharing with my unofficial Mentor and dear Friend have left me more silent than sitting with the Masters of the Inner Sanctum. Maybe the greatest tribute to offer these men of wisdom was that they were strong enough to know when to openly share and when to quiet themselves and confidently listen. I was drawn to everything that they had to say. There were 8 exquisitely beautiful slaves there and yet it was as if they weren't even there. Their reality was only evident in the periodical occurrence of each of them tending to their Masters' needs, here and there. Other than that I barely recognized them as being there, at all. Such is the way that it should be. But by the end of my time with these men, it was THEY who were dominating the discussion and it was I who was spellbound and hanging on each phrase. I didn't agree with all of it. It's not required that I do. But there was a profound, quiet sense of tolerance and acceptance that was nothing short of refreshing”


One of those two Gorean Masters we met has since invited my Master and I to dinner, and we have accepted, with plans to attend a week from Sunday. The other Master’s kajira is excited to talk with me again, and I’m greatly looking forward to being with her.

I’m nervous, though, because my time in Gor has left me some mental and emotional scars.

I came to accept the ideas of the book as they applied to life and myself. And I had nightmares, sometimes night after night, about life on Gor for other people. Women who were stripped from a good life and a loving family and forced to become less than nothing, then being killed without the least remorse for the slightest offense.

Gor sucks.

And, yet, a part of me still loves it there.

It was home to me.

Gradually, because of Master and Mistress, Earth has again become more of a home to me than Gor.

But I know I’m drawn there. So we’ll see what happens next week.

Master doesn’t have the total aversion to Gor that Mistress did. Mistress completely barred me from having any contact with Goreans, online or offline, or to read the books. Master, however, knows the effect it had on me, and he believes he can work with me on it, to allow it to remain a valid part of my life.

I still wear my kajira T-shirt when I go out at times ( I got it at CafePress. You can find almost ANYTHING there! *giggles*)

And I still consider myself a kajira.

I think I always might. Such is life.

La kajira!

p.s. For fun, Master sent me the lyrics to “My Kajira”, the Gorean equivalent of “My Sharona.” He wrote it, and he said anybody can use it or reprint it, as long as they attribute it to "Master Grey of Colorado." I thought I’d pass it along here! *chuckles*

Ooh, my little pretty one, my pretty one,
Gonna make you wear my ko-lar, kajira.
Swift as a thalarion, thalarion,
Chase you all the way to Port Kar, kajira.

Never gonna stop, give it up, this is what I crave,
I always get it up for the touch of a Tuchuk slave,
My, my, my, aye-aye, whoa!
M-m-m-my kajira

Come a little closer, huh, a-will ya, huh?
Close enough to look in my eyes, kajira.
Soon you will belong to me, belong to me,
Branded at the top of your thigh, kajira.

Never gonna stop, give it up, this is what I crave,
I always get it up for the touch of a Tuchuk slave,
My, my, my, aye-aye, whoa!
M-m-m-my kajira
M-m-m-my kajira

When will you submit to me, submit to me,
You cannot resist any more, kajira,
Is it d-d-destiny, d-destiny,
Or is this just a game about Gor, kajira?

Never gonna stop, give it up, this is what I crave,
I always get it up for the touch of a Tuchuk slave,
My, my, my, aye-aye, whoa!
M-m-m-m-m-m-m-my, my, my, aye-aye, whoa!
M-m-m-my kajira
M-m-m-my kajira
M-m-m-my kajira
M-m-m-my kajira

Ooooooo-ohhh, my kajira
Ooooooo-ohhh, my kajira
Ooooooo-ohhh, my kajira


p.p.s. A heavy-metal band named Phonetica has a song about Gor called “Slave Raid.” The song doesn’t exactly fit my tastes, but here’s the lyrics if you’re curious:

A ship on the solar tide ride
On dimensional wave bide
The power of lust and greed
Drives a crew into evil deed

Appearing in the atmosphere
Yet no mortal may see or hear
No woman safe in her bed
No virgin pure in her head
No human female is safe
From the harvester of slaves

Bow to me now
You're a slave, not a lover
Please me enough
You'll earn the chains in my bed
Every cell every nerve
Knows you were born to serve
Don't fight the thrall you feel
The pleasure when you kneel

Traveling now to your realm of rebirth
Other side of the sun
Life of collar begun
My Kajira of Counter-Earth!

No woman is free
No woman is saved
Who has not known the leash
Who has not been enslaved

Day 108 -- On Having Made a Six-Figure Salary as a Computer Programmer Before Becoming a Slave, On Writing the Final Chapters of My Werewolf Novel, and On Having Fun with My Former Mistress

Mmmm ….

It’s been a heck of a few days. So many things on my mind at the moment.

I didn’t mention in my last post, but I had a fantastic time with Mistress last Tuesday. I went over and packed up my car with the last of my stuff from her place, and then I cleaned up a bit. And then we fucked like girly bunnies and I came really hard, and so did she, and we cuddled and kissed and … mmmm … And then, for her birthday, I made catfish jambalaya and honey-basil salmon steaks, and I have to say the salmon came out PERFECT in a very heavenly way, and she agreed very nicely. It was a wonderful day, and it reminded me of just how much I miss her and still love her.

Then after I came home that night, I finished up with the first draft of another chapter in my novel, and soon afterward I got all of the previous chapters together in one spot. I’ve only got two chapters and an epilogue left, and I want to make sure it’s done right. So, with that in mind, I’m going to read through all of the 112,000 words I’ve written in all the chapters so far, fix all the little things I’ve taken notes for but never done, and, with all I’ve written in my head, pounce on the last bit of the novel.

“Err … what novel?” you’re probably asking. Okay, I guess I’ve never mentioned it, but I’ve been working on a novel for about three and a half years. I was hot and heavy into it for almost two years, then I entered into my year of hell (in which I was clinically depressed) and lost myself into SecondLife for awhile. Finally, about a month ago, I picked it up again, and to my shock and happy surprise, I’m writing just as fluidly as ever. Everything I had planned with the characters is coming back, and it looks like I’ll be done with the first draft in less than three months.

The novel is about a female wolf-born werewolf who is volunteers for a suicide mission to interact with the local vampires and … what I’m hoping sets it apart is that the main character is by nature a wolf, not a human, and so the perspective and satire on society is quite different than other female-werewolf novels. Of which there are a ton. There weren’t that many when I started writing it, but my delay due to my depression caused me to miss the crest of the wave.

Actually, if I had finished the novel late last year (when I had planned), it still might not be published. First I’d have to find an agent (which could take months or more than a year), then the agent would have to find a publisher (which could take months or more than a year), and with all that I might never be published.

I told Master about it, and he said he’ll guarantee I’ll get published. On Kindle. Master said it’s the way to self-publish in style these days. What I would do is, after the novel is edited to its final draft and ready to go, I upload it to Amazon.com for sale to readers of their Kindle e-book device. I’ll set the price relatively low (probably $2.99 or even $1.99) to get impulse buyers, and with any luck I’ll get a decent amount of cash back. I’m not expecting six figures, but twenty grand would be rather swell.

The market’s still good for female werewolf novels, and I do know how to write, as I was a journalist for a decade. And the book is written in journalistic style, and I do have a wolf spirit, and …

Well, I’ve got my dewclaws crossed it won’t flop.

I’ve got a sequel lined up as well, in case I get an audience.

And I’ve got a third book ready to go, completely outlined and set to write. It’s inspired by what happened to me during the year I was lost in SecondLIfe. I’m determined to make all the time I wasted in there … not be wasted, but instead become useful for my writing career.

Anyway, more on the novel as it progresses.

Speaking of making six figures … well … I used to, by the way.

Yep. A year and a half ago, I was pulling in more than $100,000 a year.

Now I’m a slave, making only room and board and whatever else my Master generously provides for me. Master has set it up that each month he’ll pay for my health insurance, the child support I’m paying my ex, and about $150 allowance for me to save toward unexpected expenses (such as taking my kids to the zoo). Yes, I did say “child support”. Yeah, I was the breadwinner of the family at one point in my life. Did I mention I had been making six figures?

In case anybody’s wondering, the way I was making so much money is that I had somehow lucked into a high-level software programming position for a major company.

And the reason I don’t have it any more is because of two things – the recession, and the fact that, to be honest, I was never a programmer at heart.

Years ago I got into computer science because I wanted to do computer animation, and I didn’t realize that the jobs in that field went to people with art degrees. I hated being a programmer, and I failed at it miserably, and eventually I left it and got a second degree doing what I loved – writing. I became a professional journalist for a decade, and it was a wonderful, stressful, incredible (and quite low-salary) time in my life.

Then children entered our life, and suddenly having a low-paying job I loved didn’t cut it anymore.

My ex didn’t have a marketable degree, and I thought my old computer science certification was useless. But then the tech boom happened, and companies were hiring techies left and right, male and female, it didn’t matter. And so I went to work while my ex stayed home with the kids.

I went from job to job over the next eight years, eventually winding up in a position making more than $100K.

My ex and I were spoiled, thinking it would last forever. So although we paid off all our bills, and we had the brains to pay off our mortgage, we didn’t save much of anything.

But that was then, and this is now. My ex is surviving on Medicare, food stamps, credit cards and the child support I send.

And I’m a slave.

Life is weird, y’know?

On that note, I’m behind in my postings for various reasons, so even though I have more to write about, I’m going to go ahead and get this out for now.

As always, la kajira!

p.s. In a post on the "Slave Registry" message board, somebody asked what everybody's daily chore routines were. I put my my list there, and I'm putting it here as well, in case anybody's curious regarding what my daily life's like workwise. This list, by the way, was reviewed and formally approved by my Master:

Rotating schedule:
• Clean M’Lady’s bathroom top to bottom
• Clean Master’s bathroom top to bottom
• Clean entry and basement bathroom top to bottom
• Clean mudroom counters, shelves, washer and drier and floor
• Vacuum main-floor rugs
• Vacuum upstairs rugs
• Vacuum and mop kitchen floor
• Wipe kitchen counters, cabinets and refrigerator surfaces
• Vacuum and mop main-floor wood floor
• Clean light switches, door knobs and other commonly handled areas around the house
• Wipe office chairs, desks and other often used surfaces
• Look for area where dust has built up and clean thoroughly
• Dust areas of house not often touched (such as glass cabinets)
• Inspect garage and porch, then clean if needed
• At end of cycle, inspect house thoroughly to see if anything was missed

Daily:
• Make Master’s bed
• Discuss evening meal with Master if needed, then prepare, shopping if necessary
• Pick up mail at external dropoff
• Get mail from outside
• Tidy my room
• Empty trash and recycling around the house if full
• Check laundry and do if needed
• Check bathrooms to see if they are out of toilet paper and paper towels
• Check around house and clean up where any dirt or spilled liquids found
• Ensure house is locked up at night
• Microwave sponges on plate for 30 seconds
• Check if dishes need to be done. If so, also wash sponges in dishwasher.
• Check personal e-mail and Fetlife and respond as necessary

Weekly:
• Sunday night: Put out trash (and recycling every other week)
• Wash M’Lady’s bed sheets
• Wash Master’s bed sheets
• File receipts
• Check BDSM community calendar for upcoming events

When time allows:
• Study massage
• Study Perl to assist Master in the future
• Study recipe books to assist Master in the future

Day 104 - On Hearing Somebody Defiantly Declare "I'm Your Slave, Not Your Maid!", On Getting My Ass Merrily Whipped for Being an Insolent Brat, On Realizing Just How Different I am From Some of the "Slaves" In the Local BDSM Community, and On Coming Up With the Definition of "Consensual Slavery" to End All Debates (I Hope)

“I’m your slave, not your maid!”

Those are among the most ridiculous words I’ve ever heard uttered by anybody in the local BDSM community, and I heard them tonight at a meeting for area submissives at the Denver Sanctuary.

It was my first time to attend, and I was rather excited about meeting other slaves.

Turns out there was quite a bit of a gulf between most the other people there and myself.

The topic tonight was on “safe words and have we ever used them.” A “safe word,” by the way, is a verbal way for a slave or submissive or bottom or whatever to indicate that they’ve crossed their limit (such as during physical torture) and that things HAVE to stop NOW! As you can guess, it’s meant to be used very rarely, pretty much only in emergencies.

Well, I talked about how, as a slave, I never use a safe word, and that led to a discussion about the nature of slavery.

About that time one of the people who head the group, a woman who self-identifies as a slave, said her so-called Master commanded her to do some domestic work, and she refused, responding, “I’m your slave, not your maid!”

I stared at her in shock for a long time.

Another woman, who identified as a submissive, said she would not accept a “long to-do list” from her dominant. To her, being a submissive meant allowing her husband to choose the movie they watched and the dinner he took them out to see and what kind of fun they had in bed afterward.

When I, on the other hand, started talking about how to me being a slave was primarily about service, I got a few of my own stares of shock from the other people in the room.

It was about then that I got a bit of an epiphany and realized the difference between me and most so-called “slaves” in the BDSM lifestyle. I came into this from a Gorean background, where a slave is fully owned by their Master in every way. When I think of slavery, I think of non-consensual slavery, where a slave has to do anything and everything their owner demands. To me, slavery is about service, and anything regarding BDSM or sex is just icing on the cake, a reward for good service. In contrast, most people in the room consider slavery to primarily be about BDSM, with the non-kinky aspects thrown on top as an annoyance. Without the BDSM or sex, I would still be a slave. But for most of the other people there tonight, without the BDSM or sex, there would be no point in the slavery. My relationship with Master is slavery flavored by BDSM. Their relationship with their Masters is BDSM flavored by slavery.


I tried to explain to the people there that what I got out of being a slave came from the ownership itself, from being the property of my Master, from having my Master take responsibility for me and control of my life. For his allowing me to follow the true path of my heart.

Only two people seemed to understand my mindset – the slave of Master T, who is a very good friend of my Master, and a woman I met at the paddling party. She self-identifies as a submissive, but by the end of the meeting she was saying she may just be a slave after all. For her, the time she spends with her dominant is centered around BDSM, but she said tonight she couldn’t imagine every disobeying him, she allows him to control her diet when they’re not together, she would change her daily plans at his request, and she would do housework or anything else he might request. I’d say that makes her a slave without a doubt. But the problem is there’s no real consensus on what a slave is, as indicated by some of my very first posts in this blog.

Or is there?

When I was talking afterward to my Master about the meeting, we were laughing about that one woman, and I said she was in no way a slave.

But then, I realized that some people would say I’m not a slave because my slavery is consensual.

Hmmm … Y’know, “slavery” has a definition in the dictionary … let’s see …

“Slavery: When a person is the legal property of another and is forced to obey them.”

Using that as a base, I I think I’ve finally come up with the definitive definition for “consensual slavery”. It was the “maid, not a slave” woman who inspired me to write it. Instead of determining what slavery is, I reverse engineered from her, because I figured (initially) that her relationship was NOT slavery.

Okay, here goes … prepare to etch this in stone …

“Consensual slavery: a particular form of slavery, identified as when two or more people willingly engage in a relationship that emulates slavery within mutually agreed upon personal boundaries.”

Add to that my own definition…

“Slave: a person who is in a slavery based situation or relationship”

Then this, also my own definition …

“Slave-hearted (adj): a person who desires to be a slave”

I can’t see any flaws in those. None. They seem to be straightforward and all encompassing. They’re not judgmental. They just lay down ground rules, and if there are flaws in them, I would really like to know of them.

(By the above definitions, by the way, a person cannot be a slave unless they are owned. That simply makes sense to me. I believe a person can be “slave hearted” but not a slave unless they actually are in a slavery based relationship.)

If everybody would agree to those definitions, I think a lot of arguments could be avoided. People would accept whether somebody was in, or was not in, a Master/slave relationship (versus a Dominant/submissive relationship). And then people, instead of arguing about whether their slavery is better (or more real) than somebody else’s slavery, they could accept that there are simply different types of slavery.

For example, I’m a currently living full-time as a domestic slave in a Victorian household setting. My personal boundary is that my relationship with my Owners cannot interfere with my relationship with my children (who live outside of my home with my ex).

Somebody else may be a Gorean kajira, and may have the boundary that her Master cannot access the financial savings that she brought into the relationship.

Somebody else may be a generic sex slave, and may have the boundaries that she will only be a slave at her Owner’s home on weekends and will never do domestic chores.

According to my definitions, the fact that I do the dishes as part of my slavery and somebody else does not doesn’t negate the fact that we’re both in slavery relationships. Neither does the fact that I allow myself to be fucked and sexually used by anybody my Owner desires, and some full-time slaves have told me they would never allow themselves to be used by anybody but their Master.

A personal boundary from somebody might be “we are only going to emulate a monogamous sexual slavery relationship,” and so if the relationship starts to move toward more domestic duties (such as the Master ordering the slave to do the dishes), the slave could refuse within the limits of their relationship.

In my personal opinion, the fewer limits a slavery relationship has, the more realistic it is. The more limits it has, the more it’s just roleplaying to me. Or just BDSM to me. Or something to me that’s not based on non-consensual historical slavery.

And I want a realistic slavery relationship because I feel that’s who I am. It’s what I am at heart.

A slave. A real slave, not just somebody who’s pretending to be one.

La kajira!

p.s. The “I’m a slave, not a maid” woman also said during the meeting that, while she identifies as being a slave, she admits she is not a very good one. She also claimed to be a “feminist slave,” whatever that means.

I told that to Master, and he said what he’s amazed about is not that she said what she said to her Master, but that she lived to tell about it afterward. But then, Master said that possibly, as the woman claims to not be a good slave, most likely her Owner isn’t what most people would consider a good Owner.

With that in mind … a little while after that conversation, Master was walking up the stairs, and I called forth in a mock haughty voice, “Oh, look, here comes my awful slave! I bet he will refuse to obey any of my commands and will instead attempt to order me around. Of course, me, being an awful Mistress, will allow him to do so and …”

I wasn’t able to say much more than that, as Master had very calmly, upon hearing my words, reached for the leather strap he keeps on a wall near the kitchen.

Very soon, I was directed to bend over the couch, and my ass got a very sound and painful whipping, through which I giggled to no end.

“Anything else to say, ‘Mistress’?” he asked afterward with a glare and a grin.

I very wisely remained quiet and, when he returned to his couch, quickly ran in front of him, kneeled on the ground, and gently kissed his feet, returning a gentle peace to the atmosphere.

*grins and winks*

Day 101 - On Being Paddled for an Hour and Loving it More than Yesterday, On Loving the Bitter Cold, On Feeling my Arctic Wolf Come Out, and On Masturbating in the Garage

Tonight was the paddling class by Master.

He used me as a demonstration tool to show how paddles should be used, and to show the effect of using different paddles.

The number and types of paddles Master has is amazing.

He has long and thin paddles made from aluminum. He has short and thick paddles made from granite and other stones. He has paddles made from wood, from thick and dark and heavy ebony to thin and light and creamy bamboo. He has a gigantic leather paddle that was used in the Louisiana prison system.

He has a paddle made from a tire tread. He has wooden rice spoons and rug beaters. He has a leather paddle used in a Scottish boarding school.

Some of the paddles have holes cut in them to decrease air flow and cause the flesh to get pulled up by impact.

One of the paddles he said he loves the most because it makes a great ringing sound when it strikes against flesh.

All of the different types were used on me.

Oh, Hell, did it hurt. Especially the rug beaters. They were the worst.

But I was tripping by the end. Definitely in sub space.

And ... err ... my upper thighs were quite wet by the time Master was done paddling me. I was wondering if everybody in the room could smell my excited vagina's juices flowing down my crotch.

They would have had an easy time of it, for sure, because during almost all of the presentation, I was bent over a table, facing away from the audience, so everybody could clearly watch everything that was happening to my naked ass. And since they were only about 10 feet away, I figure my pussy was pretty obvious to everybody as well.

*giggles*

The most intense paddle of all was one he didn’t have. One of the audience members brought their own paddle collection, and they had a child’s oar used for rowing. It may have been designed for a child to use, but it was still long and heavy.

Master used it on me at the very end, after he had warmed me up sufficiently. He spanked me with it six times. Or seven. I lost count. I could hardly walk back to my chair afterward, I was so woozy.

Master is so wonderful. Throughout the presentation, he checked on me to make sure I was okay.

Not that he really had to, as I was smiling and giggling throughout most of the presentation.

Well, when I wasn’t screaming “OUCH!” Which, of course, isn’t a safe word, so he kept going.

*chuckles*

I got tons of sleep last night. Master had let me sleep in because I had been so busy with so many chores. I shoveled the sidewalks and driveway after the big snow. I hauled lots of boxes into the basement. Things like that.

And, still, tonight, after we got home from the paddle class, I was so exhausted I plopped into bed and fell into a very peaceful sleep.

Mmmmm …

I should probably head to bed now. Master woke me up when he was heading to bed, and I got up to get ready (I was still in my clothes), and I decided to write this. I like how things are getting busier and busier here. I love how my duties as a slave are steadily increasing. Today was pretty busy as well, so this is the first time I’ve had a chance to add to what I was writing last night.

One thing I wanted to mention was the affect snow has on me. I love it, intensely. It seems to affect my instincts.

Yesterday, being out in the snow, I felt like the arctic wolf inside me was screaming to get out. Or howling, as the case may be.

I wanted to prowl. To hunt.

Back when I was with my ex, we lived near some huge tracts of public open space. Some of my fondest memories were taking our black lab for hikes. At midnight. Under a full moon. During snowstorms. Not just individually, but combined, with one of the most wonderful nights of my life being a midnight hike under a full moon during a snowstorm in the middle of a huge field with coyotes shadowing our footsteps and occasionally howling to share the news of our passing. I’d howl back as well, and sometimes they’d even respond, bringing a huge cheer to my heart.

If I could have thrown off my clothes and shoveled the snow nude yesterday, I would have. As it was, the only thing I wore were boots, jeans and a thin T-shirt that said “Slave Girl” on it.

As I was getting things ready, I was in the garage, but without the jeans or boots.

Knowing people on the other side of the street could potentially see me (if they happened to be on the second floor of their houses looking in) really turned me on, and I suddenly couldn’t resist masturbating there, in the cold, so I stripped off my panties and fingered myself until I orgasmed. Mmmmm … that was nice … *bounces happily*

Yeah, I’m an exhibitionist, I have to admit. And Master knows that, which is why he had me take off my jeans and panties tonight for the class. *grins*

*sigh* It’s cold again tonight. Bitter cold. And I still feel like hunting.

I think I’ll go hunt up some leftover chicken in the fridge, then call it a night and curl up to Master in bed.

I am SUCH a lucky girl to be his slave. So very, very lucky, I can’t imagine what I did to deserve this.

La kajira!!!

Day 100 - On Being Paddled by a Sadist (and Loving it), on Planning a Very Busy Week, and On Realizing Just How Spoiled and Priviledged I Am to Be a Consensual Slave in America

Life continues as normal in my Master’s household. Well, normal for here.

A blizzard came down and messed up the plans for today.

I had planned to go to a submissive coffee this morning (as opposed to a more dominant blend. *grins*) Seriously, it was a monthly breakfast coffee klatch for area submissives to get together and chat about their lives, and I really hoped to meet other slaves and share things with them. I’m a bit lonely for people who understand my lifestyle, although I know they’re out there. The good news (barring more bad weather) is the Sanctuary’s monthly submissive’s meeting is also this week, on Wednesday night, so hopefully I’ll have a chance to let my hair down and chew the fat (and talk about the nitty gritty) there. *chuckles*

Also, Master was planning on taking M’Lady and me out to dinner to an Ethiopian restaurant in Boulder to celebrate his and M’Lady’s wedding anniversary. I’ve never been to an Ethiopian restaurant, but I hear the food there is fantastic, and I was really looking forward to it. Well, I think the blizzard was the reason we didn’t go. To be honest, the roads were totally cleared off tonight, and we could have gone. I’m thinking Master was still a bit concerned because of the potential for ice on the road, so things were postponed.

Assuming we are going again soon, the soonest will be … err … I’m not sure.

Tomorrow night Master is teaching a class on paddling, and I’ll be his charming assistant. And, yep, we know what that will mean for my poor little heinie!

Master warmed me up a bit tonight with some S&M fun by first pinching my nipples HARD for a long time, and at first I couldn’t stop giggling, which made him pinch harder, and then I fell into subspace and … wow … it was nice!

I admit, I orgasm damn easily. And I’m finding I can slide into subspace pretty easily as well. Master and I agreed that, without a doubt, I’m a painslut. And a masochist. But we knew that. *grins*

Anyway, after he was done with my nipples, he went into the basement and got a HUGE bamboo rice spoon that made an incredible paddle and … well … let’s just say we tried it out. We had a lot of fun with it, with Master spanking me at random at first (which made me giggle again uncontrollably), then him deciding to paddle me for minor offenses, then deciding on “a bold experiment” to see whether taking my clothes off causes the level of pain to increase exponentially and … he had me pull down my pants and bend over a counter and … WHAM! OUCH! WHAM! OUCH! WHAM! OUCH! Damn, that hurt! But … mmmmm … *laughs*

So … wish me luck tomorrow!

Tuesday night Master has bowling, so that night’s out.

Wednesday is the submissive’s meeting, as I mentioned.

Thursday I had planned to be with my kids.

Friday night is Inner Sanctum, and Master is definitely going with me. That’s the high-protocol meeting at the Sanctuary I talked about in a previous blog, where only people who are specifically invited can attend, and each dominant must be with a submissive (and vice versa). Master loves high protocol, and so do I, so it’s a big deal to us both.

Saturday is my birthday! I’ll be 47! That night is also the McGyver Night competition at the Sanctuary. Each Dominant gets to draw which random piece of equipment he’ll get, and then he’ll be given a box of random stuff, and the challenge is to make the best scene in a limited amount of time. Master and I are really looking forward to it.

And, yeah, I expect I’ll get spanked that night as well in honor of my birthday. Eeep!

So maybe next Sunday will be the Ethiopian restaurant. Well, unless I move the night I’m with my kids to Tuesday.

*sighs*

And, I promised Mistress (whose birthday was last Saturday) that I would spend a day with her this week and make her a fancy lunch. Maybe I can do that on Tuesday. Or Thursday. I’m so confused. This is going to be one heck of a busy week!

For a slave, sometimes I have a really packed social calendar.

It hits me sometimes how being a consensual slave in the United States is truly a life of luxury.

I’ve been reading a fascinating (but depressing) book about how the concept that we’re living in a wonderful society is all based on lies and misconceptions bolstered by politicians and advertisers. The book is titled “Empire of Illusion: The Endo of Literacy and the Triumph of Spectacle”, and it’s by Chris Hedges. At the core, it talks about how we’ve all been hoodwinked into ignoring the real news and important truths in society, and instead how we all are fixated on pretend news, like who’s the winner of American Idol.

In the chapter on “The Illusion of Happiness”, it talks about how awful it is to work in Toyota factories in Japan, and how workers are treated like slaves and treated horribly (while still technically being treated very humanely and safely). The situation is just as bad for many factory workers in the United States. I’m not talking about illegal immigrants, either. I’m talking about how awful the jobs are for so many blue-collar workers in this country.

And when I read about things like that, I realize just how spoiled I am.

I’m the live-in servant for an upper-middle-class couple in an affluent suburb. I get fancy food and videos and computer access and anything I need, and all I have to do is take care of all their household needs and be respectful at all times.

I don’t want to even think about comparing my life to that of real slaves. The non-consensual ones who want to be free, but are chained in small rooms in third world countries and raped by anybody who pays to use them.

Like in the fictional world of Gor, but even worse. Well, okay, not worse, but just as bad.

I got to talking to Master today about my first Master, who was (and is) a die-hard Gorean. He truly believed women should be treated like that. Like non-consensual slaves. Raped and abused against their will.

I hate Gor. People like my first Master sicken me.

And, yet, my first Master still owns a part of my heart. He was truly my Master. And he still is in a way.

Or, he would be, if my current Master wasn’t around.

*sighs, then smiles gently, then sighs again*

This is getting too depressing. I’ll talk about my early Masters in an upcoming post. For now, I’ll post this and head to bed.

Night, everybody.

La kajira.

Day 95 - On Having a Wolf Spirit, On Connecting to My Daughter Spiritually, On Playing a Fantastic (and Free) Game Called The Marionette, and On Having an Uneventful Few Days as a Slave

(Before I go any further, I absolutely have to highly recommend downloading a short but totally free adventure game called “The Marionette.” It’s both very eerie and very beautiful, and believe me when I say you won’t waste your time playing it. More on it later.)

Nothing really noteworthy (at least, regarding my life as a slave) has happened since the last time I wrote, so I figure this time I’ll talk about therianthropy and my wolf spiritual nature, which got me interviewed on The History Channel last year.

Life as a slave in Master’s household has been pretty routine since my last post. I’m finding to my disappointment that, although he’s an expert in numerous activities in the BDSM community, and although he’s considered a very respected Master, and although he keeps telling me he’s a Sadist … he doesn’t really do anything kinky with me.

Mistress was more fun, without a doubt.

To make matters worse, Master has been sick the last few days, and has felt like all the energy has been sucked right out of him.

Oh, well. That’s the life of a slave. It’s not supposed to be about fun. It’s supposed to be about service. And that’s what I do. And it’s supposed to be about being owned. And that’s what Master does to me. Own me.

Oh, I love being a slave, without a doubt. And it often is fun.

I’m getting better at cooking rather quickly. That’s because I cook for Master and M’Lady almost every night.

And when I told Master I love to make sushi, he almost ran to his computer to order me some sushi books, and Friday we’re going to get the ingredients and have me make it for everybody.

Eventually, he said, he wants me to handle all the cooking. He wants me to familiarize myself with the main cookbooks, to learn what he and M’Lady prefer regarding tastes and dishes, and to become in charge of the kitchen in such a way that the only time they have to think about food is when I’m announcing that dinner (or lunch) is ready to be served.

Sounds great to me! I’ve always wanted to be a professional chef! Give me a year here, and I’ll be ready for the Food Network. *chuckles*

Or maybe a new reality show … “Who Wants to Be a Kajira?”

*giggles*

Anyway … even my day with my kids on Sunday was rather pedestrian. And a bit of a bummer. My daughter wanted to see me so much she went outside to the front porch and waited for me more than two hours before I was scheduled to arrive. Neither my ex nor I knew that she was out there, watching each car, hoping it was me. After I arrived, I kept getting pulled back and forth between her and my son and my ex, who needed my help in writing a presentation for a microbiology class. Not that I know much about microbiology, but I do know how to edit and write well.

And all through it, my daughter kept wanting me to focus on her.

I did get to go on a hike with her (by herself), and I stayed until she went to bed, and I kissed her goodnight with a promise that when I visit tomorrow I’ll give her my undivided attention. My ex and my son both agreed that was a good idea, so the day ended on a good note. Actually, it was a pretty good day overall, but just a bit lackluster in so far as any particular achievements.

So, as I said I’d talk about, regarding my spiritual nature … I’m a wolf in a human body.

Yeah. You heard me. If you’re shaking your head and saying I’m a total loon, I’m not surprised. To be honest, I wouldn’t believe it except for the fact that all the experiences related to it have happened to me.

Actually, I did think I was nuts for a long time (decades, in fact) until about five or so years ago, when I told somebody about my experiences, and they told me I was most likely a “therian.” When I asked in surprise for more details, they directed me to The Werelist, which is a very mature (and very sane) Website for adults to talk rationally about their therianthropic-related experiences. It was on that site that I realized I wasn’t alone, and that I wasn’t insane. People from all walks of life, scientists to retail workers, Christians to atheists to shamans, all have experienced it.

I talk about my own experiences on one of the pages of a Website I wrote several years ago. I’ll copy the pertinent sections to the bottom of today’s blog.

For now, though, here’s a nutshell definition …

Most people have heard of gender dysphoria. That’s where a person feels they’re a woman in a man’s body or a man in a woman’s body. Basically, a person feels as if their body’s self identity doesn’t match their body’s physical features.

Take the same concept and apply it to the idea of species.

Imagine feeling you’re a cat in a human body. Or a dog in a human body. Or some non-human animal in a human body. Imagine feeling as if you should have a tail, and your legs and body and skull should be shaped differently. Imagine feeling it so powerfully that your muscles try to compensate in painful ways.

Imagine your thought processes changing so that you don’t think like a human, and instead you start experiencing canine-related instincts. In some cases, you forget how to read, and instead see the letters as shapes of black and white. Or you might get where you can’t figure out how to turn a doorknob because you don’t remember how to use your thumb. Or you might find you can’t speak coherently, and you automatically growl at somebody who antagonizes you.

Those two experiences are among the cornerstones of therianthropy. They’re known as “shifts”, with the first one (the physical dysphoria) being called a “phantom shift” (in reference to people who feel “phantom” limbs after they’ve been amputated), and the second is called a “mental shift.”

I’ve experienced it all my life.

My parents had to install deadbolts on the doors at my family home because of it. I grew up on a ranch in Texas, and during the middle of the night when the coyotes and wolves would howl, as a young child I would often get out of bed and run outside to be in the yard and fields. I believe I was called to the wild canines, that I searched for them, that the howls spoke to me instinctually. I’ll never know because I don’t actually remember doing it, and I heard about my activities years later from my parents.

I very possibly might have been sleepwalking. I’ve exhibited wolf-related behavior while under sedation even as an adult.

About a year ago I had to undergo jaw surgery. The next day my surgeon told me that when the anesthetic was starting to wear off, and I was still basically unconscious and not in control of my actions, I started whimpering and growling at the orderlies around me. At one point, people from around the clinic came rushing to the hallway near where I was because they thought there was a dog or wolf in the building. It was me, howling loudly, my voice echoing through the rafters. I don’t remember any of it, but all of the clinic’s staff did, and they let me know about it. *smiles*

I grew up in a conservative Christian family, but I’ve always known without a doubt I’m an animal in a human body. I would experience those shifts and not understand them or know who to talk to about them.

It was only recently that I let my daughter know about my nature. I didn’t want to tell her about my therianthropy at first because I didn’t want her to pick up the idea from me. She experienced it on her own, however, and firmly believes she’s a cat in a human body … and she’s not shy about the fact at all. It’s causing her trouble in school, just like it did with me. My teachers would let my parents know of my fixation. My daughter’s principal has officially barred her from pretending to be a cat at school, particularly after she scratched somebody with her “claws.” She’s going through what I went through, and I realized recently, after talking about the situation with Master, that my daughter needs to know she can confide with me. She needs to know that she’s not alone.

I don’t want her to go through decades of thinking her experiences were crazy. My ex, however, does think they’re crazy, and as a result tries everything possible to get my daughter to focus on other things.

It’s why I believe my daughter has recently become so very attached to me. Because I take her seriously. And she knows it.

And it’s another reason she and I are so much looking forward to seeing each other again tomorrow. *grins*

Oh … the History Channel. Well, last year a representative of the History Channel asked around on the Werelist to see if anybody was interested in talking about their experiences for a television program about the history of werewolves. A few of us volunteered in different parts of the country. I met the film crew in downtown Denver, and we went to a park, and they interviewed me for hours in a very open and respectful way. A couple of months later they flew me to Washington, D.C., and interviewed me again. They were very scientific and curious, and I felt very good about the results.

Then the program got shown a few days before Halloween this year. The editors of it ignored all the questions they asked me. They ignored what they had asked other people. Instead, they grabbed a few seconds out of an interview with a therian on the board and took it totally out of context in such a way as to make the guy look pretty darn nuts. Everybody on the Werelist was disgusted. The good result, though, is now a lot of Therians are getting together to film their own documentary about the community, and they plan to broadcast it on YouTube. That should rock, and I wish them the best of luck!

Before I head out for the night, I want to mention again “The Marionette,” that free video game I noted at the very beginning of this post. The game tells a very haunting story about a ghost who wants revenge on an artist. Who the ghost is and why she’s doing it is told in a deeply captivating way that struck a deep chord in me. It spoke directly to things in my own life. I want to tell more, but it would spoil the nuances of the storyline, so I’ll just again encourage everybody to download it and play it for themselves. You should note, by the way, that there are four different possible endings, and which ending you get depends upon your actions during the game (particularly at the very end).

That game took up pretty much all of my free time during the last couple of evenings, but it was well worth it.

*smiles*

So, for now, and as always …

La kajira!!!


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Therianthropy, species dysphoria, and my life as a dog

I'm a wolf in a human body.

No joke. No roleplaying. It's real.

I'm a therianthrope -- one of many people around the world who believe they have the soul (or self identity) of a non-human animal species.

I've often felt that I'm not human, at least in a spiritual sense, ever since I was a young child. I've never really understood the nuances of human society, and I've always been pulled toward the wildness of nature, as if I have lived there, as if it should be my habitat instead of the structures of modern-day civilization.

I often experience what some have labeled "species dysphoria." As people with "gender dysporia" report feeling that their physical body does not match their mental gender, I feel my physical body does not match my mental species. If I had my choice, I would be what I feel I should be – a female wolf, living on the plains, chasing rodents for dinner and raising litters of puppies in a safely secluded den.

It’s with me all the time, from when I wake up until I sleep. Even then, I sometimes remember dreaming I am a wild canine, running free. It is definitely not a game, nor is it something I chose to be. I am a wolf because I am a wolf, and I have felt it in my soul for many years, even when it made no sense to me spiritually. It is not because I love wolves or think they’re cool or want an escape from my boring job or want to feel “different” other people. I am what I am because I am that way, and I’m that way all the time, whether I want to be or not.

I often do not understand (or, at least, agree with) the ways and morals of human society, and as a result I have very few friends with whom I feel I can share my inner thoughts. I see humans as simply another species – actually, a very destructive species that needs to be reigned in before it destroys more of the planet – and I do not see humanity itself as being any better or more valuable than most other animals on this planet. I find myself uninterested in most music and popular media, simply because I don’t understand the appeal. My free time is largely spent hiking in natural areas (as far from humans as possible), meditating or studying spirituality, and while I find myself feeling quite lonely at times, I don’t crave the company of most humans. Even my spouse (who is not a therianthrope) and I have problems because of my spiritual identity – not because of a problem with the idea, but because we don’t share my non-human impulses, and our outlook on the very nature of life and existence diverges substantially at times.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

FYI, "Mental shifting" is the common term used for the therianthropic experience of psychologically becoming one's inner animal. It is one of several types of "shifts" a therianthrope might experience. Other types include "phantom shifts" (in which one either mentally or physically feels a limb or body part that does not exist) and "dream shifts" (in which one becomes their inner animal while dreaming). It should be noted that not all therians experience every type of shift. It should also be noted that no therianthrope has ever "physically shifted" into their inner animal -- or if they have, they have not provided reliable proof to other therians or the world at large.

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Mental shifting into your inner animal
... A personal perspective


Although I haven't had two-day non-stop mental shifts (which at least one therian I know has experienced), I have had ones that have lasted for hours.

Several very intense hours.

Hours in which I wasn't human.

Oh, yeah, maybe physically, but not mentally. Every inch of my body that didn't correlate with a similar part on a feral canine (my inner animal a.k.a. " phenotype”) felt foreign and unnatural.

Imagine that your brain doesn't feel like it's wired for rational thought, and you find yourself living in the moment, constantly alert for movement, your thoughts arranged around your existence as it relates to you now, with the past and future being unreal (and unimportant) concepts.

Imagine that human speech becomes almost incomprehensible, like trying to make sense of a language you knew as a child, and it is almost painful to force your mind to attempt to understand it.

Imagine that every step you take feels awkward because you know you should be able to run better and faster on four feet, and you don't really understand why you can't.

Imagine finding your automatic desires and tastes conflicting with nagging thoughts telling you they don't fit with the needs (and limitations) of your human physical body.

Imagine not considering other humans as your same species any more than you consider a cockroach or a sparrow to be your same species.

You are a wolf -- or another animal -- during those times.

At least, that's what I experience.

In human terms, I become almost autistic. I wouldn’t say I become unemotional. But I would say that my emotions when I’m shifted toward my animal mindset are different than what I experience when I’m shifted toward my human mindset.

When I experience my heaviest shifts, my basic thought patterns are not the same as otherwise. I’m not just a human “feeling wolfy.”

And if I’m forced to come out of it quickly, it can be a very jarring and mentally unpleasant experience. And if I then have to rapidly call upon the overly rational parts of my human brain and associated memories, I feel as if I’m bending my head out of shape, and that it wants to go back to the other, more natural, way of thinking.

Probably the main reason I’ve never experienced multi-day shifts is because I have a spouse who is non-therian and I have two rambunctious kids, all of whom seem to do whatever they can to disengage my thoughts whenever they’re around me. But I still occasionally get the opportunity for solitude. And sometimes it results in those kinds of shifts. Maybe someday I’ll get the chance to go camping by myself for several days in the wilderness, and I can fully experience a multi-day shift without interruption. That might be quite interesting.

Some may think that coming out of an intense shift might make me feel emotionally drained. But actually, it’s usually quite the opposite. I feel more alive and energetic than at most other times. But I also don’t feel very human. And, more importantly, I don’t think very human. At least, what passes for “normal human” in our culture.

Day 89 - On Getting Ten Needles Stuck Into My Right Breast and Enjoying It, On Getting My Life (and My Novel Writing) Back On Track, On Having A Great Day with My Kids, On Having Fantastic Sex with Mistress, and On Master Getting Possessive of Me

(Note: I'm posting this one without editing it, as I'm a bit too tired for that at the moment. Hopefully this makes sense in the time until I'm able to get back online and check it over while being more awake. *grins*)

Needles.

Ten of them were stuck into my right breast tonight in the area surrounding my aerola.

To be more precise, they were slid in, going into the skin and out. In some situations, they went in the skin, out again, over a needle, and then back in.

And it was all done for fun.

Master and I met at the Sanctuary BDSM club tonight after I had a great afternoon with my kids. The first thing we did was watch an okay presentation on spanking by some guy (who's apparently somewhat famous for being a good spanker) demonstrate on his extremely attractive (and quite a bit younger) assistant. Spanking is, to me, punishment. It can be pleasurable if done as punishment, but, for me, I don't like getting spanked in and of itself. As I've mentioned before, I'm a bit of a masochist but not a pain slut, meaning I sometimes get a kick out of being punished or out of my Owner unexpectedly hurting me for no good reason. In contrast, planned pain doesn't excite me, so the presentation on spanking wasn't a huge thrill. Master didn't find it exciting, either.

Afterward, however, we were talking with Master G and his slave, who is wonderful and also happens to be blind. (Master is great friends with Master G, and there's a good chance we're going to have Thanksgiving dinner at their house, by the way.)

Well, to my surprise, Master G suddenly told me that my Master had told him I wanted to experiment with needles, and he wondered if I wanted to give it a try tonight. I responded with a mix of excitement and nervousness that came out as silly anxiety, which concerned Master G until he realized it was just my way of expressing my desire to do something exciting like that.

He used surgical needles, which he explained come in six different diameters. Tonight he only used the two smallest, which was enough for me. Well, at first. After he put ten in me, I was starting to feel rather nice about life and the universe, and I asked Master if he could keep putting them in. Master, however, said ten was enough for my first time because I'd be driving home.

See, the reason people put needles in themselves is for the endorphin rush which happens after they pierce the skin.

I kept the needles in my skin for awhile and wandered around, watching other people and talking a bit. Eventually, though, my movement caused one to start to come loose, so Master had Master G remove all of them.

And that's when my endorphin rush really kicked in. I could still function and have a good conversation, but I was buzzing quite well in a way that took a good half hour to an hour to fully resolve itself.

During my rush I felt my wolf side starting to come out rather strongly, and I realized finally why Native Americans use piercing as a way of achieving shamanic ecstacy for trance states.

Speaking of shamanic work, I moved my shamanic tools over from Mistress's house and examined them last night and today. I've been feeling rather strongly toward getting back into my shamanic practicing and meditation.

It's weird how my life took such a strange turn when I got hooked on SecondLife early last year. Before then, I exercised regularly, I meditated almost every day, I experienced shamanic trance journeys as a wolf several times a week, and I was hard at work on my novel.

Now that I'm with Master, all of those things may be back in my life on a regular basis. I'm already exercising again. I journeyed with another shaman online recently (and we visited our cubs and ... oh, heck. Now trying to explain that in this post would be a bit too much, so I'll save it for next time).

And my novel's coming along again. After writing 12 chapters, I have only three to go. And yet, I stopped at that point more than a year ago because I wasn't happy with the way the novel was going, and I lost my drive. Tonight, however, my editor and shamanic friend (more about him later) looked over what I had written the last few days, and his suggestions have totally revitalized the end of the novel in such a way that ... I think the novel will be ready for publishing on Kindle within six months. *bounces in excitement*

Oh, and, yeah, it's a female werewolf novel. In case you hadn't already guessed. *chuckles*

It would be remarkably nice if the novel does well enough to provide me an income independent of Master's providing for me just so I could set up a college fund for my kids. That's the biggest concern I have regarding being so dependent on Master -- the fact that I've got nothing to fall back on, and neither does my family, if things go sour here for some reason.

Master keeps telling me he's nuts about me and has long-term plans for me, which brings me a lot of comfort. He is, however, naturally already getting jealous of the time I'm not here, as I am his property. This week I didn't see that much of him, to be honest. Tuesday I spent several hours with Mistress. Wednesday I was with my kids and ...

Okay ... the kids. Fantastic day on Wednesday. I did everything with them, starting at picking them up from school and ending only after kissing my dear daughter goodnight. Most of the day was with my daughter, actually. Highlights include us making Indian Fry Bread together (which everybody thought was extremely yummy) to having my daughter read to me about Annie Oakley, to giving my daughter her bath and reading a bedtime story to her, and finally to making snacks by shaping soft cheese into prey animals and sprinkling them with shredded cheese for "fur" (with a mouse for my daughterwho believes she's a cat and a sheep for my son, who felt very in touch with Dragon spirit that night).

Oh, and, yeah, my son speaks to spirits, like I do. And my daughter is very certain she's a cat in a human body, just like I was when I was her age (except it wasn't a cat for me). I talked with Alice for awhile Wednesday to make sure she knows that she's not alone, and that I understand and believe her entirely when she says she feels spiritually she's not human. And I talked to my son a very long time about how he's been so disruptive lately, and how I need to help him learn to meditate because possible the energy from Dragon spirit is overwhelming him and getting out of control in his life, causing him to do things that have gotten him suspended from school lately (such as kicking another student and arguing with a teacher).

Oh, I'm sure a lot of you think I'm a total flake after reading that last paragraph, and so be it. It's about time I finally went over my unusual spiritual experiences and beliefs, but I'll save that for my next posting. Those beliefs did lead me to being a slave, so they're actually pertinent to this whole blog, so I figure they're definitely worth talking about here.

Anyway, so I hardly saw Master on Wednesday, and on Thursday I spent most of the day with Mistress.

*grins*

Remember I said I expected the bed to get ruffled at her house? Boy, did it ever!!! At one point we were talking casually, and I half jokingly said, "I could really use some sex," and she ordered me into the bedroom and ... we ... wow! It was the best damn fucking I've had in a LONG time (if not ever). It began with a wonderful little dilator, and then Mistress got a cock for me and told me to ride it on top of her, and after I came hard (screaming so loud I'm shocked the neighbors didn't complain), I licked and sucked Mistress's clitty for a long time, and, well ... that's just a brief description of some of what we did. And as good as the sex was, the cuddling afterward was wonderfully beautiful. I felt I could have laid with her forever and just fallen asleep joyfully in her arms.

Technically, however, I came over there to clean up her house and pack up my car, which I did. But Mistress and I really wanted to see each other, so I really took my time doing the work.

*sighs*

I hated leaving Mistress, but I was getting a nagging feeling that Master wanted me back. Sure enough, he did. When I returned, I could tell he clearly didn't expect me to spend all day over at Mistress's house, but instead just thought I'd be gone a few hours.

I need to be with Master. But I want to be with Mistress.

I wish I could be with Mistress more. And maybe, if we're lucky, I will be.

But with me being with my kids one and a half days a week, I don't think Master will want me to spend much time with Mistress, even though Mistress said he agreed she would be my partial owner.

We'll see.

La kajira!

Day 86 - On Being Depressed About Being Seven Minutes Late, On Missing Mistress Like Crazy, On Needing Master But Desiring Mistress, On Getting Seriously Creeped Out By Transformational Art, and On Missing My Kids After Reading an Article About Life After Death

Seven minutes.

That’s all it took to make me go from having a good day to being extremely depressed.

And it was my fault.

Tonight is Master’s bowling night, and we had agreed that I would be home by 4:30 in the afternoon so I could make dinner.

I got home at 4:37 and walked into the kitchen to find him already putting everything together.

It was a simple dinner tonight. He bought something from a place called “Supper Solutions,” which provides meals that are almost entirely prepared. Tonight was Cincinnati Chili, and all he had to do was add the ingredients to a skillet, let it simmer for a few minutes, then add the other ingredients to cook for awhile.

Correction. That’s all I had to do. And I didn’t do it because I wasn’t there.

Master told me it was okay, and what was important was that I tried to get home on time.

But I feel like shit. I keep making little mistakes, and I feel like they’re piling up, even though Master said I’m better already than any slave he and M’Lady have ever had in their household.

I’ve always had a problem with getting to places on time. Ever since high school when I first got a car of my own, I was always running late to school.

I’ve never learned how to correctly compensate for the unexpected. I’m horrible at estimating how long something will take.

And I get weird when I start to realize I don’t have enough time. I get fixated on completing the task at hand, even if it means I’ll be late, and people will be sitting around waiting for me.

It’s a strange mental block that has affected me all my life, and one that has made many people annoyed at me at times over the years. Particularly my ex, who gets sick of me saying I’ll pick up the kids at 10 in the morning, only to show up at 10:30 or later.

I told Master about my problem tonight, and he said he’s going to try and figure out how to work with me to fix it.

Tonight, though, he told me not to worry about it.

And yet, here I am, crying about disappointing him as I sit at the desk in the little side room they have for me.

I told Master tonight that this is a dream come true for me. I feel I’m in the place in my life I’ve sought so desperately for years, ever since I realized I’m a slave at heart. Possibly, it’s the place I’ve sought all my life without realizing it. And I feel like I’m screwing things up.

Master hugged me tightly and told me it’s alright, and to get on with the night and not worry about it.

But he knew I wasn’t letting go of it, because simply I can’t let go of it very easily. Serving him and M’Lady and Mistress is one of the primary focuses of my life now (the other focus being my children), and the idea of failing at that strikes me horribly to the depths of my soul. That may sound like hyperbole, but it’s truly how I feel.

*sighs*

Mistress. I miss the hell out of her.

She’s the reason I was late. I was at her house today, and I kept delaying leaving her because I still love her so much.

I went over today to pick up a carload of things, and we almost immediately began kissing tenderly. After a moment, she pushed me back with a slightly annoyed look, and when I asked her why she did that, she told me, “I want to jump your bones, that’s why, and you don’t have time for that.”

I really want to make love to her again, too. She’s a hell of a kisser. A lot better than Master, I have to admit. Mistress says that’s because she’s a girl, and she just might be right about that. *chuckles*

Mistress is so laid back. We went out for lunch at Arby’s, and she treated me to a French Dip with fries and soda. It tasted like a feast. Master has me prepare decadent dinners each night, but there’s never any comfort food around the house. We never go out for pizza or a Whopper or a Taco Bell burrito. Instead, we have things like moussaka (well, something that resembled moussaka last night). Every morning Mistress would have me make her breakfast, usually eggs and toast and maybe bacon or sausage. Master and M’Lady almost never eat breakfast (this morning was an exception when I made grits and Master requested a bowlful). For lunch, Master usually eats just a store-bought sandwich. I’m sure they eat more because neither of them is underweight by any means, but what they munch on is a mystery to me (although I think they tend to snack late at night, because I’ll often wake up in the morning to find dirty dishes waiting for me near the sink).

Mistress is laid back in so many other ways. Around her, I always know I’m owned. She demands very specific things. But she doesn’t usually demand they’re done in an overly specific way. Well, she wants the laundry done the way she likes. And she likes meals made in a particular fashion. And her bed is made in a certain way. And … okay … she’s particular, too. Maybe I just got used to her after awhile, and I’m still nervous about Master because I’m in the initial stages of learning his ways. That, and I have to learn M’Lady’s ways – and even Master admits that she’s so precise about things (she has obsessive-compulsive disorder, or OCD) that it drives him crazy as well.

But still, it was wonderful to be with Mistress again, even for a couple of hours, because I felt I could really let my hair down around her.

And she clearly loved me being there.

She reminded me today that as part of agreement with Master, she retains partial ownership of me. As a result, she’s told Master that she wants me to spend the day with her on Thursday so that I can clean the house top to bottom in preparation for a date she’s having Friday night.

I can hardly wait. I strongly suspect that cleaning the house isn’t the only thing we’ll be doing, and that if the bed has already been made when I get there in the morning, I’ll have to make it again by the time I leave that night. *grins gently*

I hate to say it, but I haven’t had sex once since Master took me in. It’s clear he would like to do it with me, but he has erectile dysfunction disorder, and he simply can’t get it up enough. He loves to cuddle, though, and that is a wonderful thing, and I’ll live with the joys I can get.

Mistress told me today about all the fun she had at parties on Halloween and Halloween Eve with female friends of hers, and I felt, I admit, a bit envious, because I knew I would have gone with her if I had been with her.

I told Mistress today that I feel something’s clear. I need to be with Master. I’m the right slave for him, and he’s the right Master for me. I’m trained to provide his needs, and he’s able to fulfill my needs as well by taking responsibility for me, financially and otherwise.

But I desire Mistress more, I think. I have more thrills and more fun with her. She’s two years younger than I am, and we’re both single women. She’s less set in her ways. We understand each other.

*sighs*

Somebody who read this blog told me I’m an extremely lucky slave to be in my situation. And I know I am.

It would be perfect if I could experience the joys of both life with Mistress and life with Master together.

Actually, I can. And I I can truly count my blessings for that.

*smiles*

*sighs and looks more serious*

Okay, I started to end this post on that note, but I figured it was worth explaining that there’s more to my depression today than just being late … although that was enough by itself.

Last night I viewed a gallery of some very creepy transformational fetish works by Ian Samson. I went there out of curiosity because somebody on StuckPosing said they were looking for a comic of his in which a young woman is transformed into the heart (yes, the internal organ) of a baby dragon.

That site was creepy. And addictive. I couldn't stop until I had viewed everything and taken it all in. I feel rather weird today mentally as a result. Not exactly in the most chipper of moods. Rather disturbed, actually. I just couldn’t get some of the most cruel ideas and works of art out of my mind, and they’re still haunting me.

So, I would say, regarding that site's images ... mission accomplished (for the artist, at least). For me, I think it might have been better if I had never looked at the site, so … if you’re like me, I recommend you not check it out. *shrugs with a sigh*

Transformational stories are incredibly addictive to me, by the way. They’re like poisonous potato chips. Once I start eating them, I can hardly stop, and then when I finally do finish, I usually feel disgusted in a way that lasts for a long time. The advantage of potato chips is that I could (if I was that type of person) vomit them out. I don’t do that, but I could. Unfortunately, I can’t vomit the truly horrible images I get from some of the cruelest transformational stories out of my head, as much as I wish I could.

(Speaking of transformational stories, mine got published on “The Legacy of Timeless Beauty” story archive. Hurray!)

On another note, I got a bit sad yesterday about a different subject … missing my kids.

On the Newsweek web site, there was a review of a book that attempted to prove scientifically that life exists after death.

It isn't often that an online book review leaves me in tears. But the following words, posted at the end of this review, did.

"Is there comfort in the idea that Max (the reviewer’s younger son, who passed away) lives on as a disembodied consciousness in a parallel universe? I want him here with me now, and I would gladly trade my prospects for Eternity for the chance to hug him one more time."

I can't imagine what it would be like to lose one of my two children. And reading those words made me want to be with them so very, very much.

I’ll be with them tomorrow. Master was a little bothered at first today when he realized that my plans to be with my kids tomorrow conflicted with his plans to have me with him when he taught a class at the Sanctuary on Master/slave relationships. After calling my ex to see if we could change it so I could be with them today, I found out my ex needs to be at an evening class meeting and so I need to pick up the kids at school and be with them for awhile. That’s great for me … the more time the better … but I felt concerned Master would be annoyed, and when I mentioned to my ex I might need to leave around 6:30, my ex started making me feel extremely guilty for “abandoning the kids in favor of that guy” even though my ex would be home by that time. Fortunately, Master told me that, although he was disappointed, he wanted me to not hurry with my kids, and so things are okay. But … that conversation happened this morning, and so that’s another reason why I got depressed for disappointing Master again tonight by being a bit late.

Back to the subject of the book that was reviewed in Newsweek, the problem I have with so many books from both sides of the recent theology debates is that they assume the readers are Christian. I am not. Although I was raised Southern Baptist, I have been a shamanic practitioner for almost 15 years. My personal experiences have given me no doubts regarding reincarnation, but there is, naturally, no way anybody but I would see them as proof of anything. I believe my spirit guides have given me what I need for my life's path, and that is that.

With that in mind, I firmly believe that were my children to die tomorrow, that I would very possibly see them again, in one form or another. I might even see them again in this life. Maybe even soon after their death.

But, still ... humans resist change. I would want my daughter to remain my daughter, a human little girl, bright and bubbly, who loves dressing up as a cat even when it is rather inappropriate. And I would want my son to remain my son, a human little boy, determined and energetic, who loves to invent bizarre contraptions with Legos.

Such is life. And death.

And so it goes. *sighs and smiles wistfully*

La kajira!