Sunday, January 31, 2010

Day 178 - On Having an Awful Time at a Class on Wax Play and Getting Slammed in the Back by an Inconsiderate Dominatrix, and As a Result Having an Emotional Breakdown and Ruining Much of the Weekend for My Master

Almost back to normal reality. Wait. I have no idea what “normal reality” is. Well, I’ve heard rumors of it, but … okay, back to “a-less-chaotic-reality-than-lately.”

Master’s plan for this weekend was taking me to an intensive series of three classes at the Sanctuary BDSM club by somebody named Julian Wolf. And in between the first and second classes, Master and I had been invited to a Mexican dinner hosted by two Master/slave couples in town. Master was quite enthusiastic about the weekend’s events, and I was excited, too.

Things didn’t turn out as planned, as you might have guessed. Perhaps I should have taken the brief visit by Coyote spirit a couple of days ago as an omen. Or as a warning.

The first class was supposed to be a three-hour presentation on wax play, which is a type of BDSM in which you pour melted wax on a person’s body. There’s a lot to learn about it, being that it could be quite dangerous, but Julian is a nationally known expert, and she had two attractive people to demonstrate on.

She may be nationally known, but she was an awful speaker. She rambled incoherently, babbling from subject to subject. She didn’t enunciate very well at all, and with my poor hearing I could barely hear her most of the time. Actually, at first she seemed to be focused and spoke well, but the longer the class went on, the more brain dead she seemed to become, and her presentation got increasingly disjointed. So when Master asked me at first if I could hear her, I said it was okay, but by the second hour I could barely make things out, and by the third hour … I was starting to totally lose it mentally. Then, barely hanging on, I saw the time was up and … but Julian kept going and going and going, not knowing when to stop. So, by the end of the fourth hour (of what was supposed to be a three-hour class), after I had been sitting all that time in a horribly uncomfortable metal chair with my flesh sticking to the vinyl seat (I had foolishly worn a skirt), not being able to hear the speaker very well and not understanding any of the jokes that everybody else was laughing at, and not being really that interested at all in the topic to begin with, I was totally and completely in mental agony. Most likely, the fact I have Asperger’s (a form of high-level autism) contributed greatly to the fact I was unable to handle the situation, but whatever the case, I wasn’t doing well psychologically by that point.

Oh, and I was stressed for another reason, too. A sadistic domme (a female dominant and professional dominatrix) in the audience who seemed to have little or no social skills whatsoever decided right in the middle of the presentation to grab a spiked club and barrel across the seats in an effort to hit somebody she knew in the audience. The domme slammed by accident into the rear of my chair, hitting me hard enough to wrench my back and making me feel unbalanced as if I had been almost knocked out of my chair. To make matters worse, I was totally focused on Julian, trying in frustration to understand what she was saying, and so when I was hit it was a total shock to my emotional balance. Master checked to see if I was okay and told me that the domme was known to be extremely flaky, and then then he went to the domme and confronted her about it. In response, she claimed that she didn’t even realize that she had crashed into me like that. She apologized, but I was still rather hurt and still rather mentally trying to recover from the incident, and didn’t say anything back – that is, until Master got annoyed and ordered me to verbally tell the domme that I accepted her apology. That situation lingered with me the rest of the presentation, making things worse all around.

During the last hour of the presentation, I went into a trance state because I just had to escape. It was actually the best part of the whole experience. As I think I’ve mentioned in previous blogs, I do shamanic work, and during the last three years I’ve repeatedly spiritually undertaken trance “journeys” into a non-physical reality, where I’ve lived as a wolf bitch. And that’s what I did yesterday as I sat there, trying to mentally get away from my physical situation. I journeyed as a wolf with my pack. It was so vivid – I was gone from my human body. We were walking through a snowy valley. The light grey female cub from my first litter (about three years ago) was moving slowly toward in the back of the pack, and I could tell she smelled sickly for some reason, which filled me with sadness. We approached a thick section of woods then I smelled the elk beyond it and ran forward. Soon we saw the herd, and I worked around from one side which my mate and our cubs (who make up the rest of the pack) worked around from the other side. We ran at the elk and they started moving along but stayed together. I was approaching a doe when the lone cub from last year’s litter, a white male, ran past me toward the doe’s rear, and to my distress he got kicked hard for his efforts. I started to try and go at her but she stood firm, and then I looked behind me toward sounds of growling to see that my mate, a charcoal grey wolf, had surrounded a very agitated doe along with two cubs from the second litter (a black male and a grey male). As I watched, they proceeded to harass her with their teeth from different sides, ripping her flesh and taking her energy away, until finally she collapsed from her wounds, at which point my mate went in and ripped her throat open. I then came close as he was ripping her abdomen open and was given the chance to grab some meat from her front leg, which I happily began to devour in the snow. The rest of the pack took their turns eating, and I fell out of the trance for a few minutes. When I returned for a short while to the trance, I was finishing eating, and I went to my mate and laid down against him, my head on top of his neck, and we nuzzled and cuddled a bit until the trance ended. It was all so powerful I had to fight to keep from crying physically. I haven’t seen my mate lately – I have to admit that I haven’t journeyed with my pack much at all during the last year for various reasons – and feeling him rubbing against me tenderly brought a great and deep longing to my soul.

The last half-hour of the presentation was complete hell for me, a total nightmare. I was fighting everything I could to not stand on my chair and scream at Julian to shut up, or to run madly out of the room. Actually, that latter option might have been a good idea. At the end, Master noticed that I was totally withdrawn, curled up into a ball of agony in my chair, and he asked for an explanation outside. And I gave it to him in the car.

And he asked me why I didn’t request permission to leave to the lobby. “As I’ve told you before, I don’t want you to be tortured by anything or anybody -- expect by me,” he said.

And I told him it was the way I was raised. By my parents in boring church services. By my teachers in boring school classes. As a journalist covering boring city council meetings. By my ex whenever we’d visit his relatives at boring holiday get-togethers. By my employers at incredibly dull corporate meetings. I was always taught it was rude to leave those things in the middle. It was disrespectful to the speaker. It was disruptive to the rest of the audience. It was just something that wasn’t done, and instead you were supposed to sit down and shut up. It didn’t matter whether I could hear what the speaker was saying or was in mental agony. I just had to take it. Always.

Hell. I’m crying now. All those years of anguish for me are coming back all at once. I couldn’t hear. I couldn’t focus because of my attention-deficit disorder. It’s hard to explain to somebody who doesn’t understand.

And I was crying as I told this to Master in his car. I curled up, holding my knees, and told him. And I told him how much I had been shaken by the domme hitting me.

And without further discussion Master started up the car and announced he was driving home. He said he believed that I wasn’t okay enough to go to the dinner or the evening’s class (which was about sadomasochism on the parts of the body from the knees down, particularly the feet).

I tried to convince Master to go to the party, as I could see he was clearly upset, but he said he didn’t have the mental energy to attend a dinner where he would have to worry whether I would be having a breakdown.

And so, with me withdrawn silently most of the way, we went home.

When we got there, he told me he had been embarrassed by the fact I hadn’t accepted the domme’s apology, and he was rather annoyed at me. It took awhile, but I explained to Master that the way I was raised, you didn’t accept an apology just because somebody offered you one. If somebody hurt you, and you were still hurt, they might tell you that they felt bad that they hurt you, but that didn’t get them off the hook in any way, and you were not obligated to accept their apology. I was taught as a kid to take responsibility for my actions, and that “saying sorry will get you nowhere” if you do something careless or irresponsible that got somebody else in trouble. Which is exactly what that domme did to me. Master, however, told me he was taught different, and he expects me to accept apologies from now on, even if I’m still upset or emotionally hurt by what happened. Well, I’m the slave, and I follow Master’s rules, so I’ll do it.

I also had to explain to Master why I was so withdrawn and miserable at the end of the presentation, and he eventually understood what I was going through and why I didn’t leave (although he said he still needs to read up on Asperger’s, although that was only a small piece of why I was in such mental pain. Or maybe it was the primary reason I was. To be honest, I’m not really sure what’s going in my head in that respect, but I do know that being incredibly bored has put me through what feels like intense mental pain all my life – so much that I find waiting in long lines to be almost excruciating, and I avoid them like the plague. Ironically, last night I had a book with me in my purse which I could have happily read in the lobby – that is, if I had the mental state to have known Master wouldn’t have minded me asking him if I could go to the lobby. And, yes, I was actually afraid to ask Master if I could do that. I’ve gotten the impression from Master’s responses to some of my questions at times that he doesn’t like me bothering him by asking things that he thinks I should already know, and because of the way I was trained all my life, I almost instinctually assumed that Master would be annoyed at me for asking if I could wait in the lobby.)

Last night on the way home I was a bit afraid again that Master would finally decide I just wasn’t right for him, and that he would tell me to start looking for a new home. I felt that way despite the fact that during the presentation that very night, Master had turned to me and told me he still is very happy with me as his slave. I’m both deadly scared of being thrown out and expecting it to happen, despite my best efforts. Yeah. I’m pretty fucked up in the head in a few ways.

Once we got home, Master asked if I ever want to do anything at the Sanctuary with him in the public scene. He loves going to the Sanctuary, and he said he goes there to socialize for the most part, learn new things and occasionally take part in a low-key event. But he feels whenever we go there it always ends in me crying or me experiencing a big emotional release, and so I’m pretty much I’m taking the enjoyment out of it for him. And, to my surprise, he said he believed that I don’t enjoy high protocol. Add to that the fact that I don’t enjoy pain (I’m not a “lifestyle masochist”), and he said he really doesn’t know what appeal the Sanctuary might have for me.

I responded that I do like going there – actually, being there with him is usually one of the high points of each week for me, and I’m almost always disappointed when he plans to go and then changes his mind and stays home. The big problem there for me, I said, is because the atmosphere is so wild and chaotic, with people all over the place talking and bumping into each other and hitting each other and screaming in pain. It’s exciting but, for me, very overwhelming at times (which is definitely a symptom of Asperger’s). And when I get overwhelmed, my mental shields drop, and I express the torrent of emotions that are churning underneath. And I do have a lot of emotions churning, that’s for sure – I have an unusual hormonal state, and despite being a middle-aged woman, emotionally I’m very much like a post-pubescent teenage girl. (Master and I actually discussed that the other day, and we joked about doing “age play” – but we laughed and decided against it when we realized that would mean me coming home wearing a ratty t-shirt, listening to heavy metal music, having a boyfriend in a rock band and getting pregnant before graduating high school. Well, okay, maybe not. *chuckles*)

Anyway, regarding being overstimulated, it’s not just the Sanctuary where it happens. I get that way at amusement parks and shopping malls and everywhere that things are going on left and right with loud noises and bright lights. My kids are exactly the same way, which their psychiatrist says is a clue regarding exactly what I’ve got and what they’ve got, and hopefully will point toward finding the right medicine for all of us. With me, I’ve pretty much found the right medicine – it’s not perfect, but it helps tremendously. If you had seen me a year ago before I was on the current dosage, you would realize what I mean. My ex tells my kids’ psychiatrist that I’m a completely different person now, and that’s resulted in my son being put on a new medicine that has helped him to control himself tremendously. Now if we can figure out the right dosage for our daughter, a modicum of calmness might actually be able to descend on my ex’s household at times.

On that issue, Master and I came to a conclusion, and he told me he didn’t mind at all if I left him alone when we’re at the club and that I should go off to a place of solitude when I start getting agitated. The car would be a great place if it wasn’t too cold, we decided, and if not, he thinks the owner of the Sanctuary might have a quiet place somewhere I could go and, hopefully, meditate or read a book or listen to music, all of which have helped me dramatically in the past to calm myself down in tense situations. (At the airport as we were waiting to fly to Phoenix recently, for example, I was extremely glad I had packed my mp3 player at the last minute, because being able to walk around the empty concourses listening to the good tunes filled me with a warm relaxation).

Regarding activities at the Sanctuary, I told Master that I actually do like doing things there, and I was surprised he hadn’t realized that. I told him that, as he knows, I’m an exhibitionist, and I would love to be stripped naked, tied to a cross and experience intense electrical play as he runs a violet wand across my exposed flesh. (Master, by the way, loves violet wands, which is a device that uses glass tubes and metal contacts and creates intense electric shocks for therapy and kinky fun. He’s considered an expert in them, but for some reason he’s never used his equipment on me … yet.) He also knows I would love to be tied up there and left bound and gagged in public. I told him I would love to be flogged there and to use it to enter a trance state – to which he responded that he couldn’t ever find spiritual enlightenment while engaged in public activities in the club, but I smiled and told him that I can pretty much enter a shamanic trance anywhere, and I have (About four years ago, for example, I entered a powerful pre-ritual trance in, of all places, a McDonalds’ indoor playground. I was actually able to transform the sound of children playing into a rhythm in my head that carried me beyond normal reality. Granted, that’s not something normal for me, but a particular spirit … Dragon … wanted to talk to me and chose that avenue of doing it). And as for high protocol, I told Master that I do, indeed, love it. I had told him last month I was sick of it because two draining high-protocol events had been scheduled one night after another, and I wanted to get back to normal service afterward.

Although Master said he agrees that the scheduling of the high-protocol events wasn’t the best, and they should have been spread out, he otherwise didn’t respond much to what I said about the things I might enjoy at the club.

And when I told him that I enjoy going to the club because he enjoys going to the club and I enjoy being his companion, he told me he doesn’t want to do things with me that I’m just “enduring”. He said when we do things together like that, he wants to know that I’m enjoying them, too. In response, I told that enduring things for one’s Master is what a slave does – and that the other slaves I know in the area all tell me the same thing – that giving of themselves to please their Master is what slavery is about, and that definitely includes enduring things purely for their Master’s enjoyment. (I was rather confused that Master didn’t realize and automatically expect me as a slave to be like that, but we were both tired by that point after a long and draining conversation, and so maybe I misunderstood his meaning.)

The conversation moved to me crying again because of us missing the dinner with the other Masters and slaves, and I told Master through my sobs that I wanted to go so much because the dinner was planned to be explicitly low protocol, and finally I might get to really know the other Masters and slaves in a setting that promoted casual conversation. Master said that he was, indeed, very disappointed we missed the party, but there will be other dinners. And, he said, I wouldn’t likely have been able to talk casually at last night’s event because, even though it was low protocol, there still would have been some protocol – and as a result, in comparison with other low-protocol events, the Masters would have likely maintained control of the conversations, and if something I wanted to talk about didn’t interest them, then I wouldn’t have been able to bring it up or would have been quickly dismissed. Such is the life of a slave.

*sighs* I feel Master’s missed so much he was looking forward to this weekend, all because of me, but I wonder how much of yesterday could have been avoided, or how much was something we needed to get through as a Master/slave couple.

Master wound up missing the class on “BDSM From the Knees Down” last night, and he decided not to attend today’s class by Julian on roleplaying. I have to admit, I was really looking forward to the roleplaying class but, after yesterday’s fiasco, I wonder if it would have been worth attending for me. Although I get a lot from some classes at the Sanctuary, other ones leave me telling Master I didn’t understand a word being said – and Master and I realized last night that it’s the classes held in the Sanctuary’s dungeon that are incomprehensible to my hearing. With that in mind, we’ll use that in the future to decide which classes I might plan to attend – and we used that to decide I wouldn’t get anything out of today’s class, despite a topic I’m extremely interested in.

Well, after everything calmed down and we worked everything out (for the most part), we ended the evening by getting Popeye’s chicken and watching the Batman: The Dark Knight movie together (which Master loved but I didn’t really like, to be honest – I thought the Batman with Cat Woman and the Penguin was a lot better. *grins*)

Looking back on yesterday’s events, I’m still tense from it all, and so is Master, clearly. Yesterday really ripped me inside emotionally in a lot of ways, and I went to bed sobbing while tightly hugging my stuffed wolf and stuffed horse. I don’t even know what I was crying about, but I needed release, deeply, and I only found it by going to sleep finally.

Today, I’m still a bit weak mentally and depressed, judging by the fact I’m still a bit on the edge of tears. I think things will be better as a result of this weekend, however. Somehow, better, in ways I can’t even imagine yet.

Actually, I’m sure of it. It was a hell of a weekend. It was, truth be told, a hell of a month, and I’m very glad January is over.

The final thing is, though, that I know I love Master. And I know this is the life I want to live.

The pain is worth it, without a doubt, for me, so that I can become the slave Master wants me to be.

My prayer is that Master continues to find it worth it to him as well, and that he always wants me as a slave as much as I want him as my Owner.

La kajira.

p.s. Yeah, I promised I’d talk about my experiences at the Southwest Leather Conferences in this post. Such is life. You’ll get a full report next time, though. *smiles gently*

Friday, January 29, 2010

Day 176 -- Rowlf. *cocks her head tiredly*

Mmm … tired. I just got through hiking across open fields for about an hour. Tonight is the largest and brightest full moon of the year (it changes because of the way the moon orbits around the Earth). According to an article on yahoo.com, it’s also the year’s “Wolf” moon, apparently called that by some unreferenced generic Native American tribe.

Whatever the case, I was inspired to go out for a walk underneath it, despite the sub-freezing temperature, and I headed for my favorite place to go for a night-time stroll – a huge leashless dog park in Jefferson County, Colorado. A few years ago, before my divorce and while I was in between jobs, I used to go out several nights a week with our black Labrador named Stella. She’d chase rabbits in the moonlight while I walked along, and we traveled many a mile together in that park’s miles of trails. I love the snow – I’ve often felt as if I’ve been an arctic wolf in a past life – and I think the best time ever I went out in those fields with Stella was in the middle of a blizzard under a post-midnight full moon. I was in heaven.

As we continued to come back regularly, the local coyotes got to where they’d sometimes trot alongside us curiously, more than once scaring Stella and me half to death by setting off a silence-shattering howl just a few dozen feet from us. Not that coyotes are scary per se, but when you’re out in the middle of nowhere at midnight and suddenly the yelp of a coyote sounds practically right under your ear, it tends to shake you up a bit. *chuckles*

Those months walking at night with Stella are among the most treasured memories of my life, and tonight I returned to them briefly. The unfortunate thing was that I didn’t think about wanting to go for the hike until my ex was asleep, and even though I called, there was no answer, so I couldn’t get Stella for the trip and I had to go by myself. There was at first eeriness to being out there all alone, but before I knew it everything seemed perfectly natural. I felt at home, deeply and indescribably. If I could have been transformed into a coyote bitch and stayed out there like that the rest of my life, I would have been perfectly happy. Okay, I would have missed my children and Master, and I know they need me – especially my kids. But other than that, the decision would have been an easy one.

Tonight I yipped like a coyote after reaching a particular pond on the site, hoping to get a response, but I was only met with the still night air. As I walked along, I soon began to feel less like a human and more like a wolf doing nightly patrols of her territory. Toward the end of the journey, I crested a hill and, after surveying the scenery around me, let off a series of long, deep, mournful wolf howls, as if to let all canines in the area know I was laying claim to that land. It took me awhile to shake off the feeling and return to being fully human. I still haven’t gotten over it entirely.

My shifting into being a wolf mentally has been happening more strongly and more frequently lately. Something’s changing in me spiritually, which I feel is definitely a good thing. I feel like I’m going back to the way I used to be when I was very intimately in touch with my spirit guides and with my spiritual connection to the non-human world around me.

Gaah. I feel practically drunk. I can hardly write. That hike really affected me. And I’m not talking about the physical exertion. I don’t feel human. My hands don’t feel like hands. They feel like paws. Words are starting to make no sense. I’m feeling my tail and my muzzle. I’m shifting.

I’m a wolf.

Bed now.

Rowlf.

Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Day 174 - On Getting Pierced by Large Hooks Piercing Through My Chest and Bells Dangling from my Back While Dancing with Wild Naked Abandonment Around a Tribal Altar at a Leather Conference in Phoenix, and On Needing Master More than I Expected and Master Being Disappointed as a Result


YOU CAN POST COMMENTS NOW!!!


*sighs* I found out to my annoyance today that readers of my blog had to be a registered user to comment. Yeah, it’s possible that not many people really wanted to say anything, but in case you do, I’ve fixed it now so that ANYBODY can comment. I found out because Master said he had commented on my blog, but I hadn’t realized it, and I checked my settings and found out that only people with a LiveJournal ID could leave comments, and to top it off I wasn’t being notified when they did. Well, that's fixed now, like I said. FYI, after searching through things, I also found out that a very nice person (who has his own blog at www.esclaves.org) happened to post a very warm comment regarding my January 1st blog. So, for that, thanks!!! *bounces and waves in his direction*


Things are getting back to a type of normalcy since the Southwest Leather Conference last weekend.

Hoo boy. Do I have a lot to write about.

And I’ve got a few souvenirs, which include 14 scabs from where pieces of metal entered and exited my body. I’ve also got the two hooks that were sunk into my chest, four bells that were hung from my back, a rose-quartz crystal hung from the flesh directly over my heart, a very sexy (and stretchy) cigarette dress that hugs my body like nobody’s business, a nicely illustrated convention T-shirt and some wild memories. Oh, and about three extra pounds spread around my body from eating too much at too many buffets.

Talking about the convention will likely require two separate blog posts, so I’ll jump into the part I’m sure everybody’s wondering about – the Dance of Souls. You can get the basic background info here, which is pretty informative regarding its history and such.

I’ve been told that the mental, emotional and spiritual aftereffects will be hitting me repeatedly over time, possibly when I least expect it. Maybe. I’ll see, but at least I won’t be surprised if it happens.

Imagine a room half the size of a basketball court. In the center is a large wooden altar that’s made from a big square of wood made from four large poles elevated by four more large poles, with very thick hemp rope crisscrossing along the top and chains running along the top edges.

Imagine a bank of drummers pounding out a beat that’s fast and furious and shakes you to your very core.

Now imagine nearly 100 people, many of them fully naked, dancing around the altar. The bodies of all of these people have been pierced in multiple places. Almost all of them have metal bells hanging from their back or chest. Many of them are also pierced by large hooks, from which they hang from the altar’s rafters on thick cords or pull against each other using metal rings. The pressure against the hooks causes the skin underneath to be pulled out, often several inches or even more. Blood flows from many people’s wounds. A few people even allow themselves to hang completely, their entire body weight pulling down against the hooks that are attached by cords to chains above them.

I was part of all that.

Four metal bells were in my back, hanging from loops of fishing line that had been threaded through my skin. Another bell was similarly attached along with a quartz crystal and a glass pendulum to my chest as close to my heart as possible.

Along with that, thick metal hooks had been thrust completely through my skin above each breast, and were jutting out about halfway between the nipple and the bottom of my neck.

Besides the bells and hooks and crystals and rings in my earlobes, I was very happily completely naked. I didn't miss my clothes at all.

I had originally planned only to get four bells. Master had told me that hooks were advanced, and I was a beginner.

But Master wasn’t there, and when it came time for me to be pierced, I decided on impulse to take it to the next level beyond the bells. And I’m glad I did.

If Master had been there, I wouldn’t have gotten hooks most likely. But to our mutual disappointment, he wasn’t. Instead, he had to stay in the hotel room, sleeping off a bad cold.

The fact that Master wasn’t there had very important repercussions, which I’ll discuss later.

Back to the hooks. Master said they were salmon hooks with the barbs taken off. You can look them up on the Internet easily, but to give you an idea of the size, the distance between the holes left by the hooks going in and coming out of my skin is between an inch and a half and two inches.

If you saw me, you’d probably think I would have been in extreme pain as I leaned back near the last few minutes of the dance, my hooks tied to cords which I had attached to a chain above me. I looked down a couple of times and saw my skin was stretched out what seemed like at least two inches away from my chest.

Instead, there was no pain – only a feeling of pressure as my skin was contracting between the two hooks, bringing them toward each other.

My eyes were closed, and I was talking to Wolf spirit. I remember asking him what the big deal was. I remember asking him why the feeling of my skin being squeezed tightly like that was supposed to have some type of mystical effect. And I remember him saying it might not have that much of an effect for me because I’m already used to talking with him and other spirits on a casual day-to-day basis. But I got the impression that he felt it might help energize that connection, making it stronger than it’s been in awhile.

Judging from some experiences I had at the convention before the dance, it’s clear that my spiritual awareness was, indeed, already active. But judging from an experience I had two days after the dance, I can also say that my awareness may quite well have become more focused than before. More on that later.

The bells, by the way, didn’t have nearly as much as an effect on me as the hooks. At several points during the experience, I took a break from the hooks and danced furiously in place, making all of my bells ring in time with the drumming. And after awhile of that, I was starting to definitely trip out.

But it was the hooks that truly made the experience something incredible. If you had asked me ahead of time if I would have dared to do it, I would have told you “no,” but something compelled me that day to reach beyond my limits.

To do something that would make Master and me both proud of my courage.

Instead, I caused Master to be embarrassed and regretful. Not at me, he said, but at himself, for not following his own instincts – which were to not let me go at all.

Master had done the Dance of Souls before, and, with the knowledge of how powerful an experience it could be, he planned for both of us to do it together. He booked reservations long in advance, and we were both greatly looking forward to it.

Then, two nights before the dance, he came down with a cold, which became increasingly worse as the dance approached. Finally, the day of the dance, he told me he wouldn’t be able to attend, but he encouraged me to do it by myself, even though we both knew I would miss him greatly.

Master told me not to think of him, but to keep my mind and my spirit at the dance. I thought I could, and I did ... for awhile.

From the time of the piercing to the time of the final farewell, the dance ran for more than three hours. About halfway through, I saw something breathtakingly beautiful happen in the middle of the dance floor. A very powerfully dominant Master collared her slave with a gorgeous golden collar while surrounded by a group of well wishers all swaying their hands in emotional and spiritual support. After the collar was snapped into place, the Master and her slave, both bedecked with bells and hooks, danced together in incredible passion and love. When I saw that, I felt so deeply moved that I simply had to contact my own Master. I had to see him, to touch him, to feel his skin against mine, to hear his voice. And so, wrapping a blanket around my body, I went outside the dance room and used the phone to call him. Instead of the tender reception I expected, he answered gruffly, telling me he had been asleep and ordering me to get back to the dance. I hung up the phone and tried to return, but soon tears filled my eyes, and the most I could do was stand at the edge and stare at the others in the room.

Along with the dancers and the drummers, there were more than 100 other participants – witnesses. They were there to watch, to observe, to be there to validate what we as dancers experienced near them. Among the watchers were several slave friends of mine from Denver, and when they saw my distress, they came to me to help. And we talked, each of us sharing our feelings about our Masters. What they said to me is personal to them, but for me I told how heartbroken I was that my Master was up in the room, choosing to sleep rather than to come down even briefly to see me when I had let him know how much I wanted him at that moment. Yes, I knew he had an awful cold and needed the rest. But I was hurt emotionally – a lot – and the tears flowed from my eyes in response to the pain in my spirit.

Eventually I went back inside the dance room, but soon I couldn’t take it and, without telling anybody, I put my clothes back over my hooks and bells and, against the rules of the dance, went upstairs to the room. I felt I had to see Master, more than anything in the world. But when I went up there, instead of finding him reading on the couch or surfing the Web on his computer, I found the room darkened, with him asleep. I was extremely disheartened and paced back and forth, trying to decide what to do. The decision was taken out of my hands by the telephone ringing. Master jerked awake and grabbed the phone to hear somebody telling him I had run off and asking about where I was. Master told them I was there, then he hung up the phone and angrily faced me, glaring at me, and soon, instead of the tenderness I most needed at that time, I was faced with my Master furiously ordering me out of the room and demanding that I get back downstairs and don’t come back up until I was done.

Of course, I felt horrible beyond words. I returned to the dance floor and confronted the slaves who had called Master, and they told me they had been genuinely concerned by my disappearance and were mortified it got me into such serious trouble with him. My three slave friends gathered around me and expected me to help me get my piercings removed, but I told them I would fucking complete the dance if it killed me, and I marched over to the altar and attached the hook cords above my head, determined to make the most of the remaining time.

Only a quarter of an hour remained in the dance, but I have to say that those fifteen minutes were possibly the most powerful, most meaningful of the whole experience. It was then I truly went beyond myself physically. I didn’t care about limits. I just wanted release from the deep, dark feelings I was experienced, and I found that catharsis in the hooks pulling so tightly against my flesh. Getting my skin pierced seven times for the hooks and the bells hurt like crazy, but that was nothing compared to the pain I felt from feeling so isolated from Master then, and, in the end, I felt a deep sense of relief and release as I felt the cords tugging tighter and tighter, dragging my skin further and further from my muscles and bones.

Sooner than I wished the drumming changed its tempo, and the closing ritual began. It was a simple one, in that we all lowered ourselves to the ground to center our energies into the earth. I was still tense, still anxious, but I worked to let it all flow out.

At some point, I heard that Master was looking for me, that he had asked about me outside the dance room, and had left to wait for me elsewhere. I went outside the dance room and asked for him, and somebody found him and he came to me and told me to meet him in the lobby after my piercings were removed.

Slowly and carefully, my hooks and cords were safely taken off then packaged for keeping, along with my bells, the crystal and pendulum (which I consecrated in my sacred grove two days later, but I’ll talk about that in my next post). My clothes were put back on. And I knew Master awaited.

I didn’t know what to expect from Master. I was actually worried in the back of my mind that he was going to tell me that this showed I wasn’t the slave he wanted, and he was going to tell me to look elsewhere for a Master. I wondered if I could survive living on my own while working at Starbucks or somewhere. I was scared and confused. My mind wasn’t exactly working on a rational, logical level.

I found him sitting in a chair, calmly awaiting my arrival. I approached with my head down and quickly kneeled in supplication at his feet, and he gently led me back to the room. Once there, I explained what had happened, why I had done what I had done, and I begged forgiveness. To my complete surprise, he looked at me sadly and said he was the one who made the mistake. He said his instincts had told him that it was too early in our relationship for me to go to an event like that on my own, but he let me go anyway.

A year from now, he said, he expects I’ll be strong enough to do something like that without needing him with me.

I sighed and accepted his words, feeling remorse for the day’s events.

It hit me a little later what he said.

“A year from now.”

He expects that I’ll be with him for a very long time, despite what happened.

I mentioned that to him on the drive home back from the airport the next day, and he told me matter of factly, “I’m not running a training house, where I release you from your collar after awhile.”

We’re together. Possibly – I hope – for the rest of our lives.

The day we left from Phoenix, as we were packing, I realized that I wouldn’t be able to take the hooks back with me to Denver because Master and I only brought carryon luggage, and the hooks wouldn’t pass airport security screening. Fortunately, a Master-slave couple who were good friends of my Master was in the hotel lobby, and they said they’d take the hooks back to Denver for us no problem.

It turned out that this slave was the person who encountered Master when he came to the dance to look for me. She told me that Master was concerned that I would be a bit mentally loopy from walking around with all the hooks and piercings in me, and he had wanted to make sure I got back to the dance safely. The slave saw him and, as a registered witness to the dance, she went inside and found me as I was leaning back in a near trance state, the hooks pulling so very tightly against my flesh as I previously described.

“You looked so beautifully peaceful,” she told me as we stood together that next day, me holding the box with my packed hooks. “I knew that everything was fine, and I let your Master know that, which was why he knew it was safe to leave you and wait in the lobby.”

I told the slave what had happened regarding the problems with me and Master, and how horrible I felt about it, and how disappointed he was with himself. Her response was to smile, gently hold my hands and tell me not to worry.

She said that what happened between Master and me would be just a “pebble” on the road we’re going to travel together during our lives. Just a minor bump in the road, she said.

I told Master later what she said, and Master replied with a smile that “she’s a very wise woman.”

I agree with Master 100 percent. That slave's Owner is an extremely blessed man.

The dance was three days ago. As you can guess, it’s going to be a long time before I get over what happened.

I’ve got a lot more to write about regarding the conference and what happened afterward, but you’ll have to be patient and wait for my next blog posting for that, which should be in just a couple of days.

Until then, as always, with true joy in my heart ...

La kajira!!!

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Day 166 - On Being Curious about Furry Fandom, Working to Get with Other Ponygirls (and Boys), Being Tired of High Protocol, Finding Human Bodies to Be Unnatural, and Being Nervous about the Southwest Leather Con

Two days from now, Master and I will be flying to Phoenix for the annual Southwest Leather Master/slave conference. I’ve never been to such an event, as you might expect, and I’m a bit nervous – although Master told me today it’s the most spiritual of all such events around the country, and more than any of the others I should be met with a warm, welcoming feeling while I’m there.

Yeah, I should be excited, and I am in ways. But I hate flying. I dislike hotels. I don’t like change. And I’m nervous about the “Dance of Souls” on Sunday, in which I’ll be pierced with a bunch of hooks, from which weights as heavy as lemons will be hung while I dance for what might be hours.

Next week at this time I might be looking back on it as the best weekend of my life, so I’m remaining optimistic. I just hope I don’t react to the chaos by getting frustrated and depressed. Fortunately, Master said there’s a very quiet place set up at the con just for the purpose of allowing people to escape from all the confusion, and I have a distinct feeling I’ll be visiting there a few times. *smiles gently*

Before I go any further, I want to stick in an unexpected little thing that I discovered yesterday morning – the fact that mixing oatmeal, salsa and peanut butter makes a FANTASTIC breakfast that’s delicious and filling in just the right ways. I didn’t get it out of a book or anything, by the way. I had made oatmeal, and I added the other ingredients at Horse spirit’s prompting (yes, that sounds weird, but he and I were talking at the time, and he very vividly made some suggestions regarding what I should eat, with me feeling like it wasn’t going to work, but he telling me all the while I’d love it -- and I did! *whinnies happily*). Alton Brown, the host of Good Eats on the Food Network, says you should “take charge” of your food, and he encourages wild experimentation as the way a chef can go beyond a recipe and find truly new taste sensations. So go out and experiment in the kitchen, everybody! *bounces happily*

Okay, back to less fun stuff. Like last week.

Y’know that post I wrote where I was so depressed, lamenting how awful things had been while Master and M’Lady were gone? Well, that was early on a Monday morning, and later that day things continued to be crappy right up to Master’s arrival.

I admit it – I’ve got a bit of unpleasant hair growth on my face. Not a lot, but just a touch in the wrong places near my lips. Master gave me some extra money to go get it removed by laser treatment in time for the conference, and I scheduled it for last Monday. I wanted it done and out of the way. When I got there, they told me to scrub all the pre-treatment numbing cream off my face, and apparently I scrubbed too hard, because the specialist called in her manager and told me she wouldn’t risk the treatment on me because my skin was all red. I was shocked, and tried to explain that my skin was fine before I scrubbed it, but then they started saying there was obviously something wrong with my skin, and I couldn’t get the treatment done until I went to a dermatologist and got a written note saying it was safe. That was so ridiculous and absurd, and they wouldn’t believe me when I said my skin was fine, and I lost it and started bawling loudly and uncontrollably. A week earlier I probably would have written it off and gone somewhere else, but after days of awfulness, I just couldn’t take it anymore and I left there crying my eyes out.

I called Master to confirm that their flight was on time, and he could tell I was upset, and I told him what had happened. In response, he very tenderly told me to take the day off and do whatever I needed to do to comfort myself before they arrived. It warmed my heart, but I replied that I wanted to be busy as a way of not dwelling on the situation, and he gave me permission to make one of their favorite dinners – blue cheese pork and noodles – as their welcome-home meal. (It’s TRULY yummy, and I’ve put the recipe at the bottom of today’s post).

FYI, the manager of the laser-treatment spa called me later that day and let me explain things, and the appointment was rescheduled for the following Thursday. Unfortunately, that appointment also turned out to be a fiasco in ways, with a newly graduated technician doing the work, and when I told her how the owner of the salon had done my face before, she told me she “didn’t give a shit” about what the owner of the place said, and then proceeded to rush me through very sloppily using a process that had never been done on me. It’s been almost a week, and the few hairs that were supposed to have been burned away are still there, to my annoyance. Master told me to call today to complain, and I did, and the manager said she’d get me back in and do me personally after I get back from Phoenix. *sighs*

Anyway, enough of that dumb subject.

Master and M’Lady’s flight returned right on time, and I surprised them by meeting them early at the luggage terminal, and I felt so wonderful to see them again. Not much of note happened the rest of the night except for the simple act of everybody getting home and tiredly trying to get back to normal.

Tuesday I was already feeling so incredibly better. It was so wonderful to have Master back, and to be able to turn to him when things got confusing, and to just have his presence near me, giving me the peace and sense of rightness that comes in being fully owned. I missed everything about Master. The sound of his voice, the feel of his arms around me, even the knowledge that he would punish me for disobedience or making mistakes. I am his property. I am his pet. And like many a canine, Master is the world to me in ways that non-slaves likely might never be able to understand.

Speaking of non-slaves, that night I had a very enjoyable coffee with a woman I’d met at the Sanctuary BDSM Club in Denver. She originally told me she was a submissive, but later (during a discussion at a group for submissives) she said she might actually be more of a slave. We stayed up extremely late, and the more we talked, the more we liked each other, and we parted by saying we really hope to get together on a regular basis – and Master likes her, so he approves of us being good friends. As she and I talked about our lives, we both concluded that she’s not a slave, but she does have very slave-like tendencies. She could never imagine giving up total control, and she would never desire to devote herself full-time to a Master who is married (and her primary Master is) – yet she said she also couldn’t imagine disobeying her Master when he gives her a direct order. She actually has two dominants, with the second one spending more time with her than her main dom. It’s a complicated situation, but it works for her, and I love talking with her about it and other things. And to top it off, at the end of the night she gave me a FANTASTIC coat and scarf set because she lost a lot of weight and I fit what she used to weigh. It’s not that I’m way overweight myself, mind you -- she’s quite a bit shorter than I am, so really overweight for her is normal for me. (Okay, close to normal – I am on a diet, y’know. *grins*)

Wednesday Master and I went to a class on paddles and crops at the Sanctuary. It was okay. To be honest, I was both bored and nervous at the same time – S & M (sadism and masochism), particularly when it directly involves inflicting and receiving pain, doesn’t really interest me that much except in how it directly affects the relationship between Master and me. I find it weird that people get a kick out of hitting each other with sticks of wood or pieces of leather – but then, I also find it weird that people enjoy watching football or collecting stamps. Actually, I can understand stamp collecting a bit because it can be beautiful and relaxing. And I guess S & M can be that way to some people. But not to me, so the presentation was dull – except for the fact that I was concerned that Master, who enjoys S & M, might have been planning on using me as a test target to play with at the class. He didn’t want to, however, to my relief. Master and I are still working on figuring out a balance regarding that part of our lives. Master will occasionally paddle me for fun or for minor offenses, just to get a reaction out of me, but he never does anything lengthy or serious because he knows I’m not into that.

Regarding BDSM, I am into the first letter, I should note – “B” being for “bondage.” Master isn’t, however. So just as he chooses to not get his jollies from beating me for long sessions in his dungeon (even though he enjoys such things), I don’t get to have the jollies I want from being stuck in a cage, tied up, gagged and blindfolded for long sessions in his dungeon. He’s got a fantastic dungeon, and it’s not being used. Well, not yet. He’s hoping to have some parties here during the coming months. We’re both crossing our fingers, because even if I don’t play much during the coming parties, at least I think I’ll enjoy the company.

That is, if the parties aren’t high protocol. Which I’ve officially gotten sick of for awhile.

Friday night was Inner Sanctum, the monthly high protocol event at the Sanctuary. It was okay. Not great, but okay. I truly enjoy serving Master, but I was really spacing out at times as I kneeled for what seemed like forever at Master’s feet. The topic was on “objectification”, and the Master leading it seemed like such a novice. I’ve had about 15 years studying the subject, if not longer, particularly in online fiction and erotic sites, and I so much wanted to correct his misstatements and add my own knowledge, but I couldn’t because, as a slave, I had to remain quiet and keep my opinions to myself while he talked. At one point the Master leading the discussion said that animal play was objectification, and I wanted to correct him so much! (My Master and I talked afterward, and he agreed with me on that point, that animal play is something else altogether. More on that later.)

I started getting sore during the kneeling, and I started zoning out at one point, to the point of almost “crossing over” mentally into a trance state. Horse spirit was already with me that night, and my connection with him got exponentially stronger very quickly – and it stuck for hours. That night, I truly felt like Horse was talking with me, so much that at times he was making me giggle. I really felt him with me. I truly heard him and, without a doubt, could tell what were his words and what were my own thoughts.

One thing that was interesting that happened then – there’s was a slave there that’s generally considered really attractive, but I saw her with only a few clothes on, and I noticed how much cellulite she had, and I looked at myself, and I realized how muscular I am, and I felt so extremely proud of my workhorse physique. I saw my own benefits not as a human, but as a beast of burden. Actually, while at the meeting, I felt like everybody looked weird. Like human bodies looked strange and unappealing. Like nobody there was attractive, male or female, except for one person – my Master. And, truth be told, my Master is HOT. Think “Sean Connery” in the Hunt for Red October hot, except taller and a bit more broad. Maybe I was feeling the way that an animal feels for her Owner, in that people in general are bizarre except for the person who owns you. But it felt good to see my Master and feel that way. Very, very good and wonderful.

Horse also made me feel really alienated from the idea of high protocol, and was saying things to me, “Wow. They’re really getting into this. It’s like we’re in a church or something,” and I couldn’t help but feel just how absurd it all was that night.

The very next night was a formal dinner at a Master’s house, with everybody engaged yet again in very high protocol, with the Masters in one room and the slaves busy serving a full, complex meal. The slaves who belonged to the Owner of the house did all the cooking, with the rest of the slaves splitting the serving duties. I jumped at the chance to make cappuccinos, which I love to do and wanted to make sure was done right. Truth be told, the night was rather dull and, especially after the previous night, very tiring. I was so sore from having to uncomfortably kneel another night for long periods at Master’s feet, unable to stand and stretch my legs when needed, while he and the other Masters chit chatted. I’m officially sick of high protocol for awhile. I’m ready to just serve Master normally.

On the way back from that party, Master and I talked about furry fandom and animal play, and he said he considered them kinky, and it took me awhile to help him realize that they weren’t by nature. As the ponygirl said, furriness is about enjoying anthropmorphics (i.e., art and media that involves animals walking and talking like humans) , and erotic play doesn’t have to be involved.

What ponygirl, you’re wondering? Well, earlier in the week I joined a couple of ponyplay-related groups on Fetlife, and I found out there’s a group of people who want to do ponyplay in the Denver area. The main thing we’re needing now is to find a good place to play, and to figure out when and where to meet. The group is headed by a 20-something-year-old transwoman (a woman born with a man’s sexual organs). As somebody on a therian board once said, if you have species dysphoria (like I have), then gender dysphoria really isn’t a big deal! *grins*

The ponygirl I just mentioned and I met for coffee at a nearby Wiccan-oriented coffee shop, and we had quite a pleasant conversation talking about life and such. She’s not a therian, by the way, in that she doesn’t consider herself a horse spiritually (in contrast, I’m a wolf spiritually, making me a lupine therian).

Among other things, she talked about the local furry community, and I left feeling quite interested in getting involved. Granted, I might wide up rather disappointed. It could be just a bunch of people who like to dress up as animals and freak out the mundanes, the fuzzy equivalent of Goths. But I don’t think so. I think once I get to know people in the local furry community – which I’ve heard is a rather large group of people – I’ll find more than a few who are in it because of a spiritual connection with their animal. If anything, just finding people who enjoy anthromorphic art and comics, and who enjoy similarly themed roleplaying games, might be rather fun.

With that in mind, I looked up information about the Rocky Mountain Fur Con , a local furry convention that the ponygirl said was great. I considered attending last year, but I that was the weekend I was collared by Mistress, and needless to say my life was rather chaotic at the time. It seems like it would be wonderful to attend, but it’s all the way in August. By that time, however, I hope to get to know others in the local community and, if we click, I’ve already volunteered to present some events related to animal-associated spirituality. If people are interested in it, that is. We’ll see.

Whatever the case, the ponyplay group looks like it might have some great opportunities, too. I’ve been looking online to see if I can find us a cheap pony cart that we can use to pull each other around. If so, we could take turns training each other. The ponygirl and I realized that, as opposed to Master/slave or Dom/sub relationships, ponies just want to be ponies, and we can take turns being human sometimes and a pony other times. *nickers happily*

I already know I love being in pony gear. Remember how I mentioned I spent the Friday before last (while Master was gone) at the home of another slave? Well, while there, I modeled my pony gear, and came out in front of everybody wearing nothing but my bridle, halter and harness strap. And the thing is, it felt great. I was close to being nude, but I felt like I could have gone out in public like that with no problem. I really hope I get to be involved in pony play soon, somehow. The way things are working out, though, I think something will happen!

*crosses her hooves and bites her lips*

Horse. It keeps coming back to Horse.

I was so tired after last Wednesday’s class on crops and paddles that I crashed pretty much as soon as we got home, with a stuffed horse fetish with me all night. It’s actually a Webkinz horse that my daughter gave me (she offered it to me after I gave her a much larger stuffed horse as a surprise one day), but it definitely acts as a conduit to Horse spiritually. And, yes, anything can be a spiritual conduit, as long as it’s connected to somebody’s mind that way. I know of a very traditional Lakota holy man who had in his medicine bag a rubber mouse, which he very seriously used in his ritualistic work. Whatever the case, that night I dreamed a lot of things that had to do with horse’s presence, but unfortunately the next day I could only vaguely remember them without solid details. I knew he was with me, though, without a doubt.

My connection to Horse spirit is getting stronger and stronger, so much that it was hard to concentrate on being a slave sometimes during the last week. Maybe being away from Master did it, or gave Horse leeway for awhile. Last night, however, Master did something that totally snapped me back into place mentally, making me feel as if everything was right in my life again as far as the path I’m following.

I had heard so many wonderful things about the movie “Up,” and I was dying to see it – and I thought I finally would last night. But it turns out that Disney didn’t put ANY closed captioning into the rental copy, and with me being very hard of hearing, I was heartbroken and went up to my room crying in frustration because I wouldn’t be able to understand the subtleties of what was being said.

A few minutes later I came downstairs to find Master on the phone to Netflix (which sent him the movie) complaining about the lack of subtitles. He was very concerned and angry about the situation, and he stayed on the phone a long time making sure they knew how upset he was and how it was keeping him from watching a great movie with “his family.” Family. That’s how he sees me. I felt so incredibly proud to be Master’s slave at that moment. As I heard him fighting for me, working to protect me and take care of me, I knew more than anything I wanted to serve him with everything that I am. It was a wonderful, beautiful, incredibly joyous feeling that flows through me even now.

Yesterday Master “fine tuned” me some more – corrected me for a list of minor infractions he wants to make sure I fixed and learned from. Accidentally leaving some water on the counter in the bathroom after cleaning a silk sheet. Neglecting to empty the trash in his room the night before. Things like that. At first I was rather annoyed at myself for missing them. But that abated, to be replaced with a feeling of determination, because I knew all of that was part of Master making me better and better every day.

The feeling I had last night, one of bliss in being Master’s property, is what I plan to use to carry me through all the stress of this weekend, because in the coming days, I will be serving in every way as Master’s girl, in a place surrounded by other Master/slave couples, all coming together in friendship and togetherness.

Surely nothing could go wrong with that, right? *chuckles*

La kajira!

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

Blue Cheese and Pork Tenderloin Casserole 



Yields: 6 Servings

INGREDIENTS
6 ounces Egg Noodles
6 slices Pork Tenderloin 1 inch thick
3/4 teaspoon Salt
3/4 teaspoon Pepper
3 tablespoons Butter
3 tablespoons All purpose flour
2 1/2 cups Milk
3/4 cup Blue cheese crumbled
1 4 oz can Chopped green chilies


INSTRUCTIONS
Preheat oven to 350 F. Grease a shallow 2 quart casserole.

Cook noodles according to package directions. Drain. Transfer casserole.

Season tenderloin with salt and pepper. Heat 1 tablespoon butter in a skillet and brown meat on both sides over moderately high heat. Place on top of noodles.

Add remaining 2 tablespoons butter to the pan. Add flour and stir until lightly browned, about 5 minutes.

Add the milk and bring to a boil, whisking constantly. Add the cheese and stir until smooth. Add the chiles. Pour the sauce over the meat and noodles.

Bake uncovered for about 30 minutes, until bubbly.

Monday, January 18, 2010

Day 164 -- On Being Connected to Horse Spirit, Following the Path of a Druidess, Becoming a Tree Spirit, and Things Sorta Getting Back to Normal

Some weeks are so bad that it takes you awhile to get over them. The week Master and M’Lady were gone was like that.

They returned, as expected, the day after my last post. During the week since, I’ve been trying mentally to get back to normal, but without complete success.

It’s hard to explain, but things still feel weird.

The fact that I’ve been working with Horse spirit so strongly – or, should I say, the fact that he’s been working with me, as he’s been very determinedly making his way into my head – may have something to do with my mindset as well. That, along with the fact I’ve been looking into ponyplay much more during the last couple of weeks, and I’ve been communicating with other people interested in the same thing in the Denver area. Naturally, those two things go together.

Horse. He’s been trying to make himself my primary spirit guide since late summer of 2008, since I first started considering full-time slavery as a real lifestyle choice.

It began slowly, in SecondLife of all places (the online virtual world). Well, that provided the springboard. I needed to teleport somewhere quickly to avoid another person, and I randomly chose a pony ranch to visit. I was intrigued at what I saw there, and I soon became involved a bit in the online virtual pony community. There are entire ranches set up for it, with online pony girls (and boys) pretending to do dressage and racing and …

Yeah, that’s all just pretend. I know. But it created a connection in my mind between being a pony and being a slave (which was the path I was pursuing, at Raven spirit’s prompting).

Pony play appeals to me because it would allow me to bridge the gap (in a way) between my human and non-human animal natures. However, with the ability to actually have a fully animal body in SecondLife, the limitations of ponyplay soon became too much, and I went the next step – to becoming a horse in SecondLife.

That’s about when Horse spirit started contacting me.

For several months, I lived off-and-on as a horse in Secondlife, the property of a very loving married couple in a sim dedicated to the Tombstone, Arizona, of the Wild West days. They gave me a stall in their barn and everything. I attended stock shows and pulled a cart around the city. And I never talked. Ever. I was a horse, with the only means of communication being to occasionally snort or stomp my foot in annoyance or whinny happily or something.

It was about that time that I had my first direct encounter with Horse, without a doubt. I was coming out of a job interview and, as I approached my car, I was hit with an extremely strong mental “shift” into the mindset of a horse, along with an extremely strong feeling of being a horse in a human body. Everything about my human body felt wrong, and I sensed I could feel my equine limbs as if they were truly a part of me. The experience passed within a few minutes, but it left me a bit shaken – in a way I found pleasantly breathtaking.

By early fall of that year, I was wanting to be a horse in real life so much it hurt. I briefly worked near a horse farm and I would visit there during lunches, and I fell deeply in love (or was it lust?) with a wonderfully playful (and randy!) young stallion there. If I could have woken up one day as a mare in that pasture, destined to be bred with him and mother his foals, I would have in a heartbeat.

Regarding Secondlife, by the way, unfortunately, most people in the Tombstone sim didn’t really know how to handle roleplaying with a horse, so I was largely ignored, and slowly moved away from that role – but the seed was there in my mind, and it remained ready to sprout.

That time arrived in January after I encountered a woman who ran a sim based on Celtic Spain, circa 1241. We talked, and she said she needed a druidess in her tribe, and I took on the position, little knowing where it would lead me.

During the next two weeks, I would have a series of spiritual experiences prompted by the roleplaying in the sim that actually went far beyond what everybody else was doing there, so much that I was kicked out of the sim for being too “intense” and for not limiting myself to their style of roleplaying. They just wanted me to roleplay, but something very real happened to me, and they didn't want a part of it.

During that time, I felt the calling to become a druidess for real. I felt the first strings of a connection to Rhiannon, the Welsh Celtic horse goddess. And I encountered a spirit in the guise of a white horse – which I didn’t find out until quite a bit later happened to be the way that Rhiannon presented herself at times.

To quote something I told somebody at that time … “There is a white stallion who owns me. He told me his name. It means ‘moonlight.’ I hunt when I need to, but I often can live without it. I am a wolf at heart, and I'm used to being one. Living in a human body is strange for me. But Rhiannon has come to me, and she's starting to encourage me to see life through a horse's eyes ... and to consider living on a horse's diet. I do have memories of being a wolf in my lives before this one, though. I'm not sure why I'm human in this life. But I'm sure there's a reason for it.”

I sought the reality of my experiences soon afterward, and I began researching druidism. And I began taking walks around the area near my apartment. One day, in a grove of trees, a natural area set aside at a local park, I was hit by a very powerful presence that I knew without a doubt – because I recognized her – to be Rhiannon. She came as a woman and left as a white horse, and she told me she would only come to me in natural places, like the grove of trees. It was wonderful and beautiful. I have to admit something, which is I haven’t contacted her much since then. Why, I don’t know. Maybe I just feel I don’t need to, because she’s there for me and will call to me when I need to be with her. Whatever the answer, though it’s a question I feel I need to pursue soon.

I was able to find some very reliable sources on Druidic rituals, and one of them gave instructions on how to begin the path of a Druidess by connecting my spirit to a grove of trees. I didn’t realize just how powerful the ritual was until it was too late – not that I wish I hadn’t done it. By the end of it, after a long ceremony and meditation in which I communicated directly with each of the spirits in a group of cottonwood trees near my apartment, I allowed their souls to connect to mine and mine to theirs, and to bind my energies to their own and … I became a part of the grove. A sister to them. Part of their family. Truly, a tree. And that’s what I hadn’t expected, that my soul would literally be changed. That I would afterward be, in a very real way, a tree spirit. But if I had thought about it, that’s the only way I could become part of the grove.

Afterward, I did research to validate my experiences, and I found out that what happened to me was actually typical of somebody who crossed the barrier to becoming a druid. The legend of Merlin going into a tree upon his death is based on that, in that upon his leaving his human life, he became a tree in the next – or that’s my understanding of it. So closely linked are druids and trees spiritually that the word root for dryad, which means “female spirit,” is the same as for “druid,” with “dryas” meaning “female druid.”

So I’m a wolf. But I’m also a tree. A dryas. And while that’s impossible to explain, it makes perfect sense to me because, simply, I know it in my soul to be right in ways that words can’t define.

The grove wants me back someday, to live there as a tree. Before, the idea of being a tree would seem horrible. Now it fills me with peace and a sense of rightness. And I long to be there someday, at least for one of my future lives.

And I long to be a horse, as well.

But, with luck, I’ll be able to be a ponygirl at times soon. But I’m getting to that.

Well, I’ll get to that in my next post. This one’s already getting too long, and so it’s time to cut it off here and get it logged into place.

So, for now, just know that things are better now than they were in my last post, without a doubt. But I’m still a bit off-center mentally. Hopefully soon things will be fully back to normal.

*crosses her hooves for luck*

And, as always, la kajira!

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

p.s. Here is one a quick summary of the most famous of the stories regarding Rhiannon, as I told it to a friend in SecondLife:


Rhiannon is a goddess who came to Earth and married a human male instead of the god she was arranged to wed. There is much to tell of her, but I'll mention a few things

The god she was arranged to wed was furious, as you may expect. But Rhiannon married the human, and after several years they had a beautiful infant son.

Well, being a mother can lead to tragedy, as Rhianon and her husband found out. The son was cared for by six handmaidens. One night they all fell asleep at the same time by accident. And when they awoke, the child was gone.

They were all afraid they would be blamed for the child's loss, so they took a small animal that had been killed, and they smeared its blood on Rhiannon's sleeping body, and placed the animal's bones by Rhiannon's side.

Rhiannon swore her innocence, but she was put to trial. Because she was the queen, she was spared death, but she was punished to serve as a horse for seven years. She had to wear a horse's collar and bridle and to stand at the gates of the city and give rides to the castle to anybody who asked. She did this for four years without complaint, and the people grew to love her and respect her dearly. One day, a man and a woman and a child approached the city, and Rhiannon offered to give them a ride. In response, the child held to Rhiannon a scrap of cloth, which Rhiannon had woven herself. She realized it was her son, and she hugged him dearly. What had happened is that Rhiannon's jealous former fiancee had kidnapped the child and left him to die in a field. The man, a farmer, had come to the field that night to help a horse give labor, and had seen the child lying nearby. The man and his wife adopted the child and raised him as their own.

After they had heard of Rhiannon's punishment, they realized who the child was, and came to the city to reunite him with his family. Rhiannon brought the child back to the palace, and all the people of the kingdom were remorseful for having judged Rhiannon so harshly. She was a loving and kind queen, and she forgave them all, and the kingdom was blessed by her rule and prospered for many years in happiness.

Rhiannon is now considered to be a Goddess strongly connected with horses, and those who connect with her often are guided to truly understand what the life of a horse is like, in mind and heart and spirit. She is also a Goddess who teaches love and compassion, and teaches forgiveness, and teaches following your heart no matter where it leads, and teaches perseverance during life's toughest trials.

And all of those things .... compassion, following your heart, and perseverance ... are all traits of a horse for the person who rides it ... if the horse and the rider share a bond of love.

Monday, January 11, 2010

Day 157 - On the Death of Yet Another Deeply Beloved Feline Friend, On Cracking Up Mentally Under Stress, On Failing Master While He Was Gone, and on Otherwise a Truly Sucky Week in Many Other Respects

It’s 1:30 AM Monday morning and I can’t sleep.

I’m a mess tonight emotionally.

The last few days have been bad, leading to now. After tossing and turning, bawling in my bed, screaming in tears, I had to do something, so I got up to write.

Saturday I had to bury another friend. I’m sick of it. I still haven’t gotten over the death of Shelby, the most wonderful cat that could ever be part of a person’s life.

About 17 years ago, my ex and I opened our door one morning to find a thick-furred female cat outside, wanting to come in. A few weeks later she gave birth to three beautiful kittens in our bathroom. We found a home for her and for one of the kittens, a male. The two females, both a tortoiseshell and a calico, we kept.

The calico we named, appropriately, “Callie.”

She was a real cuddle muffin. She always wanted to play, and when she chased string, she was fast and furious. She would always sit on a book you were reading, wanting to be petted. She climb onto your shoulder while you were sitting at the computer and would fall asleep. She’d butt her head against yours to rub you and make contact with you.

Her purr was so incredibly loud and wonderful.

She had a stroke recently. She was old, and her body was failing. We took her to the vet the week before last, and the vet said she would recover if we gave her potassium and thyroid pills. The vet was a good vet, but she made a mistake. Instead of recovering, Callie got worse. Her back legs started giving out, and three days ago she couldn’t walk at all anymore.

It was clear she was dying. Friday the vet confirmed that a blood clot had caused her legs to fail.

Callie clearly was ready to go to her next life. I spent Saturday morning holding her close, playing with her a last time, letting her sleep in my arms. She purred and purred, loving every touch of my fingers along her cheeks and ears.

We took her to the vet that morning. Callie normally hated car trips and the vet’s office. That morning, she was peaceful and curious. She curled up in my ex’s lap, and was purring as the vet gave her the fatal injection. Callie then gently fell into an everlasting sleep.

None of us could imagine a better way to go to our next life.

I buried her in my ex’s back yard that afternoon. I had to pour boiling water to soften the frozen ground so I could dig the grave. Afterward, the mud was sticking to every bit of my clothing.

Things were stressed at my ex’s all day, as you can imagine. At one point I cracked. My daughter put her sweater down on my keys. When I went to get something out of my car, I couldn’t find them. I frantically searched the house for more than an hour. My ex has a spare of my car key, so I got in my car and went through it top to bottom. I scoured the back yard with a flashlight to see if my keys fell out of my pocket into a snow bank. I couldn’t take it. I was afraid I’d never find my keys again. I became afraid my Master would punish me horribly and lose trust in me for losing his keys. I couldn’t think straight. I collapsed into a corner of the room near the front door and started biting my arm very hard. I used to do that a lot during my year of hell, the period of depression I went through last year, but I haven’t bitten myself in a long time. But I bit myself on Sunday, again and again, hard enough to draw blood. When by chance I moved my daughter’s sweater and found my keys, I still felt awful. It took me a long time to get over it all.

Basically, Saturday sucked.

I found out from my ex about Callie’s condition Friday night while I was at the other slave’s house. Needless to say, it put a serious damper on the evening. Another slave and her Master had come over that night, and we were all planning to stay up late and have fun, with the slaves pampering the Masters and goofing around among ourselves. I had brought everything with plans to spend the night. The slave there made a wonderful dinner of beef stew. I could hardly taste it. I couldn’t enjoy the evening anymore. I wound up going home.

I have to admit, I don’t think I really trust the Master of that house. It’s hard to say exactly why. But he seems to have a mean streak. He smiles in a mean way. His slave told me that he hasn’t had sex with her in months, but he explicitly forbids her from masturbating, saying that her only satisfaction will come from him. He’s being considered for a three-year contract that would cause them to be uprooted and move to New York, and she hates the idea, but he’s explicitly forbidden her from asking him anything about the details of the contract. She said during dinner, desperate to talk to anybody, that her Master pushes her away at night when she tries to touch him in bed. As expected, he wasn’t happy that she aired his dirty laundry like that, but I could see the need in her eyes to express her thoughts. Later, she said she had to say it then because he wouldn’t let her talk about such things when they were alone.

But that’s all one sided. I only have her view on things. And yet, I can see the way he looks at her. I can see his expressions. The way his eyes move. His non-verbal body language. I don’t really trust him.

So even before I got the news about Callie, the day hadn’t been that fun at the slave’s house because of her problems with her Master.

The day before, Thursday, was one of the worst days I’ve had with my kids in a very long time. As I’ve indicated in previous post, we’ve been having wonderful times together and building up a tight bond. Thursday they seemed determined to break me emotionally. They taunted me and flat-out refused to do as I said. The simplest homework assignment was a nightmare to get them to do. I was tense and nervous the whole time I was with them. Something was out of kilter, left of center in a bad way.

And the day before, when I went to see my former Mistress, wasn’t great. After I dropped Master and M’Lady off at the airport, I drove to Mistress’s house, but a snowstorm hit just as I arrived. Not only that, but Mistress and I didn’t really hit it off that night. I didn’t feel any spark with her anymore. I enjoyed being with her, but I couldn’t sense the attraction we used to share so strongly. So when I announced I had to leave early because of the weather, we both simply agreed it was the thing to do, and without even a kiss goodbye she bid me on my way.

And then today. Sucky day. Master and M’Lady gave me a list of things to do, and I didn’t do them all, and I tried to catch up as much as possible today – without success. They expected me to do a lot of household chores with them out of the way, but I’m more behind than ever. Master wanted me to write an outline for my historical slavery presentation, but I didn’t yet. I was supposed to clean off the ton of unneeded files on my computer that’s clogging up the nightly backups. I didn’t yet.

And they got me a copy of the movie, “Up,” which I’ve heard is fantastic, and Master recommended I watch it while they were gone.

I spent almost four hours trying to watch the movie. Four horribly frustrating hours shot to hell.

Master has a cabinet bank of two DVD players, two TiVo’s, a stereo, a TV cable box and a Wii. They’re all controlled by one very complicatedly programmed controller. He left me instructions on how to play DVDs. I did something wrong, and the more I tried to fix things, the worse I got, and the more desperate I became. At one point, I tried to reset the TV and wound up turning off the powerstrip where everything was attached.

I told Master on the phone, and he was rather annoyed. I bothered him in Las Vegas to get him concerned about something I messed up that he can’t do anything about until he returns. I felt horrible, and I’m afraid of his wrath when he comes back. I feel like total shit.

Afterward, I took the movie upstairs, thinking to watch it on my computer. The damn movie disk doesn’t have a menu or English subtitles. I’m hard of hearing, and I have to have subtitles. The TV downstairs would have had subtitles, but my computer doesn’t. I tried everything, downloading more advanced DVD players and downloading subtitle files for “Up.” Nothing worked.

So, after spending almost four hours trying in vain to watch a movie, time that I desperately needed to catch up on my chores, I lost it a bit. I screamed into my pillow and cried for a very long time. Finally I decided to get up and write.

I hate technology sometimes. Really, truly hate it.

I had high hopes for this week. I thought I’d have some time for a bit of freedom in Master’s absence.

The week was fucking awful.

I wanted a break from the same old routine. I got a break, and I was broken in the process.

Master and M’Lady will be back this evening. I both long for them and dread their reaction to my failures.

Such is the life of a slave.

La kajira.

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

Day 152 - On Being Alone Without Master, On Making Mistakes and Being Held More and More Responsible for Them, On Master's Wonderful Generosity, On Being Giving (and Having a Lot of Fun With) the Best Vibrator Ever, and On Giving My Phone Number Out to A Horny Guy Without Master's Permission

Master’s gone, and I feel weird.

He and M’Lady flew out to Las Vegas today to attend an adult-industry trade show, leaving me all alone in the house until Monday afternoon. I haven’t been alone (except while driving in my car) for months, and I have to admit that the big house feels a bit spooky tonight.

Give me a chance to go hiking, and I can go out by myself (or in the company of a dog) for a pretty darn long time. But I’m at heart a country girl – I grew up on a ranch in Texas – and when I’m in a developed area I prefer to not be alone.

I remember the first night I spent in an apartment after my ex and I divorced almost two years ago. We had been together for almost 20 years. I didn’t sleep a wink that night. I cried almost non-stop, and at some points I was wailing in anguish. A lot has happened since then, however, and I’ve gotten used to solitude, to a degree. But I’ve never been happy with it, which I figure is part of the reason I was so addicted to SecondLife – because I wanted the feeling that there were always other people within easy reach of my thoughts, ready to interact with me. There was always another world besides this one I could escape to.

I went through a year of hell during the following 12 months. I experienced the darkest depths of my life and sank to truly the deepest pits of my soul.

But that was then, and this is now. I don’t want to escape from reality anymore. I’m closer to my children than ever before, and we love each other deeply. I’ve found true fulfillment being a slave for a man who I believe is one of the best Masters anybody could ever hope to encounter. Things aren’t perfect, but I’ve found peace and happiness.

If you want to compare life as a slave to a video game (which is a strange concept, I admit), then lately I feel like I’ve “level upped” -- in that now that I’ve pretty much achieved the necessary level of experience at the rudimentary skills of Master’s household, he’s both hitting me with more complex assignments and penalizing me more harshly when I fail. He’s increasing his level of expectation of me as his slave, which makes me feel good at knowing he’s satisfied with my past performance while making me more stressed at having to deal with his fine tuning of my abilities. When I made little mistakes at first, he put up with them – but now he very clearly shows his annoyance (at least, some of the time). Fortunately, though, I’m now have enough self confidence at what I’m doing that seeing his dissatisfaction doesn’t make me want to crumple into a ball of tears. Instead, I realize that it’s an indication that he knows I’m worthy of tougher situations and I’m being held to higher requirements of perfection.

Enough rambling on the subject – time for a case point, being last week, when he called me on the carpet (actually, on the hard-wood floor at his feet) over the fact that I bought brown eggs from cage-free chickens at the supermarket. During one of our first shopping excursions together, I recommended to Master that he purchase “cage-free” eggs because I thought they were more humane for the chickens, but Master told me he did not want to spend the extra money for what he considered a “political” issue. A few days ago, when I was shopping, I saw that the cage-free eggs were on sale (for less than a dollar more than normal eggs), and I bought them along with the rest of the groceries. That night, however, after he had a rather frustrating day, Master expressed his annoyance and disappointment in me because he felt I was directly disobeying an order and wasting money against his explicit instructions. He was very stern and very intense in his expression of unhappiness, and made no bones about the fact that he expected me to give him my full obedience in all things as his slave without exception. I was hurt and ashamed, but it was a case of misunderstanding, and I explained it to him calmly (and a bit nervously). I thought it was the amount of money that originally concerned him, and the fact that the eggs were on sale (plus the fact that this brand of eggs had added anti-oxidants) made me feel I would be able to make a judgment call and to make the purchase without asking his approval.

We talked in circles for a little while before we fully understood each other, and Master made it very clear that his orders were ORDERS, and that I was not to ever make an exception to his instructions without asking him first. Once he was confident I understood that, he dismissed me, and after I had left the room he took it upon himself to research the validity of whether there might actually be a valid reason to purchase cage-free eggs. He concluded from reading some Internet articles that there is no health benefit to cage-free eggs, the diet of the hens is the same as for hens in cages, cage-free hens might still be in extremely cramped quarters, and there is no government regulation regarding the term “cage free,” so in light of all that he said he doesn’t want me to purchase cage-free eggs in the future. The fact that he took the trouble to research the issue after our discussion truly warmed my heart and showed me yet again how wise and considerate he is as a Master, and together we grew closer from the incident, I feel.

A few days before that incident, another issue arose. That time, I really upset Master, so much that we missed an outing at the Sanctuary BDSM club. Well, what happened is that one night a couple of weeks early I had forgotten to check the stove was off before we left (I had cooked dinner as normal that night), and I told Master about my concern just as we were pulling out of the driveway. He stopped the car, clearly annoyed, and told me to check it and come back in a hurry. I did (the stove was safely off) and we went on our way, with Master telling me never to do that again. Unfortunately, the night after Christmas, I did do it again, but worse. After we had left the driveway and were starting to go down the street, again to the Sanctuary, I suddenly thought for sure I had left on the stove, and I told Master of my concern. Immediately seeing his anger at my words, I said I would call M’Lady and ask her to check the stove. And I called over and over as Master drove further and further from the house, but M’Lady didn’t pick up the phone. Eventually Master turned around and went back, and I ran in – only to find that I had turned off the stove after all. I ran back out to Master, only to find that he was coming back inside with his “toy” bag (of floggers and paddles), and he took off his coat and hung it up as I watched in with deep guilt in my heart. We would have been about 15 minutes later than planned, but Master was so upset at me that he cancelled plans entirely. He said he had lost all desire to go that night after what I had done, and he went upstairs and spent the rest of the evening on his computer.

The thing is, if I had been a new slave, he might have expected such mistakes, but now he’s expecting that I won’t be so irresponsible, and when I was, it really irritated him. I was crushed by what I had done, because I knew I had ruined the evening for him, and my life truly is dedicated to his happiness. But I didn’t scream or break down emotionally. I took it calmly. After collapsing dejectedly but quietly onto the floor near the couch, dazed, I thought about the situation for a long time, calmed myself down, and decided to move forward with the evening by apologizing to Master, swearing I would find a way to make sure from now on that I have a safety checklist I go over before leaving the house, and then I did chores into the evening (completing a very long assignment that involved sorting a huge stack of nearly a half year of household payment receipts). I also realized I hadn’t been able to get hold of M’Lady because I had incorrectly programmed Master’s cell phone as his home phone. Master seemed okay by the end of the night, but I stayed largely away from him, letting him wind down in peace while doing my best not to bother him, and we went on with our lives, with me hopefully becoming a better slave in the process.

And that’s not all, folks. Remember that big Christmas dinner I made for Master and M’Lady? Well, I got the idea for it after I a trip to my chiropractor in a nearby city a in early December, and afterward I went shopping casually at a nearby store that specializes in imported British goods. I bought several of the necessary items at the time, and the shopkeeper (whose parents owned the place) became friendly with me. I had met the guy several months earlier before I was with Master, at a time when I was considering being a copywriter, and I had attempted to convince the guy to contract me to make a Website for his business. He’s a computer Luddite, with no e-mail address or anything, and he couldn’t see the value of advertising his store on the Internet. Nonetheless, after all that time he remembered me when I came in, which was a bit flattering. By the end he was flirting just a bit, even to the point of suggesting we could get together when he was off work, and I smiled at the idea and told Master later, feeling a bit good about the attention. The guy is cute is a nerdy Rowan Atkinson type of way, and thoughts of him popped into my mind at times afterward.

Well, right before Christmas I needed to head back to that area, and while there I made it a point to stop by the shop to get some final things for the dinner preparation, and that guy and I flirted again -- a lot, I have to admit. By the time I left the shop, I was so flustered and overcome by lustful desires that I gave the guy my phone number and, in response to his request, said I’d be looking forward to going out with him for coffee (or possibly something more private) after the holidays.

That night I told Master about what I had done and let’s just say that he wasn’t very happy. At first I was a bit crushed, because I thought Master would have encouraged me to have some fun with the guy. But Master made it clear to me that HE was my Owner, and it was NOT appropriate for me as a slave to give out my phone number to a man and to lead him on without my Owner’s specific approval. My time and my life aren’t my own anymore. They belong to Master. And it hit me just how right he was, and how wrong I had been, and how I had let lust overcome my devotion to my Owner. Master wasn’t overly angry, but he just wanted to make sure I was put in my proper place and remembered my situation in his household. It was like a glass of water was splashed in my face, in that it woke me up and made me realize I had been slipping a bit in a few ways – possibly because we had not had contact with other people very much for weeks because Master had been feeling run down. Whatever the reason, after that all sunk in, my lust flowed out of my system like water down a drain, making me also realize just how little the guy at the shop and I actually have in common. I love to read about history and watch science-fiction movies and cook fancy meals and discuss philosophy and seek spiritual insights, all while being a dedicated slave. When I asked that guy what he does on his days off, he told me he cleans his house, watches American football and watches European car racing. Err … yeah. He wanted to fuck me, and I wanted him to. And that’s not enough, Master said. If I’m going to have an intimate relationship with somebody, he said, it’s going to be somebody that is worthy of my respect and has substantially more in common with me than that guy. *smiles warmly* Master again showed me just how wonderful he was by protecting me then. By the way, that guy called me up today and left a message saying he wanted to get together. Master told me I should call him back and let him know the truth – I’m a slave, and my Master doesn’t feel it’s appropriate for us to get together, and to leave it at that. And I will.

Yet, in the face of those mistakes, I realize that they stand out as exceptions, and both Master and I know that. I’m still working to find ways to manage my time more effectively, and I’m working every day to find ways to improve my talents as a slave. But overall, despite my relative newness to being one full time, Master continues to say I’m the best slave he’s ever had, and that truly feels me with a deep pride.

And just as I continue to be diligent in my dedication to Master, he has been repeatedly surprising me lately with gifts and expenditures, which he says he considers an aspect of what a very strong dedication to taking responsibility for me. As I have devoted my life to his needs and desires, he is making sure my own needs and desires are met in various appropriate ways.

One wonderful (and amazing) example is when he decided to take my former computer and get it all fixed up for me to give to my kids for schoolwork and other uses. I had a good (and quite fast and powerful) computer that was a few years old, but I had inadvertently let dust accumulate in it to the point where it caused a micro-spark one day that fried the computer’s motherboard. I wailed at my stupidity at the time, but it happened as I was moving in with Mistress (the woman who owned me before Master), and she let me borrow another computer to use. The computer sat unusable among my possessions for months until Master recently asked me about it and decided that he didn’t want a perfectly good computer that could be fixed to remain broken. Master wound up spending hundreds of dollars and hours of labor getting it repaired and replacing the DVD drive, all without even a request from me, but simply because he decided it was the right thing to do. I marvel at Master’s generosity and huge heart at doing things like that, and such things make me love him all the more.

And then there are the little but equally wonderful things. Like when I casually mentioned the other day that I had seen something in the basement that sparked my curiosity. It was a vibrator commonly known as a “rabbit.” (Here’s a similar one I saw a picture of on the Internet). Master’s response was he would get me one and let me try it out. *gulps* Soon I was lying naked on my bed, with it firmly pushed up my moist pussy, and the rabbit’s little “ears” nestled firmly against my clit. The vibrator he got for me has five different types of pulse settings, and I tried them out one at a time until … BOOM! One of the settings – which does a slow pulse, then a faster one, then a faster one, then a really intense one, then starts over with a slow one, over and over and over again, REALLY set me off with orgasm after orgasm! If somebody turned me into a mannequin then and there with that thing stuck in my vagina for the rest of my existence, I would have been a happy girl, I tell you that (Okay, maybe not perfectly happy, but it was the fantasy flowing through my head at the time. *giggles*) The vibrator also had a button causing it’s bulbous end (which was deep in my vaginal cavity) to swivel, and that was rather nice, too, I have to say. *bites her lip and blushes* I came down to see Master about a half hour later and express my great appreciation, but he seemed to already know what I thought of it because he said he has heard what sounded like “a wild animal caught in a bear trap” in my room. To be honest, I was actually trying to be keep my responses quiet because, had I actually let out what I was feeling at the time, my screams of orgasmic pleasure would have alerted the neighbors for at least the surrounding three or four blocks. *chuckles merrily*

Well, it’s getting late, and my bed is calling to me, so I’m going to head out for the night, with a hope that I don’t wake up feeling nervous at being alone. While Master is gone, I plan to keep myself busy with chores (he gave me a list of things to do in addition to my normal tasks to make sure I wasn’t bored), and to be around somebody I spent the afternoon and early evening with my former Mistress. She’s doing well, by the way, but it’s sadly clear that most of the spark has faded away between us, although we remain friends without a doubt. I noted to Master the other day that he had passed a little milestone, in that as of Sunday of this week he’s owned me longer than Mistress did, and Master said he feels that by now he totally owns me without a doubt. Between the two of them, I’ve been a slave without cessation for more than five months, and yet it seems like only yesterday that Mistress collared me, formally ending my life as a free woman. *sighs with a gentle smile* But anyway, tomorrow I’ll be with my kids in the afternoon, and from Friday until Saturday morning I’ll be staying with the Gorean Master/slave couple we had dinner with awhile back. That slave loves Guitar Hero, too (she’s the person who introduced me to it), so I have a feeling we’ll be merrily having a few guitar duels while I’m there. I’ve got my axe, so I’m ready to take her on! *giggles* That leaves Saturday night, but I’m sure I’ll find something to keep my mind off my aloneness … I hope.

Well, toodles for now. And, as always …

La kajira!!!