The Diary of a Consensual Slave

Day 214 - On Coming Out of Depression Via Micromanagement, On Master Being Sick Again, On Shamanic Healing Rituals That Do Work and Sometimes Don't, and On Causing Master to Become as Angry at Me as He's Ever Likely to Become

2010-03-08T23:47:00.000-08:00

In very sharp contrast to the last time I posted, things are going great now, emotionally AND physically AND spiritually. Master, seeing I was in the depths of depression, decided to take over my task-making abilities, and he micromanaged my chore list for most of last week. By the end of the week, I was back to a regular schedule of things to do, and I could put everything in a very effective perspective – and, best of all, I was getting stuff DONE – which cheered me up to no end!

*bounces*

As things are now, the inertia has taken over, and I’m running stuff on my own again, setting my own chores for the most part (although I’m still getting the main tasks for each day approved with Master so he can make sure I’m setting my priorities right).

So things are okay again. Well, for me, anyway. Master has been quite sick with a really awful sinus infection for days. *sighs*

I love winter (the snow and icy landscape remind me of some far-off memories, like from another life. In all seriously, I’ve often felt it has to do with a previous life as an arctic wolf) – but this winter has sucked regarding people getting sick. Master was sick for a long time (experiencing ups and downs that allowed him to function but kept him from having much physical fun) after I moved in, and then I got sick for about a week right after Master finally recovered, and now that I’m well again, Master is sick once more. He’s on antibiotics and resting, so hopefully he’ll come out of it soon. I feel bad not being able to do anything but watch.

Well, I tried to do something. The night before last I did I healing ritual, focusing on his chest (which he said was hurting at the time) and spiritually I found lots of green, bubbly gunk in it (which I worked to remove) – but that didn’t seem to help Master overall, which makes sense because it turns out he has a sinus infection (and I didn’t even do anything spiritually regarding his head, so I treated the symptoms and not the cause), and I’m not really the best at healing rituals. Actually, I wonder if they do much good at all. Yeah, I admit it. Some shamanic workers like to say they can do anything, but I can’t. I do my best to be realistic and base my beliefs on my experiences.

So why do I attempt to do spiritual healing if it usually doesn’t work? Well, it doesn’t work usually if I do it, but I’ve known it to work twice in the past on people I know well. And the thing is, the typical shamanic worker I know will tell you that they personally suck at doing healing – because for a shaman, it’s not them doing the work, it’s the spirits. That’s what makes a shamanic worker different than somebody who claims to be a “magic user” – in my experience, a shaman’s role is to act as a conduit between the physical world and the spirits, but anything that’s miraculous is done is by the spirits, not by the shaman.

A couple of nights ago when I worked with Master, I asked Bear to guide me, and Bear did, and Fox helped as well (which I found surprising, as I hadn’t asked Fox for help – but Fox is M’Lady’s guide, so it makes sense that Fox wants Master healed soon). If two spirits were working to get Master all better, why isn’t he better already, you may be asking? (And the fact is, he’s still feeling lousy – he went to the doctor yesterday, and that’s where he got the antibiotics). The answer is – I don’t know. Maybe Master would be even worse today if Bear and Fox hadn’t helped. Or maybe something’s going on that simply I don’t know about.

Not much proof for your skeptics, eh? I can understand that.

Okay, as I mentioned, two things have happened in my life that got me to believe this stuff is real.

About seven or so years ago, my sister-in-law was diagnosed with ovarian cancer. She went back to her doctor repeatedly as needed, and the disease progressed, to the point that her doctor said she likely had less than a year to live, and it would probably be just a few months before the cancer started really hitting her body hard. Needless to say, everybody in her family was upset (especially my ex), and I decided to do what I could – I decided to go out into the woods alone with all of my shamanic tools (which I’ll describe here someday) and do a full-fledged healing ceremony on her behalf. She didn’t believe in such things, so I did it without her knowledge. I called upon all of my spirit guides to assist me and to heal her if they felt such a thing should be done, and I was being careful to express my desires but not to demand that they do anything. One spirit out of the others said she would do it. Arctic Fox. A survivor if there ever was one. She said she would make sure that my sister-in-law survived, but she wouldn’t be perfect – she said my sister-in-law would be damaged in such a way that would affect her for life. I told my ex about it, and my ex said we’d see what happened – and the sister-in-law wasn’t told. A couple of days later, my sister-in-law went back to the doctor for a full examination, and the doctor took and x-ray and did tests and … was extremely perplexed – he said he couldn’t understand it, but somehow all of the previous readings must have been wrong because her cancer was gone. Completely out of her system. There was something wrong, however, he told her. Her ovaries were now unusually scarred, in such a way that she would never have children again. FYI, I asked my ex to tell my sister in law about the ritual after that, but I’m not sure if my ex ever did.

About 17 years ago, my ex had had a cerebral hemorrhage. It had happened suddenly, with the result being that my ex lost peripheral vision and had a virtual time bomb in his brain that at any time could explode and cause him to fall over dead without warning. Doctors said death was extremely unlikely, however, and the two of us were faced with a strange and tough decision. I had just graduated with honors from college with a journalism degree and had just gotten offered a job at a small newspaper in Sheridan, Wyoming. My ex had an administrative job at a large bookstore in Denver. We had planned to move to Wyoming together because we felt I needed the initial experience there to get a job at a newspaper in Denver. but he had the hemorrhage literally one day before he had planned to quit his job. He had already told his manager about it (and fortunately his manager said nothing would be mentioned about it). My new job wouldn’t have insurance, but his existing job did. So we decided something tough – for me to go to Sheridan by myself and visit back as much as possible (which turned out to be once every three weeks). While in Sheridan, I became friends with some residents of the nearby Northern Cheyenne reservation, including an old and respected holy man. Although they were quite secretive about many of their beliefs, he took a shine to me and saw my honest desire to learn, and he allowed me to take part in several very intense sweat lodges – in which a very small dome-shaped structure is created out of bent sticks and blankets over a fire pit, into which are put red hot stones that have been heating over a fire all day. A half dozen or more people get inside, barely fitting in, and the leader then pours water slowly onto the red-hot stones, causing flumes of steam to billow into the tightly confined space. It’s awful and suffocating and so incredibly hot and – the point is, the only way to stand it is to turn inward, to seek yourself and to connect to who you are beyond the physical. The sweat-lodge usually lasts for more than an hour, in four segments (with participants getting a break between each segment and being allowed to go outside). Several months after moving to Sheridan, I told the holy man about my ex’s condition, and he talked with other members of his tribe, and, to my happy surprise and honor, scheduled a special sweat lodge just for my ex, to pray for his recovery. I took part of it, of course, and that sweat lodge was very intense, just like all the others. Afterward, a woman who had taken part with me came to me and said she had had a vision while experiencing the lodge, and in the vision she saw a river flowing through a landscape, and blocking the river was a large rock. Then, as she watched, the rock began to melt and break into tiny pieces, and soon it had fallen apart and washed safely down the stream, allowing the river to flow as it should. I told my ex that the next day, and my ex kept it in mind when he saw his neurologist next for a MRI brain scan. The neurologist said with pleasure that, to his surprise, the scan showed that the blood clot in my ex’s brain had broken up and dissolved in the blood stream, and the danger was for all intents and purposes completely gone. FYI, it wasn’t long after that that I returned home to Denver, and my ex and I were reunited.

So, without a doubt, healing can occur in ways beyond physical explanation.

Master’s illness, by the way, has made him susceptible to being unusually cranky, and twice today I’ve pissed him off greatly. One of the times he said is the angriest he’s ever gotten with anybody, and so I’ve most likely seen him at his most extreme. Looking back, the things I did seem minor, but I seemed to be able to press his buttons in exactly the wrong way, the equivalent of a few uranium atoms coming together to create an atomic explosion.

The first was this morning, when a “to-do” list task-managing program on my computer wasn’t working right, and I told Master, and he tried to fix it, and he did something wrong that made matters worse, and I offered a suggestion on what he did that was incorrect and how to fix it, and he told me to explain it to him, and I couldn’t figure out how and so I asked him to just do as I recommended, and he did and he again demanded an explanation, and I finally was able to show him what I meant in ways that I couldn’t explain with words alone, and he blew up and started yelling at me and accused me of being disobedient and disrespectful and refusing to answer his questions, and I started to cry and explained that I had to show him because I didn’t know how to tell him, and he yelled at me and ordered me out of the room. Later he called me back and gave me a big hug and said my suggestion had been correct and had fixed the problem, and I told him I should have told him the issue was the fact that the database table used a “two-column primary key” but I couldn’t remember the terminology at the time, and he apologized for exploding at me and losing his temper, and I hugged him tighter and told him it was okay, for I’d much prefer he expresses his feelings than keep them bottled up, and things went fine from there.

Well, until this afternoon, when I came home from the grocery store and, as I was opening my car door, accidentally caused a brand-new bottle of wine I had bought myself for cooking to fall out onto the garage floor and shatter everywhere, leaving a pool of glass and wine. I stormed inside the house, totally pissed at myself, and, holding part of the broken bottle, launched into a tirade about what had happened, and Master didn’t put up with it and angrily ordered me to go back out to the garage and deal with the mess. After cleaning things up, I went to my room to look up wine on the Internet, since I was going to have to buy another bottle to replace what I had broken, and for no reason my computer started going haywire and started freezing up. I asked Master about it, and Master went with annoyance to my room, and the longer he tried to figure things out, the more frustrated he became and angry at me, and, having become upset as well, I left the house to go get the wine, and I closed the garage door angrily, and Master suddenly stormed out of the house into the garage and bellowed at me, the force of his inner Dragon spirit launching at me with venomous ire, and he chewed me out for slamming the door, and he yelled that he was too sick to deal with all my drama, and he bared his teeth and told me he didn’t care what I did regarding dinner anymore, and he barrelled back into the house and left me alone. When I came back with the wine he was somewhat calm although still annoyed at me because he said he strongly suspected I had done something foolish to cause the problems on my computer, but fortunately he only raised his voice at me about that a couple of more times before finally calming down for good.

The rest of the night was overall a good one, although I’m quite behind in my tasks. I was supposed to clean my room today (he chewed me out this morning because he feels my room has become unacceptably cluttered and far too messy for his standards), and I got it partially done, but with the shopping and the laundry and the cooking and the other tasks of the day, I didn’t quite finish. Okay, I actually still have a lot to do in my room before finishing. And I didn’t even start on my other task of the day, which was to clean the kitchen top to bottom. *sighs*

And yet, I feel better about my position here than I have in a while. Go figure.

This is my home. And I love my Master. Even if he does have an incredible temper.

Who knows? Maybe that’s part of why I love him.

*shrugs and smiles*

To quote Linda Ellerbee (my inspiration and role model as a journalist): “And so it goes …”

*grins*

Toodles for now! I’ll write more when I have a chance!

Day 207 - On Being Emotionally Exhausted After Several Weeks of An Incredibly Busy Life, On Making Master Incredibly Angry Twice, On Breaking Down in Tears Repeatedly, and On Having Two Wonderful Kids Who I Miss Very Much

2010-03-01T23:44:00.000-08:00

Hey, everybody. You were probably wondering where I went. Truth be told, I was so busy the last couple of weeks I didn’t have time to blog.

“Yeah, right,” you’re thinking. “It’s not that she didn’t have time to blog. She just got lazy.”

No, really! It was an amazingly busy couple of weeks.

Well, the last week was busy. The previous week ...

Okay, last week ... what a week! I started a ponyplay group in Denver and held the first meeting at my Master’s house, I took a long orientation class at a local therapeutic horse riding center in the bitter cold, I worked with my son to put together his annual science project presentation (and as he predicted, we found out that potatoes conduct electricity just a bit better than lemons! Hooray! *giggles*), I attended a half-day conference on women’s health issues, and I did my normal chores and duties and spent time with my kids, all while working to recover from a cold.

Woo hoo!!! *bounces and wags my tail*

The previous week (and a bit of last week), I was knocked out for several days pretty much by one of the worst colds I've had in years. I was sleeping 14-hour days to recover. It was intense. The cold had actually been building up all of the week before last, sapping my mental energy each night more and more.

Fortunately, Master had on hand copies of two great (and very appropriately educational) PBS reality shows. One was called "The 1900 House", and it was about a modern family trying to live as a middle-class family in a Victorian London home. Wow, the mom and oldest daughter were whiny. The other was called "The Manor House", and it focused on a well-to-do family living as Edwardian aristocrats while modern "normal" people took on the roles of their servants -- and BOY did the servants have a hard job of it! I'll talk more about it all later, but I'll say it inspired everybody in Master's household and enlightened us a bit! *grins*

Anyway, those shows allowed me to recover a bit while watching hours and hours of television, and after all that's happened the last couple of weeks, it’s not just the blogging that I'm behind in now. I got behind in a lot of stuff, so much that I was starting to have emotional breakdowns because I had so much to do and couldn’t figure out how to handle it all.

Well, the emotional overload started happening a couple of days ago, actually.

Saturday night, I was dog tired from a long day. I had gotten up early to go to a conference regarding feminine medical issues in town (It’s a weird thing to walk into a fancy hotel and to have a well-dressed woman waiting for you there, and the first thing she asks is, “Are you here for the breast conference?” *chuckles* Okay, in all seriousness, my mom died of breast cancer, and I’m at risk, so it’s not really that frivolous a topic at heart to me). While there I talked with a lot of people about a lot of stuff, and talked to my former surgeon (who was in town for the conference) about some facial procedures he had done on me in the past, and after he examined me for an hour he told me he wants me to come back to his clinic in Chicago when I have a chance for some light follow-up work. After I came back home, I told Master and M’Lady, and they didn’t bat an eyelash - M’Lady turned to Master and said, “I guess it’s time to start looking for a good super-saver flight for her to get to Chicago soon.” To them, getting me to Chicago for some medical work is part of their responsibilities to me -- they’re so incredibly caring about me, it’s unreal! It was just another thing to remind me how blessed I am to have them as my Owners!

After I got back that afternoon, after doing the day’s normal chores, I cooked an unexpectedly time-consuming dinner of Chinese stir fry that took about three hours total of chopping and mixing and cooking and serving and then cleaning all the dishes, and I was so brain dead afterward I could hardly think.

Well, Master had told me he had planned on going to the Sanctuary BDSM club that night, and I suddenly remembered and came down to him, my shirt still wet and my pants still stained with oil, and my hair a mess, and I asked him if he wanted me to go. And he said he had expected me to and asked why I wouldn’t, and I said I was tired but I hesitated because I didn’t want to disappoint Master, and I asked whether he wanted me to stay home, and he ordered me to get some rest upstairs. See, I had thought it was just another normal, typical night, and I’d spend most of it standing at his side or kneeling at his feet while he talked with other people at the club. As you’ve probably guessed, when we go to the club usually, it’s for Master’s benefit, and I’m just there as his companion and servant. I usually don’t mind, because that’s my role in life, but Saturday night, for once, I happened to be unusually tired, so much I didn’t want to go.

I did as he said, but I couldn’t sleep. I just tossed and turned and kept thinking about how lonely I was and how much I wanted to be with Master, even for a little while before he left.

And I went downstairs and laid on the couch near Master until he was about to leave, and then I followed him and saw … a set of boxes of his equipment near the door, including the violet wand, which I’ve been dying for him to use on me since before he took possession of me.

And in shock I asked Master if he was bringing all that to the club for me, and he told me he had planned to.

And it hit me that he had brought all of the toys for me.

And I lost it.

Since the day Master took Ownership of me, I’ve been waiting for him to play with me like that. To take me to the dungeon at the club and do things to me. To tie me up. To electrify me. To have fun with me. To interact with me.

And the night that finally was going to happen, I was too tired.

I couldn’t take it. Kneeled on the floor, I burst out weeping uncontrollably, nearly screaming.

In response, Master announced he would be back in a moment, and he went upstairs. To me, that meant for me to stay there until he returned.

And I kneeled there. Sometimes in silence. Sometimes quietly crying. Sometimes bawling at the top of my lungs. Most of the time, my head was on the floor, my eyes shielded from the world, in wait for his return.

I didn’t know what was going on. I thought he might be near me, watching me. I thought maybe he had left out of the house at one point.

But I stayed there, in obedience. To me, that was my place. I was a slave, and I exist to serve him. And he had told me to wait for him there, and that’s what I did, unmoving except to shift in place.

Finally, after more than an hour, I became a bit concerned because this was very unusual for Master, and I very nervously went upstairs to check on him.

It turns out he was in his room, angry. He had gotten into an argument with M’Lady, and he had forgotten that he had said he was going to go back downstairs, and that I was to wait for him.

Eventually we both calmed down, and we both went to bed feeling generally okay.

But basically, Saturday night sucked. Master stayed home, and I ruined his evening. I fucked up the night for both of us.

And that’s what life has been like lately.

Oh, it hasn’t sucked all the time. Actually, last week was quite good in most ways. But it was very busy and very stressful. More on that in my next blog.

Sunday, by the way, I was still overly emotional. I hadn’t gotten over it yet. I went to Master before going out to my kids and told Master I was having a small problem on my computer when I tried to open some Web sites. As a result, Master wound up chewing me out for most of an hour about the computer and saying I hadn’t been respectful of the fact it’s a business computer attached the house network, and he chewed me out for my disobeying and neglecting of some of his recent instructions, and I wound up making him very angry yet again. He told me he was going to get on the computer I’ve been using and find old files to delete to clear up space, and even though he said he wouldn’t delete my personal data, I got scared and nervous and upset and started bawling again.

Eventually, Master ordered me to leave to see my kids, and by then I was an hour late, and when I got there, I spent the first hour or so just crying my eyes out in the kitchen at my ex’s house while the kids played in the backyard, being very considerate in letting me pour out my emotions to my ex, who fortunately for me was quite caring and understanding that day.

My kids wanted to see me, and I wanted to see them, but I had to calm down first, and slowly I did.

And what did my kids do when they saw I was doing okay?

They walked in to the room together, held hands, and said in unison (clearly having practiced it), “We love you very much, and we want you to feel better and be happy again.”

And then they hugged me, and I hugged them so very tightly, crying again, but with tears of joy and love.

Damn, I miss them so much. It hurts so very much to not be able to have them in my home anymore. But that’s part of my new life, and it’s something I accept as necessary for my position, whether I like it or not.

Still, though, some days it hurts so much to not have them with me anymore.

The rest of the day with my kids was pretty darn good, by the way. I helped them with homework, and we did lots of crafts. My daughter and son both made and painted wooden catapults, and I made a decorative wooden birdhouse (that I’m pretty proud of. *grins*). And we all did some leather crafts using a great starter kit I got last week, with my son making a leather-embossed flower, and my daughter making a very cute cat.

And I tucked my son into bed and laid down with him in the dark for awhile. The ceiling of his room is covered with glow-in-the-dark stars and constellations and meteors and planets, and being him felt like we were huddled together outside under the night sky. It was so beautiful I couldn’t help but cry again, but in a good way.

Anyway … leather work is pretty fun, to be honest. My dad taught it to me when I was a girl growing up on a Texas ranch, and I think I’d love to make a purse sometime soon. Something I can show off at the club and be proud of. But that’s for later. As is further writing. For now, bedtime. The only way I’ll be able to do the Herculean task of catching up on this blog is to take it in small chunks, and for now, this one is done.

So … as always …

La kajira!

Day 194 - A Very Long Discussion of Gor and My First Master, Who I Still Care For Even Though He Scared the Hell Out of Me, On Having an Annoying Cold That's Making My Joints Ache, and a Quick Apology for My Lack of Recent Posting

2010-02-16T21:49:00.000-08:00

I just wanted to apologize profusely for the lack of posting in the last week in a half, and to let my readers know I've got a lot coming ... as soon as I can throw off this obnoxiously annoying cold ... which has made my joints ache so much that I haven't been able to work at the computer for more than a few minutes at a time. That, combined with several other things, has kept me away from the computer lately, but as soon as I'm back to my robust self, you'll have more things to read than you probably want to know about me! *chuckles*

Well, if you really want to read what I've been writing lately, here's some things I posted last week in a forum dedicated to "Goreans of Reality" on FetLife (which is a HUGE message board dedicated to people who are into kinkiness of ALL types ... if you're not a member, you should be, because if you read my blog, chances are you've got things in common with other people who post on FetLife. *chuckles*).

Anyway, the "Goreans of Reality" group is dedicated to, as you can guess, people who try to incorporate the philosophies of the Gor series of science-fiction/fantasy books into real life. Despite the fact that there are a bunch of people out there who like to say that they're "real-world Goreans," in truth, the author of the books has publicly stated that he never intended the books to be an outline for a real-world lifestyle. Some of those people are very intelligent, others are missing a few cards in their decks. Together they make for some lively conversations.

In case you don't know, the Gor books, which are horribly misogynistic in places, are about an alternative medieval-level Earth where all women are seen as potential slaves, and the laws of the world are set up so that it's very easy for women to fall into legal traps that "prove" they're slaves at heart, thereby allowing them to be enslaved (i.e. "collared") on the spot. In stark contrast to real-world history, enslaved men on Gor are not considered very valuable in comparison to female slaves (who are always presented as beautiful and sexy and naturally great in the sack), and men are often killed rather than collared because they're not seen as worth the trouble of selling keeping in shackles. (And any "real" man would always be fighting for their freedom, while a "real" woman, naturally, would grow to accept her slavery. *rolls her eyes* Try telling that to a Panther Girl ... but that's another topic ...)

I'm definitely not alone in being introduced to slavery through Gor. It should also be noted that Gor was written as a conservative (and kinky) response to the liberal ideas of the Women's Liberation movement in the late 1960s and 1970s, and the Gor books were widely popular with the mass reader, selling initially in the millions of copies. From what I've learned, it wasn't until the author went through a horrible divorce and began making things truly revolting for the women in his books that the sales of the novels took a nosedive. In a recent get together with a bunch of slave friends of mine, almost all of us said that we learned about the slavery lifestyle through a Gorean Master or by reading the Gorean books. For all its faults, Gor has benefitted the BDSM lifestyle in a variety of ways, not only by making the idea of a Master/slave relationship mainstream, but also by bringing with it a variety of rituals and protocols, such as the Gorean kneeling positions (the most famous being "nadu", which involves a woman kneeling on the ground with her legs apart to reveal her "heat" while having her hands on her thighs with the palms upward to show her submissiveness). It's quite beautiful and something many people in the BDSM lifestyle have come to expect of slaves, whether they be Gorean or not.

At the core, "real-world Goreans" try to get what they can from the books to use in their real lives while throwing away the junk, but the problem is that what some people consider junk other people consider valuable. In general, though, "real-world Goreans" (i.e. "Gorean lifestylers") tend to say that several distinct things stand out as worthy from the books, in particular: the importance of personal honor, the aspect of being "true to yourself," the value of loyalty, and the beauty of the relationship between a dedicated Master and a devoted slave. The first three things can be found in many cultures, from the bushido of Japan to the fictional Klingons from Star Trek (who some people like to emulate, but that also is another topic ...). Openly embracing the ideas of slavery, however, and declaring that slavery can be the foundation of a very loving and moral relationship, is largely what makes Goreans stand out.

Is being Gorean bad? In and of itself, not at all, although Goreans generally have a tarnished name in the BDSM community. The thing is, there are Goreans who are assholes, and these Goreans usually claim to be more "Gorean" than anybody else because they follow the worst shit in the book as if it's come down from Heaven on high as gospel.

My first Master, who introduced me to real-world slavery, was a very devout Gorean, and he told me that if I stayed with him, he'd expect me to read the two-dozen Gorean novels three times -- once for "enjoyment," a second time to catch the nuances of the philosphies, and a third time to allow it to truly sink into to my heart and mind. That Master is considered by some people to be one of the scariest Masters around, and also one of the most dedicated Gorean men you'll find -- in both good and bad ways, depending on who you ask (my Master, by the way, considers him to be a buffoon, but the Master of a friend of mine considers him to be a good man at heart who's a bit misguided in ways).

My first Master took me in as a new kajira, totally untrained and unpolished. I was very curious about Gor after having been introduced to it in SecondLife, and I immediately sought a real-world group ... and found him. At my first meeting I came as a free person, but it became very obvious to everybody there, especially to myself, that my proper place was on my knees alongside the Master's other kajira -- and the next time I went there, I was stripped, clothed in very revealing attire and, for the first time in my life, collared. I'll never forget the feeling of having to kneel on the floor in front of him, my arms crossed above me in supplication as I begged him to take me as his property, and then feeling the leather strap go around my neck ... followed by the soft but incredibly powerful sound of a lock clicking shut.

I was still married at the time, but I had to explore this side of me or die trying. I attempted to talk to my ex about my desires to be a kajira, but he told me he didn't want to discuss it, and I had no choice but to either give it up or do it on the sly ... and I chose the latter. I would tell my ex that I was going out with a "roleplaying group" each weekend, and my ex accepted that ... probably as a way of placating me in ways he thought would keep me safely satisfied.

My first Master and Mistress (his wife) both clearly enjoyed me being there, but they were a bit unsure about me, and I don't blame them. I grew to love them, or at least think I loved them, and I fantasized about being branded by them the way they had branded their other two kajira (which was, I admit, a very unsafe way, which involved an iron brand being heated in a fireplace and applied directly to the skin, which could produce a very ugly brand that's prone to infection). With each visit, however, my first Master and Mistress slowly pushed me more and more to see if I would run off scared -- and I eventually did.

The last night I was there, it was announced that one of the kajira had committed two infractions -- she had gotten intoxicated without permission from the contents of the house's liquor cabinet, and she had spent a small amount of money (I think about five dollars) without permission purchasing a birthday present for her sister. The punishment, which everybody was required to watch, was the Master stripping the kajira naked, putting an opaque slave hood over her head, binding her wrists, having her kneel at his feet, and then caning her for what seemed like an eternity (to me, at least -- it was probably 20 lashes or so) while she screamed from the intense pain. Afterward, she collapsed on the floor in agony, and the other kajira was ordered to untie her and take care of her wounds.

That was enough for me, and I decided then and there to get out of my collar, but to do it honorably.

Another Gorean group had formed in Denver because the members didn't like being around my first Master for various reasons, and my first Master didn't like that group at all. I told my first Master that I could infiltrate that group and go to their meetings and report back to him what they were talking about, but he would need to release me of my collar because they wouldn't let one of his kajira attend. My first Master agreed and uncollared me, and ... I never came back. I lied to him, and that was dishonorable, I believe, but I felt it was more honorable than disrespecting the collar itself and taking it off without his permission. It's weird, I know, but I hold the collar to be a very sacred trust and institution, and I would no more abandon a collar than I would imagine somebody abandoning a wedding ring -- actually, I consider a collar even more binding than a wedding ring in many ways.

I've often looked back and wondered if my first Master actually knew what I was doing, and he figured if I lying to him and didn't return, then good riddance. *sighs*

The thing is, I don't look anymore at the punishment he gave his kajira as being incredibly horrible, depending on the circumstances. It does fit in with the Gorean lifestyle, and I've seen people take far worse beatings at the Sanctuary BDSM club on a typical Saturday night. But I was new to the lifestyle, and that Master made a mistake by not taking that into consideration. Instead of continuing to push me to see if I would give up the collar, he should have introduced me to the lifestyle more slowly. But that Master is well known for his flamboyance, and being subtle is definitely not one of his strong suits. He gained notoriety by showing up to a local "munch" with his kajira in tow, leading them both by chains attached to the collars around their neck. A "munch" is a way for people new to the BDSM lifestyle to meet other people in an open setting, and munches are usually held at very public places, such as a restaurant or coffee house. What that Master did by flaunting his kajira like that is known as "vanilla violation" because of the way it pushes kink into the sight of people who may not want to experience it, and that Master has been ridiculed ever since because of that little stunt. (I've heard that he also took his kajira the same way into an area Wal-Mart store, and he had them follow him on a leash and kneel at his feet at times, to the stares of other shoppers. I'd think that was a bit too much for anybody to believe, except that it was the Master himself who bragged about it to me.)

The thing is, that Master had me hooked in ways, emotionally and physically. He was my only exposure to the lifestyle, and I could potentially see myself as someday permanently becoming his kajira -- and I might have, if that Master hadn't scared me off. His two kajira were very devoted and loving, and I liked them a lot -- and I miss them and would love to see them again. Even today, I still feel a part of my heart belongs to that Master -- a fact I've made clear to my current Master, to which he's responded by making it clear that my original Master and I will never be left alone together in the unlikely chance we encounter each other again (and, if my current Master has his way, such an encounter will never happen). The fact that a good slave friend of mine and her Master are friends with that Master at least gives me a chance to ask how my first Master's kajira are doing -- although even that may be too close for comfort in the eyes of my current Master. I'll have to ask him and see.

Weirdly enough, I consider myself a Gorean who hates Gor, and I'm not shy to let people know that. I feel I'm an example of the so-called "typical" woman presented in the Gorean novels -- which claim that all women are only truly happy when they're living the life of a slave. And yet, while I believe I do have a slave heart, I also feel I'm not typical among women, and therefore I hate the world of Gor as presented in the novels because of the horrible way it treats most women.

Which brings us back to the idea of real-world Goreans. Can somebody live a moral life based on Gorean philosphy, even though the world of the novels was such a revolting place? The answer to that question is up for debate, which is the reason for that group in FetLife.

By the way, you can see all the topics in that group in Fetlife after you have your own account. But since accounts are free, there’s no reason not to get one! Once you’ve got the account, you can view the group’s discussions here ...

Last week, one of the topics of discussion in that group caught my eye -- the idea of real-world non-consensual slavery. The thread was started by somebody who said that, to a person who truly follows the ideas of Gorean philosophy, the strong should subjugate the weak (which they claim is why men are designed by evolution to dominate and enslave women), and therefore non-consensual slavery isn't morally wrong in-and-of itself. As you might expect, that idea caused a lot of people to write on both sides of the issue. As you might expect, I responded by using history to vehimently attacking the idea of non-consensual slavery.

My first post was as follows:
Rome stands out as a particularly interesting time regarding slavery. At one point, a whopping 40 percent of the people living in Italy were slaves. Compare that to what's said in John Norman's novels, in that one in 40 people on Gor are ever enslaved during their long lifetimes, and you'll see that in real life slavery has been far more entrenched in society than it's ever been in fictional Gor.

I've studied what writings remain from Roman times regarding slavery, and they show a few distinct reasons regarding why Romans allowed slavery for a thousand years. Romans felt that it was the right of a conqueror to kill those he conquered in war. As a result, it was actually considered merciful if a conqueror conquered a city and announced that he was taking all of the inhabitants to be slaves instead of killing them on the spot. As time went on, with hundreds of years of generation after generation of both free and non-free growing up with slavery, it became such that people never thought of a world without slavery -- it was considered as normal as we consider telephones and penicillin in Western culture today. It should also be definitely noted that Romans considered it right and moral to maintain the status quo in all its forms, and people who strove for social change of any type were greatly looked down upon. Therefore, Romans didn’t expect the lives of their children, or of society as a whole, to improve in the future. Eventually, the citizens of Rome got to where they couldn’t function without slaves – all trades that involved menial work, from baking to pottery to accounting, were considered the realm of slaves, even if the word was considered creative or required intelligence. Also, any job that required somebody to report to somebody else was reserved for slaves, even if the job was very important and involved managing great amounts of money or property. To cap it off, the Empire eventually converted to Christianity, and the works of Paul specify that slaves are to respect and obey their Masters without attempting to run away, which thereby made the bonds for a slave not just of metal, but spiritual as well.

The thing is, though, that although people considered slavery to be a valid part of society, slaves themselves generally did not like being enslaved (to put it mildly), and accounts show case after case of slaves (even those in lofty pampered positions) attempting to escape from their Owners, usually at huge risk of danger from every direction.

The slavery presented in the Gorean books is, without a doubt, unrealistic. The great majority of slaves in history have been used for domestic or agricultural purposes, and having slaves for sexual uses was considered an extravagance. Male and female slaves were both greatly prized in equal terms for their strength and their intelligence as needed. Yes, Owners did often use slaves for sexual purposes, but that wasn’t the main duty of slaves except for a few special men and women among the very rich. The idea of male slaves being hardly worth the effort of catching and selling (as presented in the Gorean novels) is ludicrous, just as is the idea of almost every female slave being destined for sexual service in the nearest tavern. Gorean slavery was created as a fantasy created as a titillating response to the ideas of Women’s Liberation of the 1970s, and to compare it with real-world slavery isn’t a particularly valid endeavor.

Yes, Stockholm Syndrome does match rather well in many ways the reaction by enslaved women in the Gorean books to their Masters after being involuntarily enslaved. But Stockholm Syndrome is considered to be a form of mental breakdown, a way the mind can cope to the intense stress of being the victim of a kidnapping situation. And it should be noted that both men and women have been shown to exhibit the characteristics of Stockholm Syndrome in such circumstances. Norman, however, would like us to believe that women are wired to submit to men and not vice versa, and simply put, that’s not true. Men and women are neurologically different in many ways, without a doubt, but a natural submissiveness is not a part of it. In Neolithic times, women often led tribes, and in Celtic Europe, women were allowed to hold political power and become great military leaders. In at least one historical case of a Celtic woman being kidnapped, raped and held for ransom, the end result was that she stole her captor’s sword, cut his head off and returned to her family. So to say that all women would eventually get used to their situation and accept their slavery is foolish, unless you also might add that all men would do the same thing.

So, yes, while slavery is a very real aspect of human society, it’s not really good to try and validate real-world slavery just because of the way it might be compared to the fictional Gorean slavery. If you’re going to decide that slavery is a legitimate part of modern-day (or ancient) society, then do it on its own merits outside of any comparison to Gor. And be willing to back up your beliefs based on reality as well.

I speak these things as a fully owned consensual slave who loves her Master and considers herself to be his property in all ways. But as much as I embrace my lifestyle, I would fight tooth-and-nail to free any man or woman who has been enslaved against their will. For as much as I believe slavery should be a right, so should freedom.

I followed it up with this two days later:
Indeed, there were incredible differences between the situations and welfares of some of the slaves throughout the Roman Empire. As I noted, any job that free Romans considered menial was usually regulated to either slaves or, at best, to former slaves who might have bought their freedom. Free-born Romans had far more rights than a slave who bought their freedom, and free-born Romans of Italy often became a rather spoiled lot for the most part. Despite the fact that there were slaves whose only job was to make breakfast in the morning or clean their Owner’s evening wear, such were quite the exception. In contrast, the typical slave was bought for domestic or agriculture work and was kept pretty busy, with some owners (such as Cato in his treatise "On Agriculture") stating that a slave should only ever have time off to eat and sleep.

The thing is, no matter what their station, unless a person was naturally born to be a slave, then being a slave would have been at heart a miserable condition.

Consider yourself, and envision that you were living peacefully with a wife, a son and a daughter on a small farm, when one day a group of Roman soldiers arrives and takes you all prisoner. You are all taken to an auction block, where you are sold to a man who desires somebody of your skills to help manage his own farm. Your wife, however, is sold to a man who desires somebody to help take care of his own children, and the fact that you have two healthy children makes her more valuable because she is seen as breeding stock for the production of future slaves. Your daughter is bought by an old weaver who desires her to help with his trade. Your son, who is both attractive and intelligent, is sold for a high price to a wealthy man who desires a companion for his own son and a boy to “keep him warm” at nights in the bedroom. You are taken away after the auction and never see your family again. After years of work on the farm doing an excellent job, your owner dies, and his heir sells off much of the estate to pay for bills. As a result you are sold to a different farm, where you lose all seniority and spend your final days doing back-breaking work.

Now then, how would you like it if somebody did that to your wife or son or daughter today? It could happen. Don’t fool yourself into thinking that modern-day slavery is only taking place in mid-eastern countries. It’s taking place in the good ol’ United States of America every day in every major city, folks. Don’t believe me? Just do a search on “sex slaves united states” on Google. Or follow one of these links ...

http://citybeat.com/cincinnati/article-3847-cover-story-of-human-bondage.html

http://www.thelantern.com/campus/sex-trafficking-hits-close-to-home-60-90-women-affected-in-franklin-county-1.890395

The simple thing is, forced slavery is a bad thing if you’re the one who is enslaved against your will. This isn’t about men being naturally dominant over women. This is about taking somebody’s life away from them and removing from them the ability to ever govern their destiny again.

I chose to become a slave, and I support consensual slavery. But non-consensual? Not on your life.

I also commented at length on a thread (called "Wishy Washy Gor") about the nature of being a Gorean, in particular on the relationship between a kajira and her Master:
When speaking of "wishy washy" Gor, people often look with blame toward the slave Owners and say that they're not strong enough, they let their property run things and make the rules, etc., etc.

And slaves often jump up and say they would do ANYTHING for their Owner because they serve with joy and total abandonment.

But, in question to the slaves, how many of you would REDUCE the things you do for your Owner?

What if your Owner got tired of the BDSM and said punishments in the future would be psychological, and instead of whipping you he made you sit in the corner without talking for three hours? What if your Owner decided to marry a free woman and said you would from now on be a purely domestic slave? What if your Owner said he didn't want to have sex with you ever again?

I have one set of die-hard limits regarding my servitude, and it's that my being a slave can in no way interfere with my relationship with my children. Period. Other than that, everything else is pretty much fair game.

Master is happily married, and primarily I'm a full-time, live-in domestic servant in his household. My principle duties throughout the days are to keep his large house clean, run errands for him and his wife, be their personal chef, and be his companion for conversation and other activities. Everything else is a reward, not a requirement.

In the novels, kajira were often relegated to non-sexual duties (such as being a kitchen slave), and they might not be allowed to engage in sexual activity for years at a time, if not ever.

To me, that's the hallmark of a consensual kajira -- that she be willing to do whatever is needed -- and abstain from whatever is needed -- as part of her duties as a slave.

Everybody has limits, of course. Mine have to do with my children. For other slaves, they might demand that their Owner not engage in sexual activities with anybody else (although that seems to me like a very strange requirement from somebody who claims to desire to emulate a Gorean kajira).

When do the limits get to be so piled up that saying you're Gorean becomes a farce, or what you're doing is simply no more than bedroom roleplaying? I can't answer that question. Some people might say that all Goreans are roleplayers because their philosphies are based on a bunch of erotic science-fiction books. To each their own, I figure.

The main thing is, there are no hard and set community standards regarding what it means to be a "true Gorean Master" and a "true Gorean slave", and whether somebody is being "wishy washy" or not. Whether such labels apply to you can only be answered in your own heart.

I commented again soon afterward:
In considering what is "truly Gorean," one must, indeed, consider all aspects in the books as valid if they were shown to be existant on the place we know of as counter Earth.

Panther Girls, for instance.

Yes, they lived outside of what many would consider to be "typical" Gorean society. But ask a Panther Girl if her lifestyle was valid, and chances are she'd say a resounding "YES!" ... right before capturing you at spearpoint, shaving a stripe in your hair and selling you to the next trader barge for a lump of candy and arrowheads.

Not all kajira were expected to meekly act like a doormat all the time. The bondgirls of the northern cities on Gor were smart and sassy, and the men loved them for it. The slaves of the Tuchuks carried daggers on their belts and were expected to be strong, brave and able to defend their camp at a moment's notice. Do you really expect the kajira of a woodcutter in the Northern Forests to wear silks and kneel quietly at his feet all day, her main purpose in life to make him drinks and provide sexual service? Of course not! Most likely, he would want a woman who would be strong and sturdy and intelligent, and who he could trust to be at his side through thick and thin.

You can no more lump all Gorean lifestyles in the books together than you can lump all Native American lifestyles together. The Navajo, Apache and Dakota tribes were all separate nations -- just like each city on Gor is its own nation -- and each had their own laws, customs and beliefs about life, death, nature, the roles of men and women, and the afterlife. They did not all worship the "Great Spirit" or have Pow Wows or hold Sweat Lodges or eat peyote for shamanic trances. To say such would be a great disservice to their incredible lives and diverse ways of existance.

So, ... diversity is the key to understanding Gor. Seeing Gor any other way is like looking at entire planet through a keyhole.

And I couldn't help, being somebody who loves words, on commenting on whether it's appropriate to try and integrate some of the words from the Gorean books into real life:
What is the purpose of language? As a long-time professional writer, I see language as a tool for expressing an idea in the best way possible, which means not only expressing an idea accurately, but also including any desired nuances.

Let's take "kajira", for example (and, no, you can't take me, for I'm already taken ...* winks with a smile*)

"Kajira" simply means "female slave" in the books. With that in mind, somebody might say that we shouldn't use the word "kajira," but instead should just say that somebody is a "female slave," or even just "slave" when the gender is obvious. However, when used outside of the novels, "kajira" has a very distinct meaning beyond simply "female slave." It carries with it the meaning "female slave as defined under Gorean philosphies" -- which brings with it the idea of "a woman who is property in a household where she is taught to embrace her feminity and seek to give of herself in joyful total servitude". This immediately provides a contrast to slaves who reside in other types of households, such as leather or military lifestyles with gender-neutral clothing and mannerisms, and it separates the slave from the submissives out there who like to pretend to be slaves while at heart are only doing it for their own pleasure.

Another wonderful Gorean word is "nadu", which in only four letters brings to mind the beautiful mental image of a woman on her knees, her legs spread enticingly while her hands rest on her thighs with the palms displayed to show her openness to serve. That one word says a mouthful, indeed. (Err ... was that last sentence a double entendre? *giggles*)

I also happen to like the word "harta", which indicates to the slave, "yeah, I know you're sexy and all that, but I want my drink NOW!" It's very useful at getting the point across and clearing up any possible misunderstandings very quickly. *chuckles*

New words and phrases, however, become a crutch and a hindrance when they only serve to increase confusion at the sake of novelty. The worst example of this I've found, and I'm sure that A/all of the P/people in this R/room will likely agree, is the idea of putting upper and lowercase letters on words with a slash when addressing A/all the potential R/readers of a message. Onlinism at its worst, I feel. Trivial misspellings of words to give them an artificial Gorean feel, such as "kollar" for collar (as michaelmanor mentioned) and "urth" for Earth, are silly at best and pretentious at worst.

Creating a new language can be a lot of fun, I have to admit -- just ask anybody who's fixated with that Klingon language that's been floating around Star Trek fandom for decades. From what I've heard, they translated the entire text of "Hamlet" into Klingon, and they're working on the Bible next for some reason that escapes me. Hey, if it floats their boat (or powers their starship), so be it, and more power to them! Regarding an artificial Gorean language, my feelings are the same -- if somebody wants to create one or use one that's floating around, then have fun with it -- but please remember it is just fun, and don't lose sight of that by trying to bring the pretend language into the real world and saying that makes you more of a "twoo Gorean".

I love language -- that's why I worked with it professionally for so many years, and I still find it a truly pleasurable task to write at length on, well, anything! But fun time is over, and for now, this kajira had better get back to her household chores ... harta! *bounces happily and scampers away*

Whew! Didn't I say that my joints were achy and I couldn't write? I guess my cold medicine is working after all, because I'm just starting to feel a bit stiff again!!!

So, on that note, I'll take off for the night and get some rest. See you again soon ... hopefully in the next couple of days!!!

And, as always ... la kajira!!!

Day 184 - On Being a Slave in my Dreams (Literally), On Being in Estrus as a Wolf (Spiritually), On Master and I Agreeing to Be Bonded Spiritually, On Reading Lots of Buffy Comics, and On Having a Bunch of Slaves in the Basement to Discuss Life and Stuff

2010-02-06T23:32:00.000-08:00

It would seem I’ve passed a new mark in my situation with Master.

Now, even in my dreams, he owns me.

Last night I had a weird dream (all dreams are weird, right?) in which I was with an adventurous friend from years ago, and we got lost and went into a strange bar. There were a lot of girls in there dressed in colorful goth-looking dresses, and it looked like they were having a lot of fun. As with some dreams, the amount of clothes I was wearing kept changing to my puzzlement. At one point, my friend and I got separated, and I decided to stay inside and look at a clothing rack the restaurant had. On it were a variety of Harley-Davidson motorcycle jackets for sale, and I realized I was wearing two jackets already (a pretty white dress jacket from Coldwater Creek and over it a thick and pretty purple coat I got at a thrift shop), and I took them off and left them with the woman at the coat check, who told me she’d remember they were my coats because I have such memorable eyes (which people are always telling me in real life – it’s my most distinctive physical feature).

The bar now was much more like a normal bar, and all the girls with the colorful Victorian-style dresses were gone. I asked somebody where they went, and I was told they were there for a wedding party and had gone outside for it.

(I should note that M'Lady had recently told me that his son and daughter-in-law had a Victorian/Edwardian theme at their wedding. Also, Master had recently explained how clothing associated with the BDSM “Leather Lifestyle” originated with leather biker jackets.)

I started to go outside to look for my friend when I realized I was wearing one of the leather jackets by mistake, and I went back inside to return it to make sure they didn’t think I was stealing it. I was told that I could have kept it without anybody noticing, but I did the right thing and put it back on the rack, and went back outside to look for my friend, and, to my surprise, realized I was now wearing a different pretty brown cloth duster with rose embroidery from Coldwater Creek (FYI, Master and I had a talk about corporate ethics the night before, and about how ethics tests are worded so you should always answer that you would never steal anything, no matter how trivial such as a soda can that fell out of the vending machine, even if nobody is around to see you).

Anyway, I saw the back door led to a natural area with lots of trails going in different directions, and the ground was muddy, and I suddenly realized I wasn’t wearing shoes, so I went back inside with hopes of finding my friend. I realized I was wearing a sexy dress that displayed my breasts nicely, and I decided to sit down at a booth, order a drink and hope he’d turn up soon.

As I sat there, I stood up to look around and inquire about a drink special when I realized that suddenly I was naked and had been sitting under a soft blanket. As I held the blanket up around me, three men approached, all clearly interested in the fact I wasn’t wearing clothes, and sat down next to me. They were all normal guys, neither really attractive nor really ugly, the typical types you’d encounter in a bar. And they all started making passes at me and bragging about their sexual prowess or the size of their cocks, and they all assumed because I had been sitting there naked that I was definitely there for sex.

At one point in my life … even as recent as last summer … I would have felt dominated by them or interested in them or even turned on by them … and I would have gone along with their desires. Heck, almost exactly six months ago I did go home with a stranger I met with a bar, and we had hot and heavy sex until the sun came up.

But that was then, and this is now.

Without hesitation, I told the guys in my dream that I wanted to have sex with them, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t sure how to explain I was an owned slave, so instead I told them I was in a relationship, and the person I was with didn’t want me to have sex with other guys.

And the guys, in response, all looked disappointed and proceeded to stand up and move away from the booth where we were sitting.

Strangely enough, their female friends arrived about then and, in confusion, asked why they were leaving the booth, and wanted to know how come they weren’t going to have the “party” they had planned with me.

And that’s basically how the dream ended.

Master’s still asleep, but I think it’s time for me to get some coffee and start my day – with the peaceful knowledge that my entire being, both wakeful and sleeping, has accepted my situation entirely – and finds joyful acceptance in it.

…

That was yesterday morning, and now it’s Saturday afternoon.

I’ve been meaning to write all week but I took a break and let other things get in the way.

Last night was particularly important on a spiritual level, when Master and I talked very seriously first about the fact that I’m in estrus on a non-physical plain where I live as a wolf, and then about us binding ourselves together spiritually so that he could truly be able to protect my soul from being fucked up by Coyote spirit.

Both topics require a bit of an explanation, naturally.

As I’ve mentioned in previous blogs, I’ve done shamanic work for more than a decade, and I’m a therianthrope, which means I have mental and emotional and spiritual experiences (which aren’t always that pleasant) that appear to indicate I literally have the soul of a wolf in a human’s body. As a way of coming to terms with that situation, I’ve learned to enter into trances to allow for what’s known as non-physical “journeying” into realms beyond the physical world. In the realm I usually visit, I have lived for years as a wolf bitch with my spiritual mate, and during that time we’ve parented three litters of cubs and raised them into a fine pack in a remote seaside valley.

Every year for several weeks I experience unusual cravings and physical sensations. During the last few days, I’ve felt like I have a cold at times, with aches and chills, and soon afterward feel fine, then feel hot, then the cycle repeats itself. And I get desires for food all the time, and for strange mixtures, such as cottage cheese and salsa and peanut butter mixed together (which was quite yummy). And, more than anything, I feel different somehow, with a desire for something beyond myself.

Yesterday as I was eating the cottage-cheese mix, I joked to myself that I might be pregnant again … then realized I might not be joking, and then realized that I was in estrus yet again.

This has been a weird year for it because I’ve hardly been in contact with my wolf mate lately. For better or worse, we’ve grown a bit distant physically. At one time, he and I were planning to get married, but it never happened, and he remains in Kentucky, and I remain in Colorado, and we’re going out separate ways.

I contacted him last night about it, and he said he’s definitely feeling it, too, and we entered into trances together, at first online, but then … we didn’t need to talk anymore – we could just sense each other and see each other and be with each other spiritually. We were wolves, and we were together in the snow, with the rest of the pack nearby. And I sprayed my scent. And he nuzzled my vagina. And we mated. Gloriously and beautifully, as we have every year for years, as wolves have done for millions of years. Afterward, he ran off, and that bothered me at first, but he soon came back with a rabbit in his mouth, which he gave to our first litter’s gray cub, who has been thin and week lately and seems to be suffering from malnutrition. She munched it down and the journey ended with us lying tiredly together in the snow.

Earlier in the day before all that, I told Master about me being in estrus, and told him I might be a bit flaky and be experiencing emotional ups and downs during the next couple of weeks (and the next two months assuming I get pregnant). I was worried for a minute he would think I was nuts, but he took me quite seriously, which is no surprise, knowing his own very strong and vivid experiences working with his own spirit guides. He told me that he needed to be able to count on my performance for him as his slave, and that I needed to do whatever it took to make sure that what was going on with me spiritually didn’t bleed over to negatively affect me in the physical world.

We talked about other things spiritual, and it led to a discussion of how Coyote spirit is always working to screw me up, and things are never solid and secure around me as a result. Master and I both know that Coyote is a trickster, and more importantly, Coyote’s extremely goal oriented to a serious fault – meaning that he’ll do anything he can to achieve his goals and play his jokes, even if he winds up hurting people in the process. Coyote loves me dearly, I’ve learned without a doubt over the years, but his judgment can’t be trusted, I believe, in that sometimes he’ll fuck up my life just to get something done that he thinks is good for me – such as getting me fired from a job because he decides I need to move to a different city.

Well, after Master and I talked about Coyote, Master said with total confidence that Dragon spirit could handle anything Coyote could throw at me. I responded that Coyote’s pretty damn powerful, and I’m afraid he would hurt Master to get to me. And Master said he wouldn’t hurt any of us because Dragon would be between us and Coyote, and … suddenly … I started hearing something in my head … somebody talking to me … and the voice was telling me that the only way to defend me from Coyote would be for Master and me to be bound spiritually as a Master and slave, so that his energies and mine truly are connected. I told Master that, and told him what the voice also said … that by being bound to him, I would be bound to his spirits as their slave … to Dragon and Tiger and Orca and Owl … for they are extensions of Master … and that by binding to Master, I would be bound to him in ways that go beyond the physical realm. And the voice stopped, and I suddenly realized it was Raven talking to me, and I understood, for it was Raven who got me years ago into slavery in the first place (which is a long story).

It’s a scary concept. I mean, will this mean that I’ll be Master’s slave beyond death, into a future life? I’ve already been told that I’ll be a horse in a future life. Will this ensure that I’m Master’s horse in the future? I don’t know. But I’m sick of chaos. I want things to calm down. I want to be productive and sane. Coyote is crazy, and so am I to a degree, and I want that to change. And maybe, just maybe, if binding to Master will give me the stability I need to live a full, productive life the rest of my years, then so be it.

I told Master I was scared because I’ve never been away from Coyote all of my life, for he has affected me in ways beyond number since I was a very young child, going so far as to ensure that my daughter was born (“She shall be my child, and chaos shall follow in her path,” Coyote told me when I was praying for her conception, and, boy, has his prediction come true … *sighs*).

And Master looked at me firmly and said that Coyote could still visit me, but he would have to ask nicely for permission and would do it only under the watchful eyes of one of Master’s spirit guides.

Master and I don’t know when and how the ritual will be for the bonding, by the way, but we both agreed to do it, so it will be done … soon, I hope.

As far as the rest of the week went …

Earlier in the week I spent hours talking with my wolf mate in Kentucky, who also happens to be the editor of my novel. We went over the final chapter’s plots and what would work (and wouldn’t work) regarding the ending, and also talked a lot about what would potentially work regarding the novel’s sequel. My goal is to get back to working on the novel an hour every night, but that already seems too lofty a goal, and Master said the key is to making it move forward on a regular basis, even if it’s an hour every other day. If I can do that, I can finish the first draft of the novel within three or four months I figure, and once the first draft is done, getting everything polished for publication should be smooth sailing. I hope, anyway.

Another night I stayed up late reading Season Eight of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. In case you’re familiar with the series, you might be interested to know that the show’s creator, Joss Whedon (who also created Firefly/Serenity, Angel and Doll House) is keeping it going, with his writings being presented as a continuing series of graphic novels (*coughs* or comic books, as some might call them). I wouldn’t pay three bucks an issue for them, but I had a chance of viewing them online (through slightly less than legal means … “yo ho ho” and all that), and they were pretty good for a few hours read. I have to admit it, I was a dedicated Buffy fan. I think the first five years were among the best television in broadcast history, and I very eagerly looked forward to each week’s episodes. Those were golden years in TV for me, for at the same time was Deep Space Nine, which is, without a doubt, my favorite TV show of all time. I still have my Starfleet uniforms in the closet, which I would wear to conventions. I liked Star Trek in general, but Deep Space Nine stands out to me as the cream of the crop. Master, I might note, disagrees wholeheartedly. He feels the best TV science fiction ever was Babylon Five, followed by Farscape. And, yep, Farscape was good stuff, until it got a bit too dark for me in the third season. Master, however, likes dark fiction, and he’s determined I watch it one day. I have to admit, I’m looking forward to it. *smiles*

Another night I spent time messing with my computer trying to get it to play some old roleplaying games from the 1990s. It’s amazing how primitive some of those games are by today’s standards, but they were hot stuff back then. I did get one to actually work – an old cyberpunk adventure called Beneath a Steel Sky – and I’m looking forward to digging into it soon.

And the next night I stayed up late playing an online World War I air combat game, which was cool to watch but was actually dull to play, as all I did was fly around shooting at people, and I think games like that are dull as rocks. I stuck with it for awhile because I have an interest in history and a fascination with biplanes, I think because of the idea of being able to fly so bravely in such a rickety craft in a heroic age of chivalry in the air. Yeah, yeah, I know it wasn’t all about that. I’ve read the Red Baron’s autobiography, and in truth he was a psychopathic bully who got an equal kick out of shooting squirrels and shooting people. Still, though, it’s fun to think about as a modern-day fantasy.

None of that, however, has anything to do with being a slave … which is the whole point of this blog and why most of you read it, I’m assuming.

Most of the slave-related things this week have mostly been pretty normal, I have to admit. Cooking and cleaning and shopping and such. No whips or floggings or sex or anything out of the ordinary.

Today we hosted a Slave Group meeting in the basement of Master’s house as a way for local slaves to get together and openly talk among other slaves about good things and bad things and laugh and cry in a sympathetic, understanding environment. The meeting’s conversations are private, so I can’t talk about what we said, although I can say that we generally talked about things such as our backgrounds and how we became slaves, and the definition of a slave versus a submissive, and other subjects you’d think would be addressed at a first meeting.

Half a dozen slaves attended, and we talked for more than three hours, and I’d definitely say that things got off to a great start. The next meeting will be in five weeks at the home of one of the other slaves, and I’m definitely looking forward to it because, truth be told, I’m a bit lonely at times for somebody to talk with who understands what I’m experiencing. Although, actually, as weird as I am, I’m always a bit lonely no matter what because there’s simply nobody else like me in most ways.

The worst thing that happened is that one of the slaves announced she wouldn’t be coming back because she has a bad history with the Master of one of the other slaves, and she would rather drop out of the group than take the chance of encountering him. Such is life.

Another good thing (and bad thing for my diet) is we had quite a bit of munchies left. In particular, very yummy (but fatty) dip and sushi. Mmmm … sushi. Master let me get a big party tray of it for the slaves, and almost nobody would eat any of it but me. Several of the Masters of the slaves also stayed and chatted during the meeting, but they remained upstairs out of earshot. None of them were actually invited, as it was a slave’s meeting first and foremost, but they each asked if they could stay, and they did – for which Master got them some nifty snacks as well. As Master said, he definitely knows how to throw parties – he’s done it quite a bit in the past, and it’s going to likely become more regular around our home in the near future.

So that’s it for now. Oh, wait, you’re saying … what about the previous week? Y’know, the promised report on the Southwest Leather Conference’s events?

Maybe that’ll have to wait, yet again, until the next blog posting. Don’t worry, you’ll get it. A bit late, but you will.

Back again soon.

La kajira!!!

p.s. Just came back from a drumming circle. Master had planned to go with me, but got tired and stayed home. It was great, with a roomful of wild drummers and people dancing in the circle.

As I half expected, things got intense ... and I entered a trance ... and ... I was a wolf ... and was in the woods … and my mate found me … and nature followed its course ... *wags tail* Afterward I followed my mate, who was making a beeline back through the snow to the rest of the pack. Apparently we had been out hunting and hadn’t found anything. The gray cub from the first litter seems to be doing okay.
And the third-litter white cub. And, well, all the rest of the pack, too.

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

2010-01-31T23:33:00.000-08:00

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*

Day 176 -- Rowlf. cocks her head tiredly

2010-01-29T23:04:00.000-08:00

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.

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

2010-01-27T22:24:00.000-08:00

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!!!

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

2010-01-19T22:18:00.000-08:00

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.

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

2010-01-18T21:29:00.000-08:00

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.

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

2010-01-11T01:30:00.000-08:00

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.

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

2010-01-06T23:25:00.000-08:00

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!!!

Day 147 - On Being Flogged by Master but Being the Wrong Type of Masochist and Not Responding in the Right Way, On Becoming a Lego Woman in a Dream and Having Horse Spirit Use It To Literally Show Me Spiritual Insights, and On the Fact that Master and M'Lady Actually Did Enjoy Christmas Dinner

2010-01-01T19:14:00.000-08:00

A lot has happened during the last few weeks that I haven’t written about, partly because I’ve been too busy to write or too tired to write at the end of the day, but I don’t want to forget these things, so I’ll be playing catch-up during my next few posts.

Before I go any further, it’s time for a couple of important corrections again. Master read my last post and said he felt that I was overly downplaying what on his part was a quite favorable reaction to the holiday meal I made for him and M’Lady. He also told me that I need to remember, especially with M’Lady, if I offer something as a surprise, I should be prepared for a less-than-enthusiastic response if she’s not pleased. However, she was actually pleased with the meal, it turns out. M’Lady commented tonight that she really loved the glazed carrots I served with the Christmas dinner, and Master noted that M’Lady said several times that she liked the meat pies I served, and they both ate the plum pudding with gusto. Truth be told, the only part of the meal she didn’t like was the mushrooms – and that primarily because they used too much tarragon for her liking. So … it seems that the meal was much more well received than I indicated in my last post, but I was so overly focused on the fact that they chose to watch television during the meal that it ruined my overall perception of their reaction. And in regards to that, Master said he wants to make it clear that he personally does not enjoy watching television while eating nor would he have that night, but instead it was M’Lady’s decision to do such during my surprise holiday dinner. So … my bitch session during my last posting was pretty much without merit in a lot of ways. That’s what I get for writing when I’m tired. *sighs gently*

On a completely different topic, Master also wanted me to make sure I noted he was the person who wrote the lyrics to “My Kajira,” the Gorean filk parody I posted awhile ago based on “My Sharona.” (You can find it at the bottom of this post). He said anybody can use it and post it anywhere, as long as they attribute it to “Master Grey of Colorado.”

Master and I continue to grow together, even as we continue to learn our differences – which happened as a result of a flogging session a couple of nights ago.

After playing a video game with M’Lady (they like story-oriented adventure games, like those of the “Monkey Island” series), Master told me to go with him to the basement to play, which filled me with both excitement and nervousness, as you might guess. Master has been working to clean up his basement dungeon (which is extremely well equipped, beautifully laid out and has enough space for several sets of people to engage in BDSM “scenes” at the same time). Truth be told, the basement looked fantastic. Master had carefully lit candles around the room, and hauntingly beautiful music was playing over the speakers. He asked if I preferred floggers or paddles, and because I hate the intensity of paddles, I chose flogging. After I spoke my desire, he nodded and told me to disrobe, and after I had done so he took me through the semi-darkness to a large St. Andrew’s cross, where I was instructed to stand against it, facing away from him. Soon I hear a few “whiffs” in the air, which I knew to be the sound of a flogger’s tail moving as Master warmed up his arm, and without warning the first light sensations hit my shoulders as the flogger came gently down on my back.

Master is one of the most experienced floggers in Colorado, and he knows that to avoid harming the victim … err, the person receiving the flogging must be allowed to let the sensation build up in intensity, letting the body get acclimated to it in such a way that the skin won’t be broken by the increasingly harder impacts. It wasn’t long, however, before the flogging started coming down hard enough to start hurting, and I braced myself, knowing that this was going to be a painful session. As I’ve indicated in previous posts, I’m what I consider a “clinical masochist,” in that I don’t directly like pain, but I indirectly enjoy people doing things to me I don’t like (the way that a clinical sadist enjoys doing things to people they don’t like). And I especially find it enjoyable to have Master do things to me I don’t like because I feel I’m making him happy in the process.

Well, I definitely wasn’t enjoying the idea of being forced to stand there and take a sadistic beating to my back that was getting worse and worse with ever more painful tools used to inflict the agony. Being only my second time to get a flogging, I decided to experiment mentally with various mental tools at my disposal to help me endure the pain. All of them worked to various degrees, and by the end I was simply trying to internally refine the process. One tool was to concentrate on the fact that I was doing this for Master, who I knew to be a self-professed sadist who enjoyed flogging, and I took pleasure from the act of self sacrifice. Another was to turn inward, fall into a meditative trance state and largely remove myself from interacting with physical reality, something I had learned about 15 years ago during participation in some intense sweat lodges on the Northern Cheyenne Indian reservation (and have put to good use numerous times since during my shamanic work). Another was changing my brain’s programming briefly to allow it to find a curious interest in the pain, and to even at times turn the pain directly into pleasure (which is something a “pain slut” can do, but I think it’s automatic with them, and with me it required significant effort). And yet another tool was to build myself up to an orgasm (as I’ve indicated, I orgasm pretty quickly and have learned to do it on command) in order to ride the rush of endorphins the orgasm would create in my body and mind. Throughout it all, I remained there, quietly leaning against the cross as Master did his work, for the most part completely out of touch with the physical world around me.

At one point, Master came to me and asked how I was doing, and I smiled and told him I was doing quite fine, although the last flogger he had used had hurt a bit (one he called a “dragon tail”, which was a single piece of leather that tapered into a poing). He looked at me with a bit of confusion and got back to business, proceeding to use more and more painful techniques and equipment. At only one point did I cry out, and only briefly. It was soon after that when Master stopped and again asked me how I was doing, and when I told him I was still doing fine, he stopped everything and called me to sit beside him on a nearby couch to explain what was going on. I was rather confused as to why he seemed unhappy, and so we began what turned out to be a long but insightful conversation that showed we had both had the wrong idea about each other in regards to flogging.

I thought Master was a sadist in that he simply enjoyed inflicting pain upon a willing subject, and even though I wasn’t enjoying the flogging, as his slave I was very willing to allow him to do it. Master, however, said he only enjoys flogging people who actually enjoy the flogging, and the fact that I wasn’t showing any pleasurable responses (or any responses at all) had disturbed him, and then to find out that I was only enduring the flogging for the sake of his enjoyment took that enjoyment from him. Master said he thought I was a physical masochist, in that I directly got pleasure from pain, but as we talked he eventually understood that I’m not, and likely never will be. I’m just not wired for that.

One thing that was a problem was communication and definitions. Remember way back months ago when my previous Mistress and I were having so much trouble defining the term “slave,” and we decided that the word outside the BDSM community means something different than what it means in the BDSM lifestyle? Seems that’s the case with other things, such as being a “masochist.” In the lifestyle, a masochist is somebody who directly enjoys physical pain or humiliation, and that’s what Master thought I was – and that’s the type of masochist Master enjoys playing with.

Master, it should be noted, in no way considers himself to be a clinical sadist. He said he only enjoys hurting people when they enjoy being hurt and are receiving the pain consensually. To him, possibly the greatest pleasure from being a sadist is in observing the response of the person who is receiving the pain. The groans of agony and wails of pleasure and all the other sounds that might come from somebody who’s getting beaten beyond what their mind can easily handle. As a result, he said, the fact that I was turned inward to escape the pain of the flogging ruined things for him because he didn’t get any response from me at all. I was so removed from the world, flogging me was pretty much like flogging a piece of furniture, which is no fun at all, he said.

I felt awful afterward, because in light of his words I felt I would be worthless at one of the most valuable services I’ve thought I was going to be able to provide for Master, which was to be able to be there as an outlet for his sadistic desires. In response, Master comforted me and told me that he was very happy with my service as a slave, and he could easily find pain-loving masochists at the Sanctuary BDSM club should he desire. He even has masochists writing him at times, he said, and he may invite one or more to the house to play with him.

In light of all that, Master concluded that there was, indeed, a way that his BDSM-related sadism could be constructively connected with my psychological masochism in a way that benefits us both. Master said he had hoped to engage me in some very “serious and heavy” BDSM scenes (whatever those might be, but the idea gives me the willies), but although he now feels he could never do such with me with a clear conscious, he definitely looks forward to us doing “light” scenes together.

How? Well, although I am able to quietly withstand being flogged, Master knows that he can deliver intense and sudden pain upon me very safely through the use of paddles – an instrument of which he is also a well-known expert. He knows I hate paddles, and for good reason – they bore straight through my defenses, causing me to cry out without control. My birthday paddling was a good example of that, and I have a feeling we’ll be doing more of such in the future. Possibly often in the very near future. (Eeep!) Master also has repeatedly indicated he definitely takes pleasure from inflicting surprise pain upon me (much like Mistress Marie used to do to me), in particular by grabbing my nipples and pinching them very sharply until I wince and whimper in pain. (Eeep, yet again!) Such is life for a BDSM slave in our household!

…

What we discussed regarding the idea of masochism in and out of the BDSM community stuck in my head, and I did some research on the subject on the Web, which prompted Master and I to talk some more about it this morning (I’ve put a couple of snippets from an article on the topic at the end of today’s post).

As part of the discussion, I mentioned to Master that Jean-Paul Sartre, the well-known French existential philosopher, had speculated that sadism and masochism are related to objectification, in that a masochist desires to be transformed into an object, and a sadist desires to transform his victim into one. Master responded that while that may be true in some instances, he knows of far too many situations where a sadist takes pleasure from knowing their victim is indeed not an object. I agreed with him and made my own speculation that it may be that case for many slaves, however, with myself being one in point.

Continuing on the subject, I reminded him of my long-term fantasies (for much of my adult life) of being transformed into an object of desire, up to and including my current psychological connection with becoming a marionette and my recent dream of being transformed into a Lego figure.

Oh, I didn’t mention that dream yet? *grins*It happened a couple of days ago. I slept for a long time that night, and I had some very powerful dreams toward the end. The one in particular I’m about to describe was one of the most powerful dreams I’ve ever had.

In the dream, I was in a bedroom much like my Master’s (I'm a real-life 24/7 slave, for those who don't know), except there was no carpet on the floor, and the room was larger and less cluttered. Actually, in many ways, it was a very normal bedroom – a dresser with a few things on it, and a bed nearby. I looked down and saw a toy rolling toward the dresser, and I could tell it was a Lego figure rolled up into a ball for locomotion (similar to the way battle droids do in Star Wars). The figure stopped when it hit the dresser and stood up to be a little Lego man with a Lego gun (basically, a tube with a red cap on the end). He fired it at me and suddenly I realized I was shrinking, and I knew I was becoming a toy like he was.

Sure enough, I became a Lego woman – with a flat body and bulky limbs and everything. Feeling a calm acceptance of my situation, I stood before the Lego man, and he smiled and took me to an elaborate Lego city built in the middle of a large, mostly empty room (well, it was huge to me, as I was now a Lego). There were a lot of other Lego people going about their business, but several came to me to meet me and welcome me to the city. The Lego man and another man held up a mirror for me, and I saw my face as a young woman, about age 18. (I was cute, in a “Punky Brewster” type of way, but without the freckles, and my black hair was tied up and back in a ponytail. *giggles*)

Afterward, I started being shown other parts of the city, but then I started growing again, and my body started changing in grotesque ways, becoming warped between being a plastic toy and a flesh-and-blood woman. The other Lego people looked on me with despair and sadness, but I fought the changes with difficulty until I was able to successfully reverse them and, in the end, shrinking back down and becoming again a female Lego figure in a Lego city – a toy amongst toys. I was very happy with that, and felt I was truly at home in the form I was happiest in being.

And that's where the dream ended.

The dream haunted me all morning, and I felt it was quite important to me spiritually. As I was contemplating the dream in a darkened room, Horse spirit (one of my spirit guides related to my shamanic work) came to me and gave me the understanding that I need to become more closely attuned with the “toy” nature of my soul – the part that manifests itself as being a marionette in nature. Although I consider myself to have a Wolf spiritual nature (as I’ve noted in previous posts), I felt a oneness with Horse that morning. I then felt Rhiannon nearby (a Celtic spirit guide I work with related to horses and nature), talking to me on the side, but Horse continued to remained the focus of the spiritual contact. I felt from both of them that it was time to let go of my nature as a predator and to fully embrace being a possession, a slave, and, for all intents and purposes, a domestic animal -- to move toward becoming a Horse spiritually. I felt uneasy at first at the idea of no longer being a wolf spiritually, but then I felt Wolf spirit there, telling me that my Wolf nature is an aspect of my past (I felt he was saying it was a reflection of my previous lives, but I’m not sure), and it’s not a true representation of my true soul. I felt him reminding me that all attempts to put a shape on a soul, they’re all just images that don’t show the true essence of what we are at our spiritual depths, our true nature outside of this physical reality. And it all felt right and filled me with a peaceful acceptance.

And then I had a vision, one that truly flowed across my sight, like a waking dream, in which I felt like I was watching a movie flashing in the air in front of me. In it (I very rarely have visions, so the fact that I had one this morning means a lot to me), I saw a herd of wild mustangs, and I was there with them, moving along across the unspoiled plains, and then I rose above them and watched as they turned and circled while running without end. I kept rising until I was beyond seeing them, and I felt suddenly I had cords on my wrists and ankles, and then on my head, and I knew I had become a marionette. I felt my awareness of my newly understood spiritual nature strongly move, like through a funnel somehow, toward an area in my mind that held my masochistic desires – not a desire for pain, but a sense of rightness in being truly owned and used not for my own will, but for the will of another, even against my own will in ways I may not desire, but in ways I knew were right with my nature as a slave and a puppet. And it flowed over me, and I truly felt it in all ways and ... it ended, with Rhiannon telling me to go out and live my life in the changed way. Throughout the rest of the day I continued to feel the bonds on my wrists and ankles, and I knew that’s what I am – a puppet.

Or, as I told Master and M’lady tonight, “A wooden puppet in my dreams, an organic puppet in real life.” M’Lady smiled and said understandingly, “You’re a reverse Pinocchio,” to which I grinned back and nodded in appreciation.

So we’re all still getting used to each other. I’m continuing to learn about them, and they about me. We’ve left the “honeymoon” stage and are working on building up a relationship we hope might last potentially the rest of our lives. I’m sure there will be unpleasant and disappointing incidents coming up again in the near (and far) future. But we’re complex people, and we like that complexity, and that’s why I think without a doubt we’re truly a match for each other as Master and slave.

La kajira!

p.s. Regarding the research I did on sadomasochism, it indeed appears that the psychiatric community separates what they consider to be masochism from the term as used in connection to BDSM. To quote a well-written (and annotated) article I found on Wikipedia:
“'Sadism' and 'masochism', in the context of consensual sexual activities, are not strictly accurate terms, at least by the psychological definitions. 'Sadism' in absolute terms refers to someone whose pleasure in causing pain does not depend on the consent of the 'victim'. Indeed, a lack of consent may be a requisite part of the experience for a true sadist. Similarly, the masochist in consensual BDSM is someone who enjoys sexual fantasies or urges for being beaten, erotically humiliated, bound, tortured, or otherwise made to suffer, either as an enhancement to or a substitute for sexual pleasure leading to enjoyment of an orgasm. This is either according to a certain scripted and mutually agreed upon 'scene' with a partner or else some scenario solely in the mind of an individual. These 'masochists' do not usually enjoy pain in other scenarios, such as accidental injury, medical procedures, and so on, but non consensual masochists may sexually enjoy either physical or mental pain being observed to affect themselves provided that suffering also brings enjoyment and success to one or more others solely within the masochist's private thoughts and perceptions.

Similarly, the exchange of power in S&M may not be along the expected lines. While it might be assumed that the 'top' - the person who gives the sensation or causes the humiliation - is the one with the power, the actual power may lie with the 'bottom', who typically creates the script, or at least sets the boundaries, by which the S&M practitioners play.

Further, often the pleasure that the 'top' gains from inflicting the pain or humiliation is contingent upon the 'bottom' reacting in a way that the 'top' desires or expects. It is therefore an observed feature of successful Dom-Sub or S-M relationships that considerable discussion of desired outcomes occurs in advance of actual activity. Whilst the 'submissive' partner might be expected at a superficial level to comply with whatever their 'dominant' desires, in fact both partners to the arrangement are more likely to make detailed preparations and arrive at understandings to ensure both receive the 'treatment' or outcomes they desire. Within the BDSM community, this type of preparation is known as 'setting limits', and activities are often referred to as needing to be 'SSC' - 'safe, sane and consensual'. However, this limitation is not adhered to by all participants, especially those where force (giving or receiving) is part of their desired behaviour.”

To quote what the article said regarding Sartre’s views on sadomasochism:
“Sartre argued that masochism is an attempt by the For-itself (consciousness) to reduce itself to nothing, becoming an object that is drowned out by the 'abyss of the Other's subjectivity.' By this Sartre means that, given that the For-itself desires to attain a point of view in which it is both subject and object, one possible strategy is to gather and intensify every feeling and posture in which the self appears as an object to be rejected, tested, and humiliated; and in this way the For-itself strives toward a point of view in which there is only one subjectivity in the relationship, which would be both that of the abuser and the abused. Conversely, of course, Sartre held sadism to be the effort to annihilate the subjectivity of the victim. That means that the sadist is exhilarated by the emotional distress of the victim because they seek a subjectivity that views the victim as both subject and object.”

Day 141- On a Great Chrstmas with My Family, and a Doozy of a Holiday Dinner for Master (Who Liked It) and M'Lady (Who Apparently Couldn't Have Cared Less)

2009-12-26T23:19:00.000-08:00

(As is my habit, I'm writing until I'm too brain-dead to function, so I'm posting this without editing it. I'll re-read it for errors tomorrow, but who knows what you'll find in it tonight? *chuckles*)

I feel too tired to write tonight, but I also feel I should do it because I’ve got things to say. It’s been an important week, yet again. It seems weird to me that a lot of people have day after day where they get up, eat, go to work, eat, work some more, come home, eat, watch TV, go to bed, and repeat the cycle over and over. Maybe someday my days will become filled with a dull, drab routine, but not yet it seems.

Of course, the holidays added some unusual spice to the week’s events. Yesterday was Christmas, and a very nice day it was for me – and my family, with whom I spent most of the time. Master allowed me to take Christmas Eve off so I could spend the night with my kids. I brought a laptop so I could work on my blog but … err … well, here’s all I wrote that night …

“It’s close to two in the morning on Christmas. I realize that my son has his alarm set to go off at 5:30 – less than four hours from now. Well, I remember that now. I’ve been … err … testing out the Guitar Hero game I got my kids for Christmas, and I sorta lost track of time. I’m actually at my ex’s house instead of my Master’s. It’s the first time I’ve stayed over here in a long time – as in, almost two years. It feels a bit weird, but it’s okay.”

*grins*

I curled up to sleep on an old (and wonderfully comfy) recliner in the living room, and the next thing I remember was my son’s happy face as he was waking me up in the darkness – at 5:31 AM. My daughter hadn’t woken yet, and as she still believes in Santa Claus, I had to convince my son to not open up any presents until she got down. To my pleasant surprise, he was fine with that, as long as he had a chance to look over his gifts and see what he got before heading upstairs back to bed again. My son still has some problems emotionally, but he’s really starting to making some strides in maturing as a young man, and that makes my ex and I very hopeful about his future, as you can guess. *smiles*

After my daughter awoke, she and my son came down together, with my son feigning surprise at all the gifts, and the rest of the day went pretty much as best as any Christmas I’ve had in a long time. My ex and I gave the kids craft kits and books and science kits and stuffed animals, with almost no electronic toys – the exception being a nifty kinetic sculpture for my son and a top that never stops spinning for my daughter, both of which use batteries to power inner magnets. Oh, and I got them both a “sports resort” game program for their new Wii along with the previously mentioned Guitar Hero, and my ex got a dragon-oriented video game for my son – who very quickly became quasi-addicted to it. (I think I’ve mentioned that my son and daughter are both very heavily into dragons at the moment, especially my son, who works with a dragon spirit and somewhat believes he may be a dragon himself spiritually – which concerns me a bit, from my experience with Dragon in the past. In every case of friends of mine who work with Dragon spirit, before long they believe they’re dragons themselves, something I attribute to the energies of Dragon – although I don’t put it past him to be trying to convince them of such things for his own selfish reasons. Whatever.)

Amazingly, only one of the gifts somewhat flopped – the Guitar Hero. I thought my son and my ex would both love it, but my son said the idea doesn’t thrill him a lot, and my ex suggested I just keep it for awhile to play at Master’s house until my son’s ready for it. Well, I have to admit, the Guitar Hero really rocks (literally) in my opinion, and so I agreed to take perfect care of it (and to make good use of it until my son wants it back. *chuckles*)

Come early afternoon, I headed back to Master’s, mistakenly thinking he wanted me to make some sweet-potato frittatas for dinner. I also wanted to spend time with Master and M’Lady that day, thinking they would be celebrating Christmas in their own way. To my complete surprise, Master told me upon my arrival that he and M’Lady don’t celebrate the holiday season – at all. I knew Master wasn’t Christian, and M’Lady was raised in the Jewish faith, but I thought they’d celebrate something simply for the fun, but no Christmas or Hanukkah in any way shape or form. (Although I’m not Christian either, I do see the holiday as a wonderful cultural celebration, and I spiritually take time to acknowledge the Winter Solstice at least.) I have to admit that I expected they’d have a little something for me as a token of the season, but Master explained to me after seeing my crestfallen expression that he feels gifts shouldn’t be given as an obligation as part of a holiday, but instead they should be given spontaneously whenever the mood strikes him. I see what he’s saying, and to me that shows a much more forthright and generous view of the idea of giving to those you care about and those in need, in a way taking the idea of Christmas and spreading it throughout the entire year.

Nonetheless, it shows why my big British-themed holiday feast for Master and M’Lady that I spent weeks planning and hours preparing and finally presented as a big surprise – wasn’t as big a deal to them as I thought it would be.

After doing some last minute chores on Christmas eve (along with making from scratch a loaf of applesauce bread to bring my ex and kids for their Christmas breakfast), I was counting the hours until the afternoon arrived. Finally at 4 PM I very brightly took Master’s and M’Lady’s nice China from their shelves, brewed a pot of Lady Grey tea, opened a package of sweetened British “digestive biscuits” and place a few alongside the teacups on a tray, then filled the cups and, carefully approaching Master and M’Lady with everything on a tray, announced in my best British accent that it was time for tea. Master was wonderful and very gratefully took his drink and biscuits. M’Lady, who was lying on the couch reading a book, instead uttered coldly, “I don’t drink tea” without even looking up at me.

Oh, well, at least Master liked it, so I was able to take her tea and enjoy it myself in the kitchen.

I then presented Master and M’Lady with a surprise selection of British “Country Living” magazines from several different years dedicated to the Christmas and Winter seasons, and Master graciously took them, but M’Lady only shook her head in refusal.

Undaunted, I thought for sure M’Lady would be won over by the meal I had prepared. And it was a doozy. From scratch, I made country mushrooms in a creamy tarragon-flavored sauce, along with potato scones and glazed carrots. For the entrees, I had to fudge and use frozen stuff, but it came straight from England, so it was authentic – Scottish meat pies, along with a steak and kidney pie. And then, after they had finished all that, I presented steamed plum budding in a brandy sauce, ginger wafers, and to top it off, Christmas crackers – which are these adorable tubes that break apart with a “bang” when you pull them, revealing a toy-surprise along with a paper crown and a joke. (Hoo boy, I’m pretty sure it was the most complicated arrangement I’ve made since coming to live with Master. I was frantically working for hours to get it all ready at the same time, and the number of dishes and utensils I needed to clean afterward was amazing.)

After all the planning and keeping everything a surprise, I couldn’t wait. I spent a decent amount of my own money getting everything together, but I didn’t care – for Master and M’Lady, anything would be worth it, and I just wanted to make them happy for the holidays.

*sighs*

To them, it was pretty much a normal meal. After I proudly presented each of them with a plate loaded with food, they turned on the television, started watching a show, and casually ate what I made without any fanfare. The TV was so loud that I had a lot of trouble trying to explain what I had made.

I made enough for myself of most everything (there wasn’t enough of the steak and kidney pie for me to try, but I figure I’ll get a chance someday). It was hard for me to enjoy it, though, because the television program was so distracting the only way I could get through the meal was to turn off my hearing aids and focus like crazy on what I was eating.

*sighs again*

Finally, Master and M’Lady finished what I had prepared, and I rushed to get the desert and crackers and returned with it all arranged very nicely for them. And then, I realized I simply couldn’t return with all of it as long as the show was still blaring, so I respectfully waited and asked them for that part of the evening to please turn off the TV – and fortunately they did. And it all did turn out fun – Master got a deck of cards in his cracker and very jovially wore the paper crown, and M’Lady got a hair barrette and a good (bad) joke … “Why didn’t the skeleton make it to the New Year’s Eve party? Because he had no body to go with.” Yark, yark yark! *giggles* I had bought an extra cracker in case the others were broken, and Master bade me to open it – and I got, of all things, a shoe horn. Who in the world would give a shoe horn to a child as a present? Those British people are SO bizarre! *grins*

Afterword, M’Lady turned back on the show, not having shown much enthusiasm for anything I did throughout the evening, and I got to work cleaning the dishes. By the time I was done, I was exhausted. In the end, though Master made it all worth it by coming to me, telling me he was very pleased with the dinner, and that it was wonderful, and that he greatly appreciated all my efforts, and then he hugged me, and I truly felt wonderful indeed!!! *bounces*

Well, on that note, I’m going to post this and head to bed. I haven’t even talked about the stuff that happened earlier in the week. Or the fact that I really pissed off Master tonight – so much that he cancelled plans to attend a play party at the Sanctuary BDSM club. But that can wait. Some weird stuff has been going on with me lately spiritually, and so my dreams are calling me. So … toodles for now.

And, as always … la kajira!

Day 135 - On the Death of One of My Dearest Friends, at the Hands of Me and My Ex, to End Her Suffering

2009-12-20T23:03:00.000-08:00

One of the best friends I’ve ever had died two days ago.

And my ex and I killed her.

Her name was Shelby. To say she was a cat seems like it’s not enough. She was truly the best cat in the world. She represented what all other cats should strive to be.

She was as much a person as you or I or anybody else could be.

She was incredibly intelligent, and mindful, and always wanted to know what my ex and I were doing during the almost 18 years that she lived with us. And if she didn’t approve what she saw, she would very vocally let us know.

She owned us. We were her pets and her children.

And she was our daughter.

We were all family, deeply and closely and with intense love.

And she’s dead now. And reality doesn’t seem like it’s right anymore. It seems like everything is skewed. Like nothing makes sense, like nothing means anything anymore.

Her health began deteriorating a couple of months ago, and during the last week we noticed she wasn’t eating or drinking hardly anything. We took her to a vet at an animal hospital we trusted, and the vet struggled to keep her alive, managing to clean out her system and pump her up with enough fluids to allow her one more good day at home.

Last Thursday I spent most of the day at my ex’s house with Shelby. I took her outside, where she used to love to roam, for one last time. I played with her with string one last time. I took her for a “magic carpet” ride in a box above my head, soaring from room to room, for a last time. Mostly, I just lay next to her while she rested, and gently scratched her head or comforted her as she slept, her brown and copper fur under my fingers.

The next day, my ex and I took her to the vet. My ex researched everything possible about Shelby’s condition on the Internet, and I probed the vet with tons of questions. In the end, however, we realized that Shelby was suffering, and we did what we had to do. We held her gently, my ex rubbing her face softly, as the vet gave her a lethal injection. And, suddenly, Shelby collapsed and … just wasn’t there anymore. Her body remained, but without the immense presence that made up Shelby’s personality.

We caused her soul to separate from her body.

I think I went a little insane then. My ex later said he felt the same way, that he too felt like his mind became unglued.

It was especially hard for him. Shelby was mostly my cat during almost all of her life. She and I had a bond that was as close as anything I’ve had with any person ever. But Shelby also loved my ex, and after I moved out, Shelby and my ex became deeply attached. Every night Shelby would scratch on the bedroom door to get in when she wanted, and would order my ex around to be let out as well. Shelby would vocally demand my ex to go to bed when Shelby wanted him to, and then she would curl up next to my ex after he had settled down. When Shelby was ready to get up in the morning, she would walk on my ex’s face, making sure he didn’t oversleep. And through all that, my ex responded one way – with love. Now that Shelby is gone, my ex said he is having the most horrible time sleeping because a critical part of my ex’s nights is gone forever.

Neither of us will see Shelby again in this lifetime. And that doesn’t just sadden us. It infuriates us.

She is our daughter. Our friend. Our family. How dare the universe take her away!

I know deeply in my heart, without a doubt, she’s gone on to another life. But where is she? What’s happening to her? I want to demand answers, but I don’t know how. I feel like a mother who took her daughter to an airport then kissed her farewell with the knowledge that not only would I never see her again, but I would never even know where she went.

I want so much to communicate with her. To know that she’s safe. And I never will, at least not in this lifetime.

Somehow I’ve always felt Shelby and I knew each other before we met in this life. We adopted her from the Denver Dumb Friends’ League animal shelter. I was walking past row after row of cats when I saw Shelby and for some reason just realized she was the cat for me. And she was. My ex has always marveled at how I just knew, and how Shelby truly turned out to be a cat beyond even the most fantastic expectations.

Right before Shelby died, I did a quiet ceremony while holding her, and I talked to my Jaguar spirit guide about her next incarnation. Jaguar said she would make a good mountain lion, but I said I was afraid she would be lonely because I know Shelby loved us so much. To me, Shelby is beyond any restrictions. She may have been a cat in this life, but she was greater than me and greater than anybody I knew.

After talking with Jaguar about that, I tapped into the love of my ex and myself and used it, giving it to Jaguar, while asking Jaguar to direct and focus our love in a way to make Shelby’s transition into the next life a smooth one, and that she would always remember that we loved her. And Jaguar said he would do that, and I felt it happening, and the vet gave her the injection soon afterward.

My memories of Shelby are too many to write down, but a few stand out.

Shelby would always follow us around, determined to stick her nose into our affairs. If we got a box in the mail, she would jump on the counter and sniff it and try and figure it out first. If we got in groceries, she would investigate them and give her approval (or lack of approval) to our purchase. And she was so very vocal about whatever was on her mind, and she thought about a lot, that was clear!

One day her nosiness was her downfall. My ex’s mom is from Puerto Rico, and it’s a tradition there to throw potfuls of water out the door at exactly the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Day. Well, one year we opened the front door, and just as we threw out the water, Shelby decided to run outside in curiosity regarding what we were looking at – and all the water landed right on her in the middle of the cold winter night. She ran back in very unhappily, and we bundled her up and dried her off while laughing uproariously.

About a decade ago, we were living in a townhome in Denver near a large field that ran downhill to a wooded stream. Shelby loved interacting with wildlife – in particular, the squirrels. We had a squirrel feeder on the back porch, and Shelby would wait patiently until a squirrel would approach, and then she would take off running to chase the squirrel away. The thing is, the squirrels weren’t really overly scared of her, and you could tell because every so often Shelby would actually get close enough to catch a squirrel, and the squirrel would stop and angrily turn and start chattering at Shelby, who would quickly back away and either stare in indignation or retreat back to the porch. I think Shelby knew it was as much a game as anybody, but she loved it very much.

One day I decided it would be fun to take Shelby down the hill to explore the stream (we had taken her to similar areas a couple of times before), and so with her perched on my shoulder, we headed on our journey. Along the way we crossed over old, abandoned railroad tracks which … turned out to be not so abandoned after all. Just as we were crossing, a restored trolley car came very slowly down the tracks in our direction and blew its horn to alert us. Shelby very accordingly freaked and ran back up the hill as fast as her legs were carry her, clawing me mightily in the process, and she never wanted to go to there again. It sounds weird, but it was a very funny experience, and I think Shelby actually enjoyed the excitement.

She fully trusted me, from almost the moment I first brought her home, to the day she died. She trusted me to take her, turn her upside down and cuddle her in my arms, like a mother holding a baby. And as I would rock her, she would purr the loudest, most wonderful purrs. She would only trust me to do that with her, and it was a trust I valued more than almost anything on Earth.

The last few days have been very tough, needless to say. My ex and I have been together for each other, supporting each other in very important ways. When I had broken down in tears, hating myself for what we had done, my ex would convince me we had done the right thing. And I would be there for my ex when he would feel horrible about our actions in having Shelby put to sleep.

“Death is the price a pet owner pays to relieve their pet’s suffering,” he told me he read online, meaning that we will always feel guilty at making the choice to kill Shelby, but we did it for the right reasons.

Friday, after Shelby’s body was put into a box, I kept wanted to scream. I kept wanting to try and wake her up. I kept feeling like it was impossible she could be dead. The entire world suffered at the loss of Shelby, and what’s amazing is that so little of the world will ever realize that.

Friday after our children got home from school, we buried Shelby in our back yard. My ex and my son said their farewells, and then I read a poem by Suzanne Vega that I felt was appropriate (it’s attached at the bottom of today’s post). I then covered the grave, and we all put rocks on top and walked away.

Well, except for my daughter. She didn’t want to take part in the funeral. She actually seemed almost casual about what had happened. I can’t help but wonder if her cat nature just sees Shelby’s death as a part of life, and she’s handling it in a very sane way.

My ex said Shelby was the sanest of all of us. And I tend to agree.

Master has been wonderful during this time. He gave me almost all of Thursday off to be with Shelby, then all of Friday to deal with the euthanasia and the aftermath, and then all of Saturday to be with my family and try to move on.

Part of me feels like I’ll never truly move on from Shelby’s death. I have two human children. And I had a feline one. And my feline daughter died two days ago. And there’s now a hole in my heart that I don’t see how it could ever be filled again.

Goodbye for now, Shelby. You blessed our lives in more ways than I could imagine. I’ll see you again, someday.

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

"World Before Columbus"
by Suzanne Vega

If your love were taken from me
Every color would be black and white
It would be as flat as the world before Columbus
That's the day that I lose half my sight

If your life were taken from me
All the trees would freeze in this cold ground
It would be as cruel as the world before Columbus
Sail to the edge and I'd be there looking down

Those men who lust for land
And for riches strange and new
Who love those trinkets of desire
Oh they never will have you

And they'll never know the gold
Or the copper in your hair
How could they weigh the worth
Of you so rare

If your love were taken from me
Every light that's bright would soon go dim
It would be as dark as the world before Columbus
Down the waterfall and I'd swim over the brim

Those men who lust for land
And for riches strange and new
Who love those trinkets of desire
Oh they will never have you

And they'll never know the gold
Or the copper in your hair
How could they weigh the worth
Of you so rare

Day 130 - On Having Repeated Emotional Meltdowns that Resulted in Me Becoming Owned by Master in Deeper Ways than I Even Realized Was Possible ... and On Making Cookies and Getting a Wii for My Kids

2009-12-15T22:59:00.001-08:00

(This is a long blog. Really long. A lot happened since I last posted. I just wanted to warn you.

Also, I put an unedited version of this post up here last night, and Master read it after it went online and … after calling me to my knees at his feet, he brought a few things to my attention this morning.

For one, there’s the cookie eating. I tend to eat food if it’s available, and so I didn’t keep much around my apartment when I was living by myself. At Master’s home, however, the larders and fridge are always full of stuff, so Master has me on food restrictions, in that I can’t eat snacks without his explicit approval. And I didn’t get approval for the cookies. He didn’t punish me, because he said he could understand my submission to temptation in the presence of a big tin full of mouth-watering treats, but he also told me to work harder to make sure I didn’t slip up again. I took the cookies to my ex's house as a gift to my kids to avoid temptation, and Master has approved of my solution to the situation. *grins*

Also, Master wanted me to make sure I corrected a couple of errors. One was that I stated that he would binge eat late at night before bed. It should be noted that M’Lady does that, but Master does not. Secondly, months ago, soon after I had first met Master, I said he was about 70 years old. Afterward I found out he’s actually about 60 years old, but I never corrected his age.

Anyway, on with the post … )

Wow. It’s, err, Tuesday night. It’s been more than a week since I’ve posted.

Last week was a bit different than most weeks. But then, heck, I’ve given up on experiencing a “normal” week anytime in the near future.

But, all kidding aside, the last week and a half have been a real mess.

I’ve been sick on and off. I had several serious crying jags (a.k.a. “meltdowns”) about various things. And, in the end, I wound up binding to Master emotionally deeper than ever before.

It’s definitely been a long week.

Excuse me while I go get a gingerbread cookie, one of a huge batch I made with a bunch of other slaves at a holiday cookie party yesterday morning.

*num num num*

Okay, back. That wasn’t exactly a low-calorie break, as I ate two gingerbread cookies, half an apple-oatmeal cookie, half a mint-chocolate cookie, half an oatmeal raisin cookie, and half of a ginger cookie. *counts the cookies and grimaces*

Yep. I did something wrong. I should have had milk with them, too. *grins* (And, yeah, I’ve been on a diet the last couple of weeks. It’s been working. So far, I haven’t gained any weight, which is realistically all you can hope during the Christmas season. )

Back to the meltdowns … the first happened, of all things, when I was looking in the mirror and lamenting my hair. Sherman, set the Wayback Machine to March 30th of this year, when I was out of town and, at a friend’s insistence, I decided to get highlights put in my hair at a salon my friend said was great. The salon was run by people from Thailand, and a horrible mistranslation occurred. One of my most lovely features has always been my curly hair, and I was telling the stylist how proud I was of it when, somehow, she thought I was saying I hated my hair. To make matters worse, she was clueless, a novice and working without real supervision. First, she chemically straightened my hair. When I found out and freaked, she then permed it, to my shock, and claimed she had fixed it. Then she dyed my hair and put the highlights in. Four chemical treatments over a four-hour period. Yeah, you heard right. She totally destroyed my hair. It’s a miracle it didn’t all fall out. Ever since then, the only way I could wear my hair and look anything short of absolutely hideous was to wear it in a ponytail. Early last week, however, after a busy day that got me tired, I was looking at my hair in the mirror and I started crying and couldn’t stop for a long time. Finally I went downstairs and started working on chores, but it started hitting me again, and Master called me to his side, and I bawled for a very long time in his arms. Afterward, Master and M’Lady said they would contact their personal stylist, who comes to their home to do their hair every couple of months, to come by ahead of time to do my hair. Eventually, I finally stopped crying and went upstairs, and I played SecondLife to get away from reality, and that got me feeling good enough for bed, and I fell asleep safely curled up next to Master.

It’s hard to say what got me to break down and become so depressed like that, but in a way I felt like it was something that had been eating up at me for a long time … although last week was weird in other ways.

One thing unusual was I hardly did any of my normal chores. Instead, I spent several days going through my boxes in Master’s garage. Those boxes, which probably would take up a four-foot by four-foot by 15-foot space, make up everything I own (along with my clothes and my car, which is 17 years old and has a blue-book value of about $500). Well, Master wants me to go through my possessions and shrink what I own even more … which has led me to give things to my ex and to pack up boxes for donation to thrift stores, along with throwing things away. Master wants me to store neatly in my room or on basement shelves (I’ve got a lot of books) the leftover things I really want to keep, and working to figure out all of that kept me busy for a few days. Despite the fact that Master wanted me to do it, I still felt guilty because things were piling up, and the floors were getting dirty. And that got me stressed in a slight but constant way.

Fortunately it was an easy week for cooking because Master got out fancy frozen dinners for most of the days (He buys them at a place called “Supper Solutions,” which is puts all the ingredients together for you for some fancy meals, and all you have to do is cook everything as directed). Last week was my first week for scheduling the menus, and Master wanted to make it relatively easy for me by providing me with a set of six main courses he knew would work, and all I had to do was arrange the right days and figure out the side dishes.

As I may have mentioned before, cooking has become the center of my day, without a doubt. Everything I do in the morning and afternoon is leading up to preparation of the dinner meal, and afterward is the time for winding down, during which I’m given time off. Master and M’Lady do love their food, and they love it done right. Their eating habits are a bit unusual, however. M’Lady always skips breakfast and lunch. Master usually does as well, although sometimes I can convince him to eat something simple (like oatmeal), and he occasionally enjoys making something himself for lunch, like ramen soup or a ham sandwich. Also, M’Lady is notorious for snacking late before bed, usually on leftovers from the previous dinners. So with all that in mind, my dinner planning has to be top notch to serve their desires.

Fortunately, I’m getting the hang of it. Last week I got the meals figured out to their pleasure, and I was able to get them to eat some veggies for a change, hopefully to their lasting benefit. Because he was used to doing it by himself, Master tended to plan the meals such that there’s one thing to eat, usually a casserole, with no side dishes. Last week I fixed for them (alongside the main meal) leafy salads, garlic carrots, mashed potatoes and something called “Southwestern Rice Salad,” which turned out to be more popular that night than the entrée (and was a hit for lunches the following days). It’s definitely going into the repeat recipes, and I’ve got it listed below.

To make matters even more stressful, Master started getting sick last Tuesday with headaches and achiness, and he’s been fighting it since. It’s been a roller-coaster ride, with him feeling better one day and worse the next, and everybody will be so relieved when he finally kicks it out of his system. Being sick resulted in us cancelling plans to have dinner with another slave Owner and his girl, along with us missing events at the Sanctuary BDSM club. Because Master’s so known in the local BDSM community, everybody’s gotten the word about his ailments, and I’ve had some wonderful offers from other slaves to help out if needed. Master, being the big tiger that he is (he’s physically very big and tall, and Panthera tigris is his spirit guide), has pretty much taken it upon himself to handle his own aches and pains, with my job being to make sure the house runs as smoothly as possible while he’s suffering. He also tends to suffer in silence, so it’s often very hard for anybody to know when he’s having a bad time of it … which doesn’t exactly make my job easier.

I’ve been feeling a bit unusually achy and mentally fuzzy myself during the last week, which is part of why I haven’t been writing. Last night I was determined to catch up, and I just couldn’t do it, and wound up going to bed unexpectedly early. It’s also possibly why I’ve been so emotionally fragile the last week. Like most people, I tend to have the least emotional and mental resistance to depression when I’m tired and sick, and with my history of clinical depression, I always have to be on my guard lest the ice I’m walking on cracks underneath my emotional baggage. Despite that, Master continues to say I’m the best slave he’s ever had, and yesterday he again told me (after I surprised him by putting together by myself this week’s entire meal plan, of which all but one of the entrees will be cooked from scratch) that he is extremely happy with having me here as his slave. My heart sings whenever he says something like that, and truly it did yesterday, especially knowing that by doing that I’m giving him a chance to recover and not worry about things like figuring out the food.

But … last week my emotional strength wasn’t that stable, as I was saying earlier in today’s posting.

Another problem that happened was connected, of all things, with holiday shopping for my kids in the wake of a wonderful gift from Master.

Early last week, I was thinking of how addicted my son is to video games, and how I need him to exercise more. And I had the week before played around with a Wii for the first time at another slave’s home (the one with the Gorean Master). In case you’re not familiar with it, a Wii uses a controller that has internal motion detectors and isn’t connected to the main system, communicating where it is via infrared. As a result, the Wii allows for games where a person can use the controller for truly physical activities, such as tennis and hockey and boxing and air guitar (via Guitar Hero, which the other slave had, allowing us to have a great time playing concerts together while our two Masters talked at length on whatever Masters talk about). Well, I figured if I couldn’t totally wean my son from video games, maybe I could add exercise to them, and so I decided a Wii might be a solution, and my ex agreed.

Well, I had a few hundred dollars left from last month’s expenses, and I was going to use it for the system and a game, and I told Master and ... to my complete astonishment, he responded by giving me as a Christmas bonus the money to not only buy the Wii system and sports package, but also enough to get several games for it – and then he threw in an additional $75 gift certificate he had to make it even cheaper for me if I bought it at Best Buy (an electronics store he frequents). I was so overwhelmed by his generosity that I broke down and cried in his arms, and he hugged me tightly in reply. Looking back, I should have realized that my uncontrolled response to his gift might have been an indication that my emotions for the week were a bit hypercharged, but instead the two of us just accepted my feelings for what they were and went on with it.

That evening I made the mistake, however, of finding out that Wal-Mart was running a sale in which if you bought a Wii you got a $50 gift certificate. I thought that was a great deal, and even though it would be cheaper for me to use Master’s gift certificate, I figured that if I bought the Wii at Wal-Mart Master would be able to keep his certificate for his own use, and I would use the Wal-Mart certificate to buy something else for the Wii as I had already planned. The problem was, however, that the sale was such a success that none of the Wal-Marts in town had any Wii systems left. And things kept getting worse, dragging me into an awful spiral. A clerk at a Wal-Mart I was at said they would be getting some in that night at 11 P.M. And so I went there and they weren’t in stock, and it turns out the clerk didn’t know what he was talking about (although he told several other annoyed customers the same thing). During the next couple of hours that night, and for a couple of hours the next day, I called Wal-Marts all over town, and I was getting such a run around from Wal-Mart employees who had conflicting information that it was driving me crazy. I finally found one that said they were getting just a couple of Wii systems in before the sale was over, but the clerks there were so rude they hung up on me when I asked when they would be on the shelf. I had to complain to a manager before I was finally told they would be available at 10 P.M., but when I called back near then, I was told they would be on the shelf at midnight, then later I was told they would be held back until 7 A.M. the following morning, and … I just couldn’t take it anymore, and Master saw that. He called me to his knees and told me to express my feelings, and I broke down yet again at everything. Master asked me if saving $50 was really worth all the anguish it was causing me, and I shook my tear-streaked face in response. Master then asked me what I wanted, and I said I really wish I had never learned Wal-Mart was having the sale, and, even though Master was feeling tired, he told me he wanted to go with me to Best Buy that night and help me make the purchase of everything.

Afterward, I felt much calmer, of course, but still very frazzled emotionally, and Master told me he hoped I had learned a lesson, which was to go with his wisdom in such matters, and that the pursuit of a few dollars isn’t worth the mental stress it often brings. Hopefully, I’ve taken that guidance to heart permanently.

During the drive to the store and back, Master and I talked, and I told him how this again shows that I’m one of those people who not just wants to be controlled, but someone who truly needs it. Every time in my life when I’ve been on my own I tend to screw things up. Yes, if I had been given more opportunities to screw up when I was young, I might have learned from the process, but I didn’t – my parents controlled me right through college, and then I almost immediately got married to somebody very dominant (with the few months in between college and marriage just going to show yet again my lack of ability to take care of myself responsibly). I told Master that it’s people like me that are truly slaves at heart because that’s what we’re truly best at, having been trained at it and conditioned for it and mentally geared for it (and possibly biologically programmed for it, but that’s a “nature versus nurture” argument that’s been discussed ad infinitum by other people, and I’ll save it for later). Master agrees with my reasoning, and I went to bed feeling good yet again that I’m his girl.

The next afternoon was my son’s birthday (he turned 11), and I decided as a surprise to present the Wii system early, with one of the games as his birthday present. My ex and I had some fun with it, as I gave my son the game disk, and he looked at it happily until he saw it was for a Wii, and he said he couldn’t play it because we didn’t have one, and so I faked a sigh and said, “Well, I guess we’ll just have to get one, you think?” and I pulled out the Wii system console from a hiding place, and … Holy cats! Did his eyes light up! *giggles* Let’s just say the ruse had the desired effect! He was saying he felt like he was dreaming, and as silly as that was, it was truly a joy to see such pleasure in his eyes.

What I got for him, by the way, was a Star Wars “Lightsaber Duels” game, in which the Wii controller acts as a lightsaber, allowing the player to combat a host of opponents one after another. It’s actually a quite active game physically if you get into it, and my son definitely gets into it, so the system is already on its way to having the desired effect. I just hope he maintains his interest in working out that way. He’d better, because I pretty much shot my wad financially getting that for them. But then, I hear that kind of spending isn’t exactly uncommon among a lot of parents in regards to holiday shopping. Fortunately, my daughter is easy to buy for, so except for the Wii, gift purchasing has been relatively inexpensive this year.

So anyway, Friday with my two kids was a lot of fun, and that leads to Saturday … the morning of the haircut.

First of all, the stylist was late, and I had to sit around nervously for her to arrive, not being able to do anything but try to figure out recipes.

Finally she shows up and … chaos ensues, from my perspective, anyway. She and Master get to talking back and forth and to me and they try and explain what can be done and will be done and ought to be done and then they ask me what I want and … I get incredibly confused. Hopelessly confused. Horribly confused.

My wolf side freaks out. It can’t handle what’s going on. It can’t deal with the barrage of information. It falls back into fight-or-flight syndrome.

And I melt down and do the unthinkable.

I order Master to stop talking to me and to leave me alone.

And he did that and left the room without a word, anger clearly written all over his features.

And I’m crying throughout most of the haircut session because I’m unsure what’s happening and I’m all upset and I hate myself for upsetting Master.

In the end, the stylist cuts off almost all of my damaged hair, and my hair looks better. It still doesn’t look great because, as things are now, there’s about four inches of healthy hair and about three inches of destroyed hair. And, despite Master saying the stylist was fantastic, it’s clear she could have done better with my hair. She even forgot to cut my bangs, and as a result hair is hanging down ridiculously over my eyes. I think she may have rushed because I was so upset about everything, and I don’t really blame her.

After she left, Master called me to his feet. He wasn’t happy.

He was furious that I behaved like that, not just in his presence, but embarrassing him in his own house.

I started to bawl again, and I begged him to punish me.

Instead, he ordered me to talk and explain myself, and what had gone on in my head during the haircut session.

I tried to make sense of it all as I told him my feelings. I told him about how the wolf side of me had been making me feel like I was in a corner, and how I had responded to that by doing the equivalent of growling and barking and frantically trying to get away.

And Master responded by saying he was told something a long time ago about his own tiger spiritual nature by a wise person. “The tiger cannot be tamed, only trained,” he told me.

And I need to do that with my wolf nature, he said.

And right about then, something changed inside me. Like reality shifted a bit. Like my inner stability moved to a new cornerstone.

I realized I had always chosen to obey Master consciously.

But it was a conscious choice only. As a result, when I became upset about things and started acting instinctively, I would lose control. I wouldn’t automatically obey anymore.

And, with the realization of that hitting me, Saturday morning I made a conscious decision to … submit to Master unconsciously.

It’s hard to explain, but I suddenly felt as if I had let go of the final hold I had on independence and self control.

I felt as if finally I had reached the point where I willingly gave up everything to Master – even my subconscious decision-making abilities.

Oh, I’ll still make decisions for myself. Master wants me to do things, like plan meals, so he doesn’t have to. He has no desire to completely micromanage me or any other slave.

But any such decisions are always subject to Master’s approval – or denial. Always.

I know that, at heart, all the barriers are gone now.

I’m Master’s possession in every way now.

I told him that. I told him how I suddenly felt. And he nodded understandingly, and he asked me whether I think he should punish me.

And I responded that, as his property, such a decision is purely up to him as he sees fit.

And he told me that was the right answer, and he ordered me into the basement.

After we entered his personal dungeon, he ordered me to take off my clothes. He then took off the wall a long, thin wooden paddle riddled with holes.

“This is my pain stick,” he said. “I never use it for play. I only use it for punishment when needed, and punishment is needed today.”

He then ordered me to bend over a workhorse, and he whacked my ass hard with it. And it hurt more than any paddle I’ve ever felt, and tears flowed from my eyes.

I steeled myself, ready for more, but instead he told me to put my clothes back on, because my lesson had been learned.

And that was that. I went to my kids afterward, and we had a great time all day.

The next day, what I had learned Saturday came out in a good way.

As mentioned at the beginning of today’s post, Sunday was a cookie-baking session held at the home of a Master and slave who are friends with my Master. By the time things got good and going, there were about a half-dozen women, at least three of us in full-time slave relationships, and at least one of the others formerly in a submissive bondage-oriented BDSM relationship.

Well, I was really looking forward to going, and I left ahead of time to help set up the place, and … I got lost. I had written the instructions on how to get there wrong. And I called one of the slaves I knew, and she didn’t answer. And I called another one, and she also didn’t answer. Normally, I might have freaked a bit but instead … I thought to myself, “How would I act if Master was here with me?” And that calmed me down immensely.

See, that’s something Master told me Saturday morning, and it stuck. He told me that I need to get to a point where I feel his control of me all the time, non-stop, no matter where I am or what I’m doing. I need to allow myself to be his incessantly, without a break, whatever the situation.

And that’s the way things are now. I’m his. Totally. In every way.

La kajira!

p.s. I figure I should mention one other thing – the cookies turned out fantastic. Super fantastic. I’m a huge fan of gingerbread, and this is the best recipe I’ve ever had (it’s been in my family for years, so I knew long before Sunday that it would be a success). I’ve copied it below for everybody’s enjoyment.

By the end of the party, I had a big tin full of both my own and everybody else's cookies (I lost track of how many dozen cookies I had made), and I brought them back for Master and M'Lady to enjoy. They each took one and said it was great, then Master ordered me to hide them out of his sight. Not that he didn't like them, but the opposite -- Master and M'Lady are both diabetic, and Master said there was no way they'd be able to resist the cookies unless I made sure they couldn't find them. After eating a few myself (as mentioned at the beginning of the blog) I've since given the rest away, primarily to the enjoyment of my kids and ex-spouse. *chuckles*

p.p.s. By the way, "Guitar Hero" is addicting, and I don't even own it yet. Instead, I got a copy of a great free game called "Frets on Fire," which is a blast to play, and it's taken up way too much of my time at night during the last couple of days (time that would have been better spent writing this blog or editing my novel). You can download it here, by the way. Enjoy!

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Southwestern Rice Salad

This meatless salad makes a robust side dish, filling lunch or satisfying snack. Try spooning some into low-fat tortillas for a main course. If you're counting fat grams, it's also tasty without the olives.

7 Servings

Prep: 20 min. + chilling

Ingredients
* 2 cups cooked long grain rice, cooled
* 1 cup cooked wild rice, cooled
* (Note: For the rice, use a six-ounce box of Uncle Ben’s “Long Grain and Wild Rice”, preparing as directed but discarding the seasoning packet)
* 1 can (16 ounces) kidney beans, rinsed and drained
* 1-1/2 cups frozen corn, thawed
* 1/2 cup diced red onion
* 1/2 cup diced green pepper
* 1 can (2-1/4 ounces) sliced ripe olives, drained
* 1-1/2 cups chunky salsa
* 1/2 cup reduced-fat Italian salad dressing
* 1 teaspoon ground cumin
* 1/4 teaspoon salt
* chipotle chili peppers in adobo sauce (optional)

Directions
* In a large bowl, combine the first seven ingredients.
* In a jar with a tight-fitting lid, combine salsa, salad dressing, cumin and salt, then shake well.
* To make spicier, finely chop one or more of the chili peppers and add to the mix
* Pour over rice mixture and stir to coat.
* Cover and refrigerate for at least 2 hours.

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“Better than Heaven” Gingerbread

1/2 cup butter (softened)
1 cup brown sugar (firmly packed)
1 1/2 cup light molasses
2/3 cup water or apple juice
6 1/2 cups flour
2 teaspoons baking soda
2 teaspoons salt
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1 teaspoon ginger
1 teaspoon ground cloves
1 teaspoon allspice

Cream butter and sugar together in a mixture
Add other liquids one at a time
Put together all the dry ingredients in another bowl
Gradually add dry ingredients to wet mixture
Cover tightly in plastic wrap and refrigerate several hours
Roll out and cut into shapes.
Bake at 350 degrees for 10-12 minutes

Day 121 - On Teaching Hogtying to Some Leather Lesbians, Having Dinner with a Gorean Master and Kajira, Trying Ethiopian Food, Watcing Star Trek While Wearing a Federation Uniform, Becoming Even Better at Cooking, and Being More and More Controlled by Master in Invisible Ways

2009-12-06T23:31:00.000-08:00

Err … I’m a bit behind with this blog. Heck, I’ve been busy. And, for some reason, sleepy most nights, which is when Master and M’Lady give me time to work on my blog and my novel and do any other personal thing.

Friday night I went out alone for the first time since I originally moved in with Mistress (which was more than three months ago). Master gives me a day and a half (or more if needed) to spend with my kids each week, but Friday night he let me go out for the first time by myself to something without my kids. It still had to do with the BDSM lifestyle though. It was a meeting of “COLLAR,” which stands for COlorado Leather Lesbians Area Resource. Or Colorado Leather Ladies Alternative Resource. Or something, depending on who you ask. The main point is, it’s a group of kinky women with no guys allowed.

Master said he’s been to a similar group, but for men only. He found it dull. He said the guys talk about sex, then more sex, then they have sex, then they talk about domination, then sex again.

In contrast, at the women’s group, we talked about hair styling, and about cooking, and about each other’s recipes, and about the cuddling after sex, and so on. At the gift exchange, only one or two presents were even remotely about BDSM. Most were nice normal things, like candles and perfume and coffee.

I was really nervous about going because, to be honest, I’m a bit lonely. I love being with Master and M’Lady, but I really want other people to talk with at times. Other women. Other slaves. Or dommes. Just friends of some type.

I had trouble integrating into the conversations at first, partly because of my hearing problems, partly because I didn’t know many people and felt a bit excluded. At the point of giving up on the idea of making new friends, I was getting ready to go home a couple of hours into it when a young woman in a business outfit and another young woman in a catgirl outfit walked in together. The business woman was holding some rope that was bad quality and all tangled up, and I introduced myself and asked what was on her mind. She responded that the catgirl loves bondage and wanted to be hogtied, but she (the business woman) didn’t know how to do it effectively and … happy lights went off in my brain at their words. During the next couple of hours, I showed them how to properly put somebody into a very secure hogtie that won’t cut off wrist and ankle circulation, and I taught other rope bondage techniques, and I taught proper rope storage techniques, and I got to talking with them and other women and having a good time, and they had a good time too, and ... I went home feeling quite glad I came after all. *smiles*

Master keeps me busy, by the way, in external activities. I definitely can’t say I’m bored, nor can I say things aren’t wonderful here, because they are. It’s amazing.

A couple of weeks ago he took M’Lady and I out to Ras Kasa, a great Ethiopian restaurant in Boulder. I’ve never had Ethiopian food, and it was really interesting. Okay, I didn’t love it, but it was fun to get to eat with your hands. See, they bring everything out family style in a big plate in the middle of the table, and then they give you a bunch of rolled-up fermented pancakes that you use to scoop up the food. No forks or anything. My only regret is I wish I had ordered a beer to go with it, but the spiced tea they served me was pretty nice!

And not long ago we had a Star Trek night, and we all sat around and watched the new Star Trek movie. To Master’s surprise, I showed up downstairs in full Federation uniform, back from my days when I was a huge fan of Deep Space Nine. Yeppers! I’m a former die-hard Trekker!!! *giggles* “Lt. J.G. Jabara Eris, reporting for duty, sir,” I told him as I stood at attention in front of him, my boots clicking together, my tricorder held securely in my right hand. I was really into the Bajorans back in the days of that show, and in that culture the family name goes first.( Just some useless trivia for you, I know. *winks*) Well, we all loved the movie (although the plot is full of holes big enough to fly a starship through), and afterward Master and I talked about Star Trek, and he brought up the fact that his son was in a local fan group. To my shock, it turns out that I was a member of that same group (Deep Space 18 was its name), and I briefly knew Master’s son. Talk about a small world! Well, with that in mind, the next time I saw Master’s son (which was a few days after that), Master mentioned that little fact, and the two of us sat and reminisced about old times a bit, and that was rather cool, I have to say. *beams*

Another fantastic thing about living here is the food Master has me cook. Last week we had some excellent steaks, which I made with sides of garlic red potatoes and orange-glazed beets. Master let me cook the steaks the way I do best, which is a method taken from Alton Brown (on the Food Network show “Good Eats”). It’s a wild, dangerous way of cooking (well, not THAT dangerous) which calls for heating the oven to 500 degrees and one of the surface units set to really hot, then heating a big, heavy cast-iron skillet to broiling temperatures, setting it on the surface unit, plopping the steak in it, waiting a half minute then flipping it, then hauling the heavy thing into the oven, then a minute later hauling it out and flipping the steak over, then hauling it out a minute later, serving the steak and doing it again for each other person! It was a blast, and Master and M’Lady both said they loved the results. *bounces happily*

M’Lady and I share one thing for sure in common – the way we enjoy meat, in that we both like it as rare as possible (and raw if we can get it fresh enough). Suffice to say, the steaks we ate were dripping with juices, and she and I both were literally gnawing them from the bones with distinct satisfaction! *giggles*

I’ve been learning so much about cooking, it’s unreal, and I LOVE IT! I’ve dreamed of the idea of being a chef for so long, but I thought it was just a fantasy. When I cooked for myself, everything was simple and cheap. Burritos. Meatloaf. Chicken pot pie. But here, along with the steak, last week I made Pork Satay Stew (which was heavenly!) on one night, Chocolate Lamb Chili on another night, and Chilled Border Avocado Soup on a different night. My repertoire is growing, my techniques are becoming very refined, and I’m becoming exposed to so many new ideas. Just that aspect of being their slave is truly a dream come true! *sighs happily*

(Just in case anybody wants it, I’ve attached both the steak and the pork satay stew recipes at the bottom of today’s post).

Oh, before I forget ... remember that actor I was so attracted to in a previous post? Well, he showed up at the BDSM club the next time I was there with Master, and I zoomed to him like a moth to a flame and … so did everybody else. He was soooo popular that night, fully the center of attention, and … I hate to say it, I felt a bit outclassed. Okay, and I also hate to say it, but although I thought some of his fetishes sounded really fun, overall, well … I’m not expecting anything’s likely going to come of my initial fantasies about him. Even though my Master and a different Master said they thought we’d be a really cute couple together. And even though the actor wrote me back to say hello. Oh, I don’t know. I mean, really, I don’t see how I could have anything with a free guy anymore. I’m a slave, and things like that are just idle thoughts. And I’m not complaining. Oh, heck, never mind. I’ll change the topic to something more enjoyable.

Such as … having dinner last night with a Gorean Master and his kajira (both of whom we met at last month’s Inner Sanctum at the BDSM club)! Everybody had an absolutely great time. The Gorean Master, to my Master’s enjoyment, was able to take the Gor books with a very good sense of humor and a huge block of salt, and the two of them joked for a long time about the ridiculousness of John Norman’s writing back and forth across the table. Actually, I’m not sure what they talked about most of the time we were there (and we stayed for almost eight hours) because I was with the other Master’s kajira almost the entire time … and I really like her a lot! She’s my age, and we have a lot of things in common it seems (for example, she was a kajira in SecondLife for a long time, just like I was), and we talked (okay, I babbled incessantly) in the kitchen while she cooked (*grins*). At one point during the evening, she totally surprised me by asking her Master if she could play Guitar Hero, and she asked if I wanted to join her. I’ve never played before, but I jumped at the chance, and the two of us were jamming for ... damn, I don’t know, but my fingers were worn out after all the sets we finished! By the end, her Master and mine were both sitting on the couch talking and watching us have fun, and I’m REALLY hoping Master might pick up Guitar Hero for us here someday!

Actually, even more, I’m hoping that slave and I can get together again soon. I really enjoyed being with her. It’s a shame they live clear on the other side of town (and at least 45 minute’s drive away on a good day), but we’ll see what happens. *grins*

At one point the other slave asked me how my Master controls me. She said she wishes her Master would control her more, and micromanage her day with additional detail. Indeed, many slaves enjoy tight control, and I’m one of them. I told her that Master very rarely has to order me around, but his control is quite tight. He has been very effectively training me from the day he collared me, such that I know what he wants without him having to tell me. I’m busy throughout the day. I do a long list of tasks. And I do them in a specific way. I’m very controlled. And the control gets tighter every day that Master gives me more responsibilities and lessons.

For example, this week Master has given me the new responsibility of meal planning. He got out some high-class frozen dinners, which will serve as the entrees for the week, and he left it up to me to determine our daily schedules, regarding when dinner will be served, what will be served, and what side dishes will be prepared, with care given to making sure there is a good flow of different foods and types of sides through the week. It took me awhile to set it up, including researching sides, and I needed to change it a little after showing Master, but overall he was pleased! Hooray!

Well, on that note, I’m heading to bed. I’ve got more I can write about, but I’ll save it for another day.

La kajira!

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

PAN SEARED RIB EYE

Recipe courtesy Alton Brown
Prep Time: 10 min -- Cook Time: 5 min
1 to 2 servings

Ingredients
1 boneless rib eye steak, 1 1/2-inch thick
Canola oil to coat
Kosher salt and ground black pepper

Directions
Place 10 to 12-inch cast iron skillet in oven and heat oven to 500 degrees. Bring steak(s) to room temperature.

When oven reaches temperature, remove pan and place on range over high heat. Coat steak lightly with oil and season both sides with a generous pinch of salt. Grind on black pepper to taste.

Immediately place steak in the middle of hot, dry pan. Cook 30 seconds without moving. Turn with tongs and cook another 30 seconds, then put the pan straight into the oven for 2 minutes. Flip steak and cook for another 2 minutes. (This time is for medium rare steaks. If you prefer medium, add a minute to both of the oven turns.)

Remove steak from pan, cover loosely with foil, and rest for 2 minutes. Serve whole or slice thin and fan onto plate.

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PORK SATAY STEW

1-1/2 lb boneless pork shoulder
2 medium red or green sweet peppers,cut into 1 inch pieces
1 large red onion,cut into wedges
1 cup bottled thick and chunky salsa
1/2 cup creamy peanut butter
1 tbsp reduced-sodium soy sauce
1 tbsp lime juice
1-1/2 tsp grated fresh ginger
1/2 tsp ground coriander
3/4 cup half and half or light cream
3 cups hot cooked rice
1/3 cup chopped dry roasted peanuts
1/4 cup sliced green onions

1. Trim fat from meat.Cut meat into 1 inch pcs. In a 3-1/2 quart slow cooker combine meat,sweet peppers,onion,salsa,peanut butter,soy sauce,lime juice,ginger and coriander.

2. Cover and cook on low heat setting for 7-8 hrs or on high-heat setting for 3 - 4 hrs.Stir in cream.Serve over hot cooked rice.Sprinkle each serving with peanuts and green onions.

makes 4 servings

Day 115 - On My Wolf Nature Coming Out Increasingly Stronger As I Work On My Novel, On Having Killed and Eaten Three White Mice Raw and Whole, On Having a Spiritual Wolf Mater, On Being Unable to Handle Confusing Environments, and On Sympathizing with Fictional Wolf-Born Human Haters

2009-12-01T23:07:00.000-08:00

As often happens, it’s hard to figure where to start tonight, as I have several things to write about -- my wolf nature being one of them, so I’ll start there.

The more I’ve been delving into my novel again, the more my wolf side has been coming to the forefront of my psyche.

Last Wednesday I had the strongest mental shift into my wolf mindset that I’ve had in a very long time. It was almost overwhelmingly powerful, and when it occurred, I had trouble thinking straight for a long time.

It took place while I was with my kids at the Denver Museum of Nature and Science. They have two wolf exhibits there, both very realistically done. One has a mated pair of arctic wolves looking at a nearby herd of musk oxen, who are backed into a defensive position. The other has a pack of about a half dozen wolves all together looking into the distance at a herd of caribou. I kneeled next to both dioramas and let my mind flow into them, seeing the wolves and the prey and feeling as if I was there. The one with the pack affected me the strongest. I felt as if I was truly there, like I had left my human existence and become the wolf that I am at heart.

My kids were very understanding, as both of them sometimes experience similar things.

The next night, I had a dream in which I was human, but I was with a pack of thin, half-starved wolves who looked like cartoon representations. At one point I saw a hawk flying overhead and I called to it, and it came down and almost lighted on my outstretched arm, making me sure that it knew me.

A few days ago, I spent several hours before bed talking with my novel’s editor about how the last two chapters should potentially play out. We met online years ago back when the novel was just a short story, and he offered to critique it. He’s also a wolf therianthrope, and over time we fell in love and planned to get married. That never happened for a variety of reasons. For one, I’m more than 20 years older than he is (which would make me a cougar. Rowl! *grins*). Also, he’s devoutly Christian, and I’m very Pagan (although we both do shamanic work – and yes, he’s integrated Christianity and working with spirit guides, and I greatly admire him for that). Both of those could have been handled with love, however. The problem that killed the marriage plans in the end was the fact he needs to stay in Kentucky managing his parents’ business, and I won’t move away from the Denver area because of my children. He and I still love each other very dearly, however, both as humans and as wolves.

He’s my wolf mate, by the way. And I mean that in the truest sense. We’ve shared dreams in which we’re both wolves, and we discussed them the next day, having shared the same experiences. And we’ve repeatedly shared shamanic trances during the years, during which we’ve been together as wolves, and we’ve not only mated but raised several litters of cubs. The experience of giving birth to my first litter was detailed in one of the chapters of my novel, but I have the protagonist experiencing it. We had two litters during the springs since then as well. We’ve explored together as a pack, hunted together, played together, slept together and killed together. The memories of that life goes beyond human words.

Human.

*sighs*

That’s what I’ve largely been in my mind the last two years. In early 2008, I returned to SecondLife after a long absence. I soon became hooked, and it took over my mind, to the detriment of both my wolf nature and my novel writing.

But now my novel is coming alive again. And so is my wolf mindset.

I kept getting hit by hard mental shifts into lupine thought patterns during the morning after my long talk with my editor/mate. My Master noticed after awhile and asked if something was wrong, and I told him what I was experiencing, and he patted me on the head and said, “Nice doggy.”

Master understands having spirit guides. He has several, and he takes them very seriously. He also have very distinct past-life memories.

But I don’t think he really understands the idea of species dysphoria. Of the idea that my spirit isn’t fully human. And so I think he doesn’t quite know how to treat me when I bring the matter up.

I’ve been finding that confusing situations are becoming more and more troublesome for me. Places with too many lights and noises. Situations that require my human mind to handle a lot of input. Saturday night was extremely busy at the Sanctuary BDSM club, and I was a crying wreck by the time we left. This morning, Master sat me down to explain a lot of things related to computers and the daily schedule and using a note-saving device on my computer and arranging the monthly calendar and deciding the week’s menu and … I overloaded. By the end of the conversation, I could barely think straight, and I wound up bawling in his arms. Master told me to drink some tea and take some time off. He was very understanding. But then I messed up something while preparing tonight’s meal (it needed two red peppers and I had only gotten one), and I started crying because I was afraid that Master wouldn’t trust my abilities, and he had told me this morning how valuable it was that he could rely on me to get things done right. Master saw me and comforted me again, and eventually things settled down, but all in all today I wasn’t exactly the most emotionally stable person around.

The thing is, when it was all over but I was still tense, I went to my room to rest, and I realized exactly what I wanted.

To run. Fast and free. Through fields and forests.

As a wolf.

*sighs*

I have no doubt my feeling of being a wolf today was heightened by the fact that I spent hours last night reading books related to the “Werewolf: the Apocalypse” roleplaying game. The books are often written as if they’re real, and they bring out a very strong emotional response in me. In particular, I identify with a werewolf tribe known as the Red Talons, who are all wolf-born werewolves who despise the fact that humans have taken over the world. I sought out roleplaying groups to play the game several years ago. Not everybody feels comfortable with somebody playing a Red Talon and taking it seriously, like I did.

“Werewolf: the Apocalypse,” by the way, was a roleplaying game about various tribes of werewolves who were fighting against the coming destruction of the world by an insane deity bent on corrupting life through pollution and evil. It had quite a bit of shamanism alongside very strong environmental issues, and I loved it.

The thing is, I truly identify with the Red Talons. I see humanity as a disease. I loathe my human body.

The Red Talons supplement had me laughing in places and crying in others. The place where I cried was the description of a character who experienced her first change into a werewolf after a tragic event in her life. I’m crying now as I write this. Entitled “Autumn Wolf,” here’s the description: “Born in a splendid forest, you remember hunting rabbits in the woods with your brothers and sisters as a pup. You remember watching leaves fall during your first autumn and the smell of the forest change as the air grew c older. You remember the hunger as snow covered the land and howling mournfully because you thought you’d never eat again, and then the joy as spring returned and the prey emerged to feed you. But most of all, you remember the machines. They came as the leaves fell during your second autumn. You never actually saw them move, but you wandered from a copse of trees and saw what was left of the forest. It was bare as a meadow – worse, because meadows house mice and rabbits to eat. This housed nothing, just the burned stumps of trees and the bodies of any creature left in the way … and fallen leaves. And looking in horror over the shattered remains of your home, you howled in anguish. As the howl wound down, you found yourself screaming with a human throat.”

I can understand the idea of that wolf very, very deeply.

The place where I laughed might be disturbing to some people. It was the description of a particular character with a taste for human flesh, and what it was like for them to experience their first change from a wolf into a werewolf. It was only a brief laugh, I have to say, and it didn’t affect me nearly as deeply as the description of the other wolf, but it’s possibly worth mentioning: “Born on the outskirts of a city, you and your meager pack foraged for food in human garbage. You ate what and when you could, avoided the humans, and lived your life. It wasn’t much, but it was all you knew, even if something inside you yearned for more. And then one night, a pack of humans came for your pack with thunder and fire, and slew all of them except you. You ran, but then a bullet sheared one of your paws away. As the humans approached, you wished that you could have eaten that day. Another crack of thunder and bite of pain, and all thoughts of food were gone. You erupted into a whirlwind of blood and fury, and tore the humans to pieces. When your fury was spent, you remembered how hungry you were. You don’t hate humans in the same way as many Talons do. You understand that they need to be destroyed, but would prefer to corral them into herds somehow so they don’t go to waste. After all , they’ve made such a mess of the land, they should have a hand in cleaning it up, even if it’s just by donating their screams.”

Yeah. I’m a bit twisted in ways. Such is life, and me, and being a wolf in a human body.

On a final note, there was a little bit of silliness … and not so silliness … at dinner tonight.

Master was talking about cheese, and I mentioned head cheese (which is made from the residue of the boiled remains of a pig’s head), and Master said it disgusted him and he’d make me eat some if I brought it up again, and I told him I’d probably enjoy it because I’ve eaten three mice before, heads and all and … Master stopped, cocked his head and wanted to know what I was talking about.

About five years ago, when I was new to the realization that my therianthropy was real, and I was letting my wolf nature come out with full force, I’d often find myself craving to eat rodents and other small animals I’d encounter on woodland hikes. Of course I couldn’t catch them, and even if I could, I knew my human body wouldn’t be able to handle their diseases and such. So I meditated about it, and I felt Coyote encourage me to try a different approach – using “feeder” mice from a pet shop (mice bred to be used as live food for boa constrictors and other large snakes). And I did it three times. I had my own office, and I would get a mouse, let it loose in my office, then, about lunchtime I would stalk the mouse as it scurried around the room. Then, with a pounce, I would clamp my jaws around its back and neck, squeeze tight and break its body, shake it in my teeth until it was dead, and then swallow it whole. It was an incredible experience that felt so wonderfully natural and normal. I stopped only because I eventually found out that there’s a high rate of salmonella in feeder mice.

Master thought that was rather strange, of course, but the conversation moved to other things.

After dinner, however, while I was eating some leftovers in the kitchen, M’Lady asked me why I often take my food there alone instead of sitting next to her to eat, and after thinking about it I told her that I think it's my canine instincts to take my kill and eat it away from the rest of the pack. M'Lady (who knows that I believe I have a spiritual connection to wolves) responded that maybe I could take it under the dining room table for that, and I smiled and said I didn't because I was afraid I'd get the food on the rug, and Master said he could put a tarp down for that, and I asked very happily if that means he might start feeding me from a bowl on the floor, and he said he hadn't given it a lot of thought but now that he realizes how seriously I'd enjoy that, he'll consider it.

Later I asked him again about it, and he again said he’d never thought about the idea of puppy play, although he knew I was seriously into the idea of ponyplay. I’m thinking he wouldn’t be too keen to the idea because, to be honest, it doesn’t exactly fit into the idea of a Victorian household. Oh well. We’ll see.

Well, tonight’s post turned out to be primarily about one topic – my wolf nature. To be honest, I could have talked about that for a long, long time. It’s who I am, and who I have been since childhood. And who I’ll be the rest of my life.

La kajira.

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

2009-11-27T23:53:00.000-08:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*blinks*

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

Anyway ...

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

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

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

*giggles*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

La kajira!!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

2009-11-24T21:23:00.000-08:00

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

*grins*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Things like honor. And being true to yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gor sucks.

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

It was home to me.

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

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

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

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

And I still consider myself a kajira.

I think I always might. Such is life.

La kajira!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

2009-11-23T20:18:00.000-08:00

Mmmm ….

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anyway, more on the novel as it progresses.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And I’m a slave.

Life is weird, y’know?

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

As always, la kajira!

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

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

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

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

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

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

2009-11-19T21:36:00.000-08:00

“I’m your slave, not your maid!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

I stared at her in shock for a long time.

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

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

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

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

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

Or is there?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Add to that my own definition…

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

Then this, also my own definition …

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

La kajira!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*grins and winks*

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

2009-11-16T23:36:00.000-08:00

Tonight was the paddling class by Master.

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

The number and types of paddles Master has is amazing.

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

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

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

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

All of the different types were used on me.

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

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

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

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

*giggles*

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

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

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

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

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

*chuckles*

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

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

Mmmmm …

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

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

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

I wanted to prowl. To hunt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

La kajira!!!

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

2009-11-15T22:48:00.000-08:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So … wish me luck tomorrow!

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

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

Thursday I had planned to be with my kids.

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

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

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

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

*sighs*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*sighs, then smiles gently, then sighs again*

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

Night, everybody.

La kajira.

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

2009-11-10T23:03:00.000-08:00

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

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

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

Mistress was more fun, without a doubt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*giggles*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’ve experienced it all my life.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*smiles*

So, for now, and as always …

La kajira!!!

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Therianthropy, species dysphoria, and my life as a dog

I'm a wolf in a human body.

No joke. No roleplaying. It's real.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Several very intense hours.

Hours in which I wasn't human.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At least, that's what I experience.

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

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

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

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

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

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

2009-11-06T23:51:00.000-08:00

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

Needles.

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

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

And it was all done for fun.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*grins*

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

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

*sighs*

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

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

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

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

We'll see.

La kajira!

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

2009-11-03T18:42:00.000-08:00

Seven minutes.

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

And it was my fault.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*sighs*

Mistress. I miss the hell out of her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And she clearly loved me being there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

*sighs*

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

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

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

*smiles*

*sighs and looks more serious*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Such is life. And death.

And so it goes. *sighs and smiles wistfully*

La kajira!

Day 83 - On Exploding Carrots, Shoveling a Driveway, Being Depressed About Missing Halloween, Wanting Master to Hurt Me, and Reading a Long Definition of Slavery

2009-10-31T11:49:00.000-07:00

A blizzard of snow and an explosion of carrots have got me rather tired and a bit achy today.

Yep! *giggles*

Master has given me a half-hour break to rest before dinner. I’ve spent the last couple of hours cleaning tiny bits of carrot out from underneath the kitchen sink and everywhere around it. It’s amazing how many little cracks and hard-to-reach spaces there are under there, and I had to admit to Master that I wouldn’t be able to get every single bit of the orange veggie from the darkest recesses. He laughed it off, and afterward he called me to his knees, hugged me tightly, kissed my head, told me he was quite proud of me, and asked me how I was doing. I smiles, incredibly happy at his praise, and told him I was tired but otherwise feeling great, and he kissed me again and sent me off to rest.

The carrots didn’t actually explode, mind you. Yesterday Master and M’Lady were at the bulk-foods store (Costco), and Master asked me if there was anything in particular I enjoyed eating. I couldn’t think of much until he mentioned he had a juicer, and I jumped excitedly and begged him for a big bunch of carrots, because I absolutely LOVE carrot juice!

Well, today, Master got out his juicer to make watermelon juice for himself (he uses everything, rinds and all, which he says have antioxidants), and then it was my turn. All went well until I tried to get all the carrot pulp to go through the disposal. The pulp clogged up the drainpipe a bit, and when Master saw it, he proceeded to get the plunger to push it through. Well … it so happened that the pipe was actually broken already, and when Master used the plunger, the carrot shrapnel went flying all over the space under the sink, causing a huge mess.

I shrugged, sighed and set down to work at seeing it, cleaning a space for Master to get in to examine the pipe. Seeing the problem (he’s REALLY smart), he went off to the hardware store for needed parts while I cleaned up.

M’Lady came by and didn’t say much, instead just watching briefly to make sure I did a good job. She did, however, take advantage of my work by accepting my offer of a glass of carrot juice. And that made it all worth it, because M’Lady has a tendency to eat a junky diet, and anything I can do to help encourage her to eat or drink healthy foods makes me feel wonderful (and carrot juice is SO good for her!!! *bounces happily*).

Tonight we’re all going to the Denver Sanctuary BDSM club for their annual Halloween party. Mistress is letting me borrow a splendid “Queen of Hearts” outfit that’s really sexy, and I can’t wait to go.

It’s great that the weather is finally cleared off, too. A few days ago we had a humongous blizzard that closed down the city prettymuch, and we were snowed in for a couple of days. There was actually a bit of concern for awhile that the snow would continue to the weekend, ruining Halloween for everybody, but … horray! The weather’s cold but othewise great!

The worst part about the snow to me was the fact that I wasn’t able to see my kids yet this week, and I really miss them. But tomorrow I’ll be with them, and my ex and I are planning that I see them extran next week to make up for this week, so things should be sweet! *grins happily*

I feel a bit depressed about today, though. Master and M’Lady don’t give out candy to Trick or Treaters. And I wasn’t able to go with my kids to the Halloween Carnival at the local high school because of the blizzard. This is the first year in decades . . . maybe ever . . . that Trick or Treating hasn’t been part of the holiday for me. No kids today. No happy faces thrilled at the candy you give them. No little boys and girls dressed as fairies and super heroes and princesses and ninjas. My son was dressed as a ghoul with glowing eyes. My daughter was dressed as Hermione from Harry Potty. I haven’t seen their costumes. Okay, I’m definitely depressed about this.I’m going to the Halloween party tonight with Master and M’Lady but . . . to me, Halloween is about kids. And I feel like this is the first year ever I’ll be missing Halloween.

*sighs*

Although Master got the driveway cleared enough to get out to check the mail for his business yesterday (a neighborhood boy wanted to do it for some cash, and Master decided to have him do it instead of me), finishing the job was left in my hands today (my car was still snowed in, and the sidewalks still needed to be uncovered). Let’s just say I got my exercise today! *grins*

Eeep. The half hour’s up … time to make dinner! Back later!

. . .

Dinner was . . . draining. Tonight’s recipe (“Pork and Aspargus over Linguine”) was surprisingly complicated, and the recipe he gave me turned out to be missing an important sentence that caused some definite confusion. Master, seeing my befuddlement, came in and gave me some cooking pointers, some about things I didn’t know, and some about things I should have known but was too brain dead to notice (such as the fact that I should have cut up everything ahead of time, and that the linquine should have been timed to be done at the end instead of near the beginning).

Everything turned out fine in the end, but I was so mentally exhausted at one point that I came very close to breaking down crying with frustration and sorrow that I might not be pleasing my Owner.

He is my life. My everything.

My journal lately too much has been talking about my activities. I don’t know whether I’m talking enough about my heart.

I love my Owner. I want him to own me mind, body and soul. I want him to use me completely in every way.

I realized last night, and I told him today, that there is a reason I’m slightly masochistic.

My masochism is directed only toward my Owners.

By being hurt by them against my wishes, it reaffirms their true ownership of me. And, to me, the bliss of knowing that brings a joy beyond words.

Ton ight Master sent me something to ponder … a writing by an anonymous author … about slavery. He wanted my opnion on it, and we’ll be discussing it on the way to the Sanctuary tonight.

The writing reaffirms what I told him. Entitled “Slave: A Unique Definition,” it’s printed at the end of today’s post.

I don’t agree with everything in it, as I think the writer was a bit too pretentious. But, at heart, it’s right in so many ways.

Things have been so different here in so many ways from being with Mistress.

With Mistress, there was a sexual passion that lingered in the air, making things charged at all times. There was an awareness that I was to be ready at all times to be used for my womanhood, and that my mouth was to be ready at all times to be placed around a visitor’s cock. Mistress would spank me and pinch me and tickle me unexpectedly at any time in a way that gave me wonderful proof over and over again that she truly owned me. There was a looseness of protocol at most times, yet a unique strictness. And the feelings shifted between Mistress seeing me as her slave and as her sister.

Here, indeed, I know I am a slave, without a doubt.

But the sexual tension isn’t there. I am a Victorian slave, not a medieval one, I guess. I have to be on my toes more to make sure the particular desires of Master and M’Lady are always fulfilled. Everything is in its proper place at all times. I am more of a slave here than with Mistress, and less.

It is, simply put, different.

I fit better here, I feel. Master clearly wants to keep me as his slave indefinitely, with the intention of supporting me financially in all ways needed. There is so much I can do here I couldn’t do for Mistress.

But I’m still getting used to things.

Fortunately, Master is quite patient.

And I have to be, as well.

La kajira!

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

slave - a unique definition

A slave is a truly enraptured and enrapturing creature, capable of the greatest pain and the deepest passion. She is a temperamental creature, simultaneously fickle in her emotions, and fiercely, ferociously devoted in her affection.

She is tumultuous and tempestuous, a mercurial maelstrom, and she knows noother way to be. If she could, she would not change, because, on some primeval level, she realizes that the death of her passion would be the death of her.

In truth, a slave is not simply the finest of all creatures; she is the epitome of all creatures. She combines strength and weakness, boldness and a certain shy innocence, languor and desperation; she is both cosmopolitan and naive. Her nature is an amalgam of all that is passionate in any sense of the word. She is nothing without an owner, but in his arms, she is all things.

She is voracious and demanding, wanting nothing more, and certainly nothing less, than the absolute enslavement of the one she loves--the owner of her soul. She cannot be, will not be, and is incapable of being completely happy, until she knows to the very depths of her being that her owner is, in truth, owned by the reality of owning her.

She longs for the completion of a partner in her own rapture/misery. If you beat her, she will smile at you through her tears, because you have reaffirmed for her your ownership, your innate right to mistreat her if you please. If you kiss her, she will bite you, begging you with her passion to own her again, and more completely this time.

She is dangerous and daring. Self-preservation will never be her strong suit. She will beguile you to her last breath, knowing that without you, she cannot breathe at all. Her vulnerability will appall you with the knowledge that you could never-would never-- allow anyone that close to you, and at the same time, arouse in you every protective instinct you possess, to see that no one ever ravages this state of her-- except you.

She will define her entire world by your moods, enchanting herself with them, until she has internalized them so completely that a single look from you can bring her to laughter, or to tears, or to orgasm, or to suicide. She will love you with an abandon that will leave you stunned.

She will worry you, and nag you; she will threaten and cajole. And she will do it because she is incapable of holding back from you, even though she knows that you will pay it all no immediate heed, because your attention is your whim. She will revel in your denial of her pleasure. It only confirms her own desire.

But do not be misled. She is clever and she is fleet, and she will give you all you can handle and more. She knows her own value, and is not afraid to demand repayment in kind. She is not for the faint of heart, body, mind or resolve.

She will tax your every breath, your every thought, your every move. She is responsibility for something far greater than yourself and her independence in that will confound you.

Be wary, be attentive. Devastate her if you can, but know that she will only thank you for it if you do. And much to your consternation, she will politely, sweetly, touchingly beg you to do it again. And still she will want more.

But never destroy her adoration for you by withholding your own. Never give her cause to doubt it, because if you do, she will exact retribution and it will be the greatest agony you have ever known. She will withdraw from you. She will take her love and walk away without hesitation, because she is enslaved only by her love for you, and without that love, your power over her is gone.

She will leave you cold. And when she does, you will finally know that all along, you needed her too.

Day 80 - On Finding My Dream of Total Ownership, On Making a Lot of Mistakes, On Sitting Out a Blizzard, and on Missing Trick or Treating with My Kids for the First Time

2009-10-28T21:38:00.000-07:00

My dreams have been fulfilled. Everything I was looking for when I decided to follow the path of consensual slavery has arrived. I’ve hit the big time as far as being a consensual slave goes.

I’m owned. Truly and completely now. Owned.

Master called me to kneel at his feet yesterday and bade me look him in the eyes. Then he told me firmly and calmly, “I don’t want you to ever worry about money again. I take care of my property. I will be fully responsible for you from now on. I will provide for your children’s expenses. I will pay for your insurance. I will give you the money you need to survive. You are mine.”

I stared at him with shock. Tears formed in my eyes. And I thrust myself forward and hugged him for a very long time while he hugged me back.

And I looked into his eyes and told him I loved him and thanked him over and over.

This is my life now. Full time.

I’m a slave.

And I love it.

Today we registered for a coming Master/slave regional conference in Phoenix we’ll be attending in January. We’ll be flying out together and staying for four days. We went over the list of activities and classes that will be taught. It’s incredible.

The conference is called the Southwest Leather Conference. You can find out about it here. http://www.southwestleather.org/swlchome/index.php

Among other events there, he and I will both be taking part in something known as the “Dance of Souls.” Our skin will be pierced, then fishing line will be thread through to hold small bells onto our skin.

And we will dance a wild frenzy of ecstacy.

It sounds horrible. I remember when I was invited to see a Sun Dance on the Northern Cheyenne Indian Reservation years ago and I saw somebody who was hanging from the ceiling with their weight suspended from hooks through their flesh. (At least, that’s what it looked like they were doing). I shuddered at the sight and never forgot it, thinking such was something I could never stand to do for any reason.

Now I’m going to be experiencing a version of it.

I expect it will be nothing short of a euphoria made from pain and pleasure combined. I was told by Master (who has done it before) that it is a spiritual experience beyond words.

Things are continuing to go wonderfully here. Oh, I’m making mistakes, of course. There’s so much to learn. Everything has its place and is done in a particular way.

And the house is so big. It took me almost two hours just to clean Master’s bathroom yesterday, and equally long to clean Mistress’s.

But Master is wonderfully collected about making sure I know what I’m doing wrong so I can learn from it.

M’Lady isn’t always so kind. Such as tonight, during dinner. I cooked Lime Shrimp with Pasta. And I overcooked the shrimp, and M’Lady said it was “awful.”

And she hated the chicken pot pie I made for her a couple of days ago, even though everybody else I’ve made it for has loved it. And she snaps at me if I ever leave a room without turning off the lights, or for eating with the bowl in my lap while I was on the couch instead of leaning forward uncomfortably to eat from the table. And so on.

But although M’Lady is a bit caustic at times, she’s still a wonderful, loving woman at heart, and I love serving her as well.

And she did like the sauce and the pasta tonight enough to have a large dose of seconds. Just without the shrimp. Which I thought were quite yummy (I thought the texture accented the pasta perfectly), but it’s not my opinion that counts, of course.

M’Lady is a notoriously picky eater, by the way. She’s quite picky about everything! But, hey, that’s part of my life now, and if she gets picky, then I just make sure I pay extra care to the details!

It’s not just M’Lady who corrects me, of course.

Saturday night at the Sanctuary BDSM club, Master decided it was time for us to go home, and he ordered me to get our coats and my purse. As I picked up my purse, I saw a hand puppet of a witch inside (I had put it there and forgot), and I took it out and started doing improv puppetry, playing up the old witch’s personalty to the hilt while interacting with the people around me to everybody’s merriment. Curious at hearing a burst of laughter coming from the coat room, Master walked in to see the witch puppet (with me controlling it) standing on the bald head of a different Master, then sliding off onto his shoulder while saying, “Hey! Did you just wax that thing?” In response, Master grabbed my ponytail and pulled me hard to the ground with a very disapproving glare, and we left very quickly.

Master today told me that although everybody was enjoying it, I got lucky because a lot of people at the club, particularly dominants would not have liked a slave mocking them, even with a puppet. Also, he said he had told me to get the coats so we could leave, and instead he found me playing with a puppet.

I’ve learned a lesson, and a quick one. And I won’t forget it. And he said that’s what’s important – not that I made the mistake, but that I don’t do it again.

Things are serious now. But it’s my life, and it’s perfect for me.

*sighs and looks outside at the piled up snow*

I was going to take my kids Trick or Treating tonight at a local high school’s pre-Halloween event. I’ve taken them every year since they were infants, and I really wanted to do it again this year, but they’re both going with friends Halloween night, and so tonight at this event was my one chance.

Unfortunately, a a blizzard hit and there’s currently about 20 inches of snow on the ground (more or less), and it was canceled.

It’s going to be weird not going with my kids Trick or Treating this year but ... they’re finally old enough to go with friends by themselves. *sighs* They’re only seven and 10, but they’re growing up, and that’s both happy and sad in different ways.

Sunday with them was great. We went to the zoo together and had a blast, and my daughter and I did her homework together for hours.

Knowing Master will be my benefactor gives me such great peace because I know I don’t have to worry anymore about the awful job market. I’ve found my place. And my kids will be cared for as needed.

And I’ll be able to help my ex by taking care of them while my ex is in school if needed.

I’ll be able to be there for them when they need me. *smiles*

Master was going to be gone, too. Tonight, he was going to assist with a discussion group at the Sanctuary BDSM club for new people into the lifestyle.

As a result, we curled up together and watched a special about werewolves on the History Channel.

So far, he hasn’t actually played with me yet (BDSM-wise, that is), despite the fact he repeatedly says he’s a sadist, and he has a whole basement full of toys (along with a decade of experience). He told me tonight I’m still on a “honeymoon.”

I’m so tempted to tell him I recently realized I’m a bit of a masochist. But ... would I be spoiling the true effect of having him only do it when I don’t want it by telling him? Hmmm ...

And on that note, I think I’ll post this, and go see if Master might want to ... talk ... about something on my mind.

*bites my lip nervously and grins*

La kajira!

Day 78 - On Being Loaned to Mistress, Lesbian Sex, Realizing I'm a Masochist, and An Awful Task Because of a Lost DVD,

2009-10-26T23:48:00.000-07:00

Today was a long day. And I was bawling my eyes out at one point.

But, as they say, all’s well that end’s well. *grins and shrugs*

I’ve been at Mistress’s today, wearing her collar, on loan from Master. As part of the transition, I’m serving her every few days while my possessions remain at her house. After the move is complete, I’ll still probably serve her one day a week to maintain my connection with her.

I realized last night as I walked in the door to her home how much I had missed her. And how much I love her. Which is very much.

I love both Master and Mistress greatly, so the fact that I’m able to be with them both brings great happiness to my heart … and to theirs, from what I can tell.

Mistress got in a movie called “Desert Hearts” from Netflix today, and we watched it tonight (well, I saw the last part, as I was doing chores during much of it). It’s apparently one of the top 10 lesbian movies of all time. It was very well done, from what I saw. Mistress is bi-sexual, but in particular she’s lesbian, and she loves “lipstick lesbian” drama. At one point in the movie I was sitting on the couch leaning forward to watch the movie, and my shirt happened to be unbuttoned to just below my chest, and I noticed Mistress staring at me with a slight smile, and I asked her if anything was wrong, and in response she said, “You’ve got very nice breasts tonight, girl.” I asked her what was different, and she said apparently the combination of the way they were exposed and hanging, and the fact she was watching a hot lesbian sex scene at the time, got her rather horny and appreciate of the slave in her proximity. Pretty soon she was fondling my breasts (and pinching my nipples rather hard, to her pleasure), and not long after that I had my mouth between her legs, giving her oral sex until she buckled her crotch against my lips and came with a shudder and a rather loud groan. So … if you’re lesbian or just enjoy a good drama, you might want to check that movie out. *chuckles*

By the way, I’ve realized that I’m a bit of a masochist. Not a pain slut, but what’s called a “true masochist,” in that I get a thrill from being exposed to pain, bondage or other forceful situations that I don’t enjoy. For a painslut, they enjoy experiencing pain in and of itself. Me, I hate pain. I hate it when Mistress spanks me and pinches my nipples and slaps my ass and does things to piss me off. But … there is a thrill attached to such things because, as a slave, I’m not in control. And I enjoy the thrill, even though I don’t enjoy the pain.

I realized that Saturday night at the Sanctuary BDSM club when I was sitting at the feet of both Master and Mistress while they were talking, and at one point they both grabbed one of my two pigtails and pulled while Mistress jokingly said, “Make a wish!” It hurt! And yet … I loved it! And I said something teasingly to Mistress afterward, and in response she grabbed both of my tails, held my head a bit painfully to the couch, and wouldn’t let me go for a long time. I was having a blast, and both she and Master knew it … which means I may be in for more pain in the future than I ever expected.

Apparently there’s a word for somebody like me … a “Sammy” … which comes from “Smart Ass Masochist” (SAM). I have a tendency to playfully disobey and back talk my Owners just enough to pull out their sadism and get them happily disciplining me (usually with a paddle or appropriate pinch). I used to consider myself a brat, and I am, indeed, but brats tend to know how to stop just short of being punished (usually … *grins*) … and if they are punished, they feel it was worth it! A Sammy actually tries to push a bit further to get their Owner to actually punish them … but not seriously. If their Owner is actually upset, a Sammy went much too far. It’s all meant to be playful fun … although there’s a fine line to walk when you do it. And walking that fine line is a large part of the fun much of the time. *laughs*

Mistress obviously needs a slave, without a doubt. When I arrived last night, the house was, to be honest, a mess, and I’d only been gone a few days! The same clothes were in the washer and drier that were there when I’d left. The kitty litter box hadn’t been changed. The trash hadn’t been taken out. The kitchen counters were messy, the dishes needed to be washed, and there was a ton of laundry to do. So, needless to say, I was rather busy today.

Still, I might have largely been done a lot earlier than now (it’s rather late, and Mistress has already gone to bed), but … I spent somewhere between four and five hours on a really awful task. It’s the reason I was bawling today. Master had lent Mistress and me several DVDs last month before the move … and when I returned the cases to him last week, I found to my complete embarrassment that one of them was missing a DVD. Last night I looked in all the boxes in Mistress’s room with no luck, but we figured I’d find them quickly today. Wrong. I went through almost every box in the house and garage five times, then searched in the closets, then the drawers, then everywhere I could think of. What had happened was right before the move, Mistress had taken it out of the DVD player and put it with some other DVDs for storage … and she forgot where she put them. Finally success, but I was a bit shaken by the time it arrived. I had tried to call Mistress about my difficulties today, but she was out doing work for her Master, and she was away from the phone. I finally found them in the storage shed a little box that had been taped up securely as if it was old and Mistress didn’t want it ever opened here. Bleh. The worst part was that Mistress had no idea about what she did with the DVDs and blamed me for a while, making me feel even worse. But things are finally okay, so I can return the DVDs to Master tomorrow. Again, I say, “Bleh.”

I’ve got more to write, but I’m sleepy as heck, and so I’ll post this as it is and finish up tomorrow (assuming Master gives me time for it). Until then, keep the faith, and …

La kajira!!!

*bounces happily*

Day 75 - On My First Full Day as Master's Slave, On Reflecting On Why Mistress and I Didn't Work Out, On the Possibility of Being Master's Slave Forever, On Getting Electrocuted for Fun with a Violet Wand, On Winning First Place at the Steampunk Party, On My Daughter Being a Cat in a Human Body, and On Reading a Fantastic Online Comic Called SPQR Blues and Becoming Queen Guinereve's Virtual Slave in SecondLife

2009-10-23T22:39:00.000-07:00

(I'll post this without editing it because ... I'm tired and want to get on SecondLife before bed ... or better yet, try out my new dildo ... *grins*)

Today was my first full day as Master’s slave.

I love it.

Was I happy with Mistress? Yes, I was, very much. Our relationship wasn’t perfect, of course. And, from the start, Mistress had always been an awkward Owner, in that she never fully felt comfortable with having a slave (as evidenced by my first few posts about her thinking of me as a “bondservant”). But by the end, she was really getting the hang of it, and she was becoming a great Mistress in many ways.

And, already, I miss her. I worry about her, and I wonder how she’s going to get all the things done that I was doing for her.

But things never felt really like they were fitting together just right. We both knew it would be temporary. Mistress was always adamant that she wouldn’t commit to having me as her slave long term.

And when Master J came over, something clicked inside me that made me realize things were skewed and were never going to really mesh between us. I thought maybe the fact that she loved a man like her Master was a fluke. But by loving a man like Master J so much, she showed that her values in people were very different than mine.

I love Mistress very much. But there was a reason she treated me as a roommate ... and she told me this yesterday. She said she could tell we would never truly be lovers. We would never have a wonderfully deep intimacy of the soul. We were more sisters, she said. And she always knew that.

And, simply put, she didn’t need me that much as a slave. I was great during the move, she said. To be honest, she likely wouldn’t have moved if I hadn’t been around to help, but would have stayed at the old place, she said. But the move is over, and almost all the boxes are packed away, and now she doesn’t have much need for a servant, she said.

And Master does. I’m the type of slave he would buy to assist him in his home and business if slavery was still legal. “To me, you’re a luxury, but to him, you’ll be a tool,” she said.

And Master confirmed that today. Chore-wise today, I prepared and served lunches, did the dishes and cleaned M’Lady’s bathroom top to bottom. And Master said because I was doing all that, he was able to relax and concentrate on his fixing some software-code problems on his Website today with more focus than he’s had in a long time.

He said he would love for me to be with him the rest of our lives if things work out. M’Lady wants the same thing.

And so do I.

Master and M’Lady have owned several slaves before. Two of them left for “complicated reasons,” Master told me, which have not been explained to me. One simply didn’t work out. One remained with Master and M’Lady for five years as a beloved member of the house, then she lapsed into horrible despair for a year, left after borrowing (and not repaying) a very large amount of money, and died a year later from a sudden heart failure after inexplicably picking up smoking.

But Master and M’Lady know what they’re doing, indeed, and they’re considered among the most respected leaders of the Denver BDSM community. Master has done extensive research into slave psychology and protocol (he’s a voracious reader), and he knows how to handle me.

And today he said the most wonderful words a slave could hear. He motioned me to his knees, looked me in the eyes, and, with a smile, said, “I’m extremely pleased with your service.”

M’Lady is demanding and a bit picky about a lot of things, and Master told me he’s very happy in how I’ve handled every command of hers with calm, respectful obedience.

I feel better about the future than I think I have ever in my life. My future is out of my hands. And that makes things all for the better, in my opinion.

And both Master and Mistress agree with that last statement. Mistress said she firmly believes that I need somebody to control my life, to watch out for me, to guide me.

And Master concurred when he spoke with me today. He looked me in the eye and said he would always strive to protect me, take responsibility today and help me be the best slave I can be in every way.

Their house is wonderful. It’s huge. I’ll describe the beautiful aspects in a future post. But I’ll have to say that they have the means to afford supporting a full-time slave.

Beautiful. That’s the word I think of whenever I see my collar. The collaring ceremony was almost non-existent. Master came behind me, wrapped his hands around my neck, slipped the collar on, and told me he expects me to wear from now own ... except when I’m at Mistress’s house, at which time he wishes me to wear (for now) her collar.

Like I’ve indicated, he’s a very fair and caring man in so many ways.

My room is a small spare one with a computer and a closet of sex toys, which are all in his advertised “bargain section” of his online store. He said I could look around in there and see if there was anything I wanted, and when I brought out three dildos and asked his opinion on them, he told me I could have them all and promptly took them off his store’s computer inventory. I was rather shocked and surprised happily, and I plan on playing with one of them tonight. It’s rather large, but if I expect to ever take anybody like Master J in the future, I’ll need to start working to stretch a bit. *giggles*

FYI, some trivia ... the typical adult cock is between 1.25 and 1.75 inches in diameter. As a result, the standard dildo/vibrator is 1.5 inches in diameter. The dildos I got range from 1.75 to 2.0 inches in diameter. And Master J was just over 2.25 inches in diameter.

And speaking of Master J ... my Master said he will not give me out so casually as Mistress did. Master said I can pretty much expect my days of being ordered give blowjobs and other sexual practices are over. He said he’s going to be pretty darn picky regarding who he demands I give pleasure to. On the other hand, he said I’m very open to asking him to be allowed to be with somebody, even another slave. He said he wants to protect me, and it seems if I’m to be shown off to people, it’s as a perfect little domestic slave, not as a willing little fuck toy. I’ll miss the forced sex a bit, I have to admit, because it was a bit exciting, even when I wasn’t enjoying it. As a slave, I feel more in my place if I’m actually forced to do things I don’t want to do. I said that indirectly to Master today, and he said I haven’t truly seen the extent of his personality and his intentions for me as his slave. He said he’s a sadist, and at first he’s going to be taking things nice and easy on me, and he’ll make things more intense the longer we’re together. *shudders in nervous excitement* I’m not a masochist, but, still, I can hardly wait to find out what he’s got in mind, even if it’s not particularly pleasant. And if you understand what I meant by that, then you understand part of what it means to be a slave! *giggles*

Speaking of instruments of pain ... Master showed off an incredible instrument in a class Monday night ... a “Violet Wand.” It’s a portable electric field generator that can use a wide variety of attachments. The glass ones are shaped from anything like a mushroom to a hair comb to a pin point. Metal ones can look like anything from a spiked ball to a flogger made of Mylar to a finger knife like Freddy Krueger would use.

The voltage can be set to various intensities, and the smaller the surface of contact, the more effect. At a low level on a flat attachment, it produces a light tingle. With a high voltage using a sharp attachment, it can glow white-hot and brand the skin.

Which is what happened to me when Master was demonstrating it. It’s not that he wasn’t careful, but ... I love the sensation of electricity flowing through my body so much that I kept asking him to turn the power up. And it finally got so charged that it burned white hot against my flesh ... and even though he quickly removed it, I may just have a little curly cue scar forever where he did that on my shoulder. Not that I mind, because it’s actually pretty. *smiles*

I’ve always loved the feeling of electricity. I would purposely shuffle my feet to make static electricity all the time as a kid and zap myself for fun. I’ve been seriously shocked on electric fences at times and wished I could get more. And now I can. Master said he’ll definitely be using it on me in the future, as he loves having such a willing subject living with him.

Just another way we’re such a great match! *smiles*

By the way, guess who won first place in the female category at the Steampunk party last Saturday night? Me!!! There were some great costumes there, including an awesome wind-up clockwork doll. But everybody liked not only my costume, but the fact I really got into character. I was “Wilma, Mark 5.” According to the story Master and I were telling everybody, he was a famous eccentric neurosurgeon who, after my body was crushed by a runaway steam-powered street sweeper, was able to save my brain by placing it into the body of a life-sized steam-powered metal automaton. I told people very stiffly, in a robot-life monotone, that I had been a saloon girl but after an accident (which resulted in people putting up signs at the bar that showed a mangled hand above the words “Warning: Do Not Fist Automaton Tavern Girls), I had been reprogrammed and upgraded to “clean up the town” as a gunfighter. I walked stiffly all night, and Master got into the act several times, having to reboot me or repair my joints. It was a blast!

Oh ... I bet you want to know what we looked like! Well ... I happened to have posted a picture of us on the Web at: Master and Me at the Steampunk Party!. What’s that in my hand, you say? It’s a gift from M’Lady, specifically for the evening – a vibrator shaped like a six-shooter! Everybody loved it! *laughs*

By the way, one other very nice advantage to living with Master ... I’m a lot closer to my kids. The times I’ve been spending with them lately have been incredible. I had an especially fantastic time with my daughter last Sunday, and we bonded deeply even more than before. I think part of it is that I take her seriously when she talks about feeling that she’s a cat in a human body, something that I truly understand because, all my life since I was her age, I felt I was an animal in a human body as well. (Actually, I’ve felt that way since I was younger than she is now, but then, she’s said she’s also been adamant for years that she’s truly a cat. *grins*) My ex, however, does everything possible to discourage my daughter’s beliefs, so it’s clear my daughter sees in me a confidant and somebody who understands. That may be why my ex said it’s incredibly difficult to get my daughter to read aloud and do her homework, but when I asked my daughter to, she did the homework for me without hardly any struggle, and she read a whole book to me at a level higher than my ex thought was possible for her. *bounces happily* I can’t wait to see both of them again the day after tomorrow.

And on an unrelated note, last week I read from start to finish an absolutely fantastic Web comic called SPQR Blues. It’s a beautiful and very historical tale (the author calls it a soap opera) about a former Roman soldier and his life (and the lives of those near him) in Pompeii in the days leading up to the eruption of Mount Vesuvius. I was totally mesmerized by it and couldn’t stop reading whenever possible for days until I finally caught up to the most recent strip. You can find it at: SPQR Blues

The strip got me fascinated with Rome and, naturally, with the Roman institution of slavery, and Mistress allowed me to return to SecondLife a little bit this week to experiment with being a slave in a Roman-themed sim. I’ve since found a brand-new sim called Artorious, which is loosely based on the events of the wonderful film, “King Arther” (which was released in 2004 is one of my favorite movies, right alongside “Braveheart” and “Dances with Wolves”). So ... yeah, I’m back in SecondLife. I’m Queen Quinevere’s personal slave. Tomorrow is the coronation and grand opening of the sim, and I need to be there. We’ll see what happens. *chuckles*

And on that note, I think it’s time for me to log off here and head to Artorious to check on the Queen’s son, who I’ve been given the responsibility of taking care of and protecting in her absence. So ... toodles for now ...

And ... la kajira!!!

Day 74 - On Being Given by Mistress to Master G

2009-10-22T23:28:00.000-07:00

Master G owns me now.

And everybody’s happy about it.

From now on, I’ll simply refer to him here as “Master.”

I’m at his house tonight, wearing his collar. It’s a beautiful metal band with a Celtic triskelion pendant … the symbol of his house.

The evening after my last posting, Mistress and I talked. I came downstairs crying about Master. He had written me and told me specifically that he did not want to see me because he cared for me so much and knew I cared for him, and he was afraid our desire for each other would blow up and hurt somebody, most likely Mistress.

I talked to Mistress about everything. I told her how I had been using Master as a confidant to vent about the things that were annoying me. I told her how stressed Master J had made me. I told her my feelings toward Master and his feelings toward me. We talked for a long time.

And then she wrote Master and asked for his views. And when he told her the same things, she scheduled a face-to-face meeting with him for the next night. I was not invited. It was to be about me, but I was not to be privy to what was said, Mistress told me.

As a slave, that was exactly how it should be.

Last night she returned from the meeting. She said they had both fully agreed that I was far better suited to be Master’s slave, largely because of the reasons I listed in my previous posting. She also said that Master and his wife are getting up in years, and they need help with household duties far more than Mistress does. And she said that Master could use me to my full potential as a true tool by accessing my skills as a copywriter, journalist and software programmer in ways that would enhance his business. (Master and his wife, by the way, own a successful online sex-toy business).

I thought that Mistress might actually sale me, but the main thing she got out of the agreement directly was an even stronger friendship both with Master and his wife (who I shall call M’Lady, at her request), and Mistress said that in itself was a wonderful gift.

They agreed to transition the transfer gradually, with me spending a few nights at Master’s home, then back at Mistress’s, slowly increasing my time at my new abode.

It’s worked out best for everybody, I feel, although I can tell Mistress is a little sad. The good thing is that Master has said he’ll loan me to her on a regular basis, likely one day a week, and I’ll housesit for her when she’s away. So we won’t be strangers.

*smiles*

Funny how things turn out sometimes, y’know?

I still have more to write, but Master wishes me to go to bed with him, and I need to sign off and post this.

La kajira!!!

Day 72 - On Being Fucked By the Biggest Prick I've Ever Encountered, Getting Angry With Mistress, and Letting My Emotions and Big Mouth Possibly Fuck Up My Relationships with Both Mistress and Master G

2009-10-20T22:29:00.000-07:00

Right now I’m rather pissed at my Owner. I don’t know what’s going to happen between us, but I expect things are going to fall apart and that I’ll be owned by Master G.

The problem is money. Well, there are a lot of problems. Mistress and I have a relationship that’s built around slavery … and not much else. We’re friends and occasional lovers, and I was a bit infatuated with her at first. Okay, I loved her, and I still do, but it was never intense or knock-your-socks-off love. It was just the love of two friends, one of which felt protective toward the other one and decided to collar her.

Master G wants me to live with him full time and take care of me completely. Room and board fully paid for. I would be his full-time servant in all ways.

He’s charming and eloquent and wise and refined, and he loves talking about literature and old movies and the like.

Mistress gets on chat rooms about sex and watches porn all day. Well, she also occasionally works part time for her Master doing maintenance work on his rental properties.

Mistress said she’s good friends with Master G, but she could never have Master G as her Owner. Mistress told me today she very clearly prefers “bad boys who reformed.” Her Master is a former member of the Pagans, the most notorious outlaw biker gang in the country. The lover who visited us this weekend, Master J, is a former member of the Widow’s Sons outlaw biker gang. All Mistress’s Master and Master J like to do around her, it seems, is have sex, sex and more sex.

Master G and I get along perfectly in almost every way.

My unemployment runs out in a month. Mistress said she’ll cover the costs for a little while, but she’ll expect me to get some type of job, even if it’s something awful like working the graveyard shift at a convenience store 40 hours a week. She pulled rank on me today and said, as my Owner, she can demand I do that kind of thing because, as her slave, I can make her do any work she desires, and she can keep my money and do with it as she wants.

She knows Master G wants me, but she doesn’t want to give me up. She said she likes me being around as a friend, and she likes me doing all the chores and being her servant. But she also treats me like a roommate, in that I have to pay rent and pay for my share of utilities and household costs.

She wants me to both be a slave in the ways it benefits her, and be a free person in the ways it benefits her.

She’s exploiting me.

And, as a slave, I’m not sure what to do ... yet.

I could just leave and go to Master G’s house. Master G would like me to do that, I’m sure, but he’s moral enough that he doesn’t want to destroy his friendship with Mistress.

The truth is, I want to be at Master G’s house more than at Mistress’s house in a lot of ways. It would benefit Master G, his wife, and me in so many ways that wouldn’t be possible if I remained with Mistress.

I love Mistress. But I love Master G very much, too.

Today Mistress threatened to bar me from going to Master G’s house this week as punishment if needed for any offenses I might have around the house.

I’m a slave. It’s very, very serious to me.

But it is consensual.

Something’s got to give, and soon.

*sighs*

Oh … wasn’t this post today supposed to be about the guy with the gigantic cock? Yep, that’s Master J. He arrived Saturday morning and left for the airport to return to Texas a couple of hours ago.

Maybe I’m pissy regarding Mistress today because I really didn’t like Master J much at all, and Mistress is madly in love with him, practically worshiping the ground he walks on.

I was a journalist for nearly 10 years. I learned to read facial expressions and tone of voice.

Master J reeked with fake sincerity practically every time he opened his mouth. It got to where I could hardly stand to be around him, and I practically recoiled from his touch.

And those touches were frequent, indeed, starting with the French kiss he gave me within a minute of our meeting. The smell and taste of his recently smoked cigar was strong on his tongue and never went away throughout his stay.

Saturday, the day of his arrival, I was the best slave I could be. And, to impress Master J, Mistress made sure I followed his every order.

And pretty much all of those orders had to do with sex. He was incredibly horny and remained that way all the time he was here. Or maybe, because of his biker days, he’s just used to automatically treating women like fuck toys. Well, I am a slave, and if being a fuck toy is my duty, then so be it. The thing is, Master J isn’t in the BDSM lifestyle. He’s not used to having a slave … yet he sure got used quickly to taking advantage of pretty much every orifice in my body without asking me any permission.

Monday night we talked about his days as a biker, and he said pretty much all of his women while he was in the gang were treated like his property in every way. Or, as Mistress said, if you removed the crime and drugs and bikes, his relationship with his women was like Mistress’s relationship with me. Master and slave. So he’s actually pretty used to the idea in a lot of ways.

One of his favorite phrases is, “Thank God for the statute of limitations!” He openly admits to having committed numerous crimes while a biker (hence, the “outlaw” aspect), but he said he never raped anybody, and he never beat his women.

Anyway, so Saturday was filled with lots of sex for me. Almost as soon as I had taken Master J’s suitcases into the house, I was down on my knees sucking his cock.

Oh, yeah … his cock. Err … how to describe it? A horse would be appropriate. Almost two and a half inches in diameter, which equates to more than seven inches in circumference. It was a chore to fit it in my mouth, I’ll say that, but I did until he was satisfied.

Then I had to give him a full-body sponge bath in Mistress’s tub. I remained as elegant as I could, making sure the water was the perfectly heated temperature, with bath salts and perfume and oils. And then, once he was seated inside, I took several clean cloths and proceeded to work my way around his body slowly, soaping up the cloths with the best ingredients as needed, until he was completely scrubbed and cleaned in every way.

Soon afterward, he groped and suckled my body, moving from my face to my breasts while his fingers fucked my vagina and played with my clit. That could have really turned me on except … he had no style, no grace, no form. It was all just being fucked for his satisfaction. But, being a slave, I exist to please, so I made sure never to show anything but a smile and say anything but a groan of pleasure for him.

Throughout the time he was here, he would repeatedly do that again, more or less. He never failed to take the opportunity when we were passing each other to stop and grope something of me or to stick his tongue somewhere in or on me. What was exciting at first soon became rather … annoying.

Oh, and, yes, he did mount me from above. And it hurt, I have to say. I’ve never taken a cock that large inside me, and despite working to try and stretch my vagina with a dildo, he still couldn’t fit more than half of it inside me. He said he enjoyed fucking me even then, however, although he didn’t cum inside me. Which I’m glad to know because of the fact he used to be a biker. And he admitted after sex that he used to have the clap, but he got it treated and cured years ago. Which I didn’t know, but I trusted Mistress, and so I let him inside me without a condom.

Which is part of why I’m annoyed at Mistress right now. *sighs*

During Master J’s stay, I had to sleep on a bare mattress upstairs, and I actually slept pretty darn well. I was woken up by Master J Monday morning and he, horny as usual, announced he would wake me up by eating my pussy. Which he did for about ten or fifteen minutes. And I screamed hard and loud eventually. But not from orgasming. Instead, it was because he was such a brute that he hurt the hell out of my clitoris and labial lips. He kept biting and scraping them with his teeth, and his tongue was so rough and hard and too fast, and he clearly had no concern for whether I liked it or not as long as I was making the motions like a cheap slut in a porno movie.

Later in the day on Monday, Mistress’s Master came over, and the three of them were having sex for hours in the living room while watching porn showing women being beaten and tortured. Yes, it was all for show. It was real BDSM, and not some disgusting movie where it seemed like the women were doing it against their will. But … the fact that Mistress’s Master and Master J both got their kicks from watching women screaming for mercy while getting whipped and flogged really disturbed me. And I hate to say it, because I have no moral problem with gay sex, but I don’t enjoy watching two men going at it with each other by sticking their cocks in each other – which is what Mistress’s Master and Master J were doing to each other.

So, while they were doing all that, I cleaned house like crazy … which actually impressed the hell out of Master J and Mistress’s Master, who saw me as a perfect little slave for doing that. By the end of the day, I had done so much laundry and so much packing and so much cleaning that I was dog tired, and we went to a Violet Wand demonstration with Master G for a treat. But I’ll write about that in my next posting.

*sighs*

Master J, at least, wasn’t cheap. He left Mistress $140 on her bedstand after sleeping with her last night. Mistress said she told him she wanted it clear that she wasn’t taking money for being with him, but that she was considering the cash to be an early birthday present.

Mistress is sad to see Master J gone. She would live with him if she had the chance, she’s said.

I’m not sad to see him go.

To make matters much worse, my stress at having him here came out when I was writing Master G this week.

Remember what I said about how I thought Master G would own me eventually? Well, since writing that, he's written me.

Now he thinks he’s coming between Mistress and me, and he’s told me not to come over to his house to be his slave this week. And not come over possibly indefinitely.

I’ve cried so much about that. I feel horrible in so many ways.

I think my big mouth is fucking up everything important in my life.

I love Mistress. And I love Master G.

And I need to be a slave to them.

I told Mistress everything to make sure nothing was in the dark. I told her how strongly I feel about Master G. And how much I love him.

And she says she's okay with that.

But she's still annoyed at me because of some of the things we've talked about today.

Today sucks. In a lot of ways.

Mistress said she's going to talk to Master G tomorrow to try and sort things out.

Master G would be perfect for me. But I may have ruined everything.

*sighs*

La kajira. And all that.