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.
Showing posts with label Horse. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Horse. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Friday, January 1, 2010
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
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.”
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.”
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