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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So … wish me luck tomorrow!

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

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

Thursday I had planned to be with my kids.

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

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

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

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

*sighs*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*sighs, then smiles gently, then sighs again*

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

Night, everybody.

La kajira.

Day 50 - On Being a Toy, Meeting the Evergreen Man, K-8 and Mistress's Master, and Watching "Sita Sings the Blues"

A conscious object.

A coin-operated girl.

A toy in a human body.

That’s me.

I’ve known that for a very long time in my heart, and I came to realize it yesterday in my mind. So did Mistress.

Mistress and I spent yesterday at the home of the man in Evergreen (the one who writes poetry and enjoys being humiliated by being forced to dress up as a woman).

I’ll be quick to admit I was rather unfair in my previous bias against him. He’s a very nice, considerate, insightful and extremely intelligent man. He’s extremely driven in ways I couldn’t dream of. For example, he began working in software as a teenager and graduated from college with an English degree at age 19, immediately becoming a high-school teacher (with some students actually older than he was that first year). He reads voraciously and is particularly fascinated with Hinduism, world religions and the cosmology of the physical universe.

He and Mistress got along perfectly. For most of the time we were there, I was either working in the kitchen or kneeling on the floor while he and Mistress discussed topics that were largely beyond my fields of knowledge.

I’m no dummy. I loved science in high school, and I was tested by Mensa (the high-IQ society) with a result that put me in the 99th percentile (making me a member for life). When I was a journalist, I would be the one everybody would turn to as the “walking encyclopedia” who knew tons of trivial about the most esoteric subjects. But something’s happened to me the last decade. In particular, since I discovered therianthropy. And I feel as if my brain is rational brain is shrinking, gradually being replaced by a mind that lives on instincts and hunches.

My wolf spirit.

But I digress. Suffice to say that Mistress and the Evergreen man seriously hit it off, although in a purely platonic way. As Mistress said last night, if that man is going to play with anybody, it’ll be me. But I don’t think he will. I got the strong feeling that once he understood my slave heart isn’t a fetish, but is instead who I truly am, he relegated me to the floor, as if I’m an underling. At times I would ask a question while hearing their conversation and he would ignore me. He never asked my opinion about anything. I was a slave, and I was treated as such, with all of his attention and respect going to my Owner.

And that’s how it should be. I applaud him for that, even if it means he and I will likely never wind up together for anything more than a one-night stand.

The Evergreen man’s house was huge and beautifully rustic, nestled in a mountain forest with a view that would take your breath away. His neighbors include Johnny Depp and Arnold Schwarzenegger (both of who have summer homes there). The drive to get to his house was rather long, convoluted and, at the end, extremely bumpy along a rocky rutted road, with us being happy we went up there in Mistress’s pickup truck instead of my Toyota sedan.

The man was equally impressive. He took part protesting in favor of gay-rights in Chicago as a teenager. Among his many fields of expertise is BDSM, and he was heavily involved in the Chicago community, and he became a counselor of sorts, helping people overcome psychological issues through applied bondage, pain, sex and the like.

Yet despite his experiences, I was a mystery to him. After dinner, he questioned me in an attempt to determine what makes me tick. What turns me on. He couldn’t figure me out because I’m not into this for humiliation or pain. I’m into it for the slavery, and he couldn’t see that as an end in itself.

He left the question hanging and began talking about some of his “patients,” and he mentioned how some women who felt too much in control of their situation would find they couldn’t orgasm easily, but would instead become detached. Those women, he said, would need to be put into situations (consensually, of course) where they wouldn’t know what was coming, such as being blindfolded and made to endure first cold play (with ice cubes on sensitive areas) followed by hot play (with melted wax). The man said some women he encountered consensually took part in very serious rape-oriented play, in which they would wear a band around their arm to parties, which would signal that anybody at the party could force them into having sex. Some went so far as to struggle, with the desire to be slapped or even beaten into submission. In one instance, he was the one who did the beating and raping, to my understanding. He wasn’t thrilled with doing it, but he took part nonetheless.

While he was talking, things started clicking together in my mind, like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle finally locking into place.

I could answer his question regarding what turns me on.

To be treated as a toy. An object. A possession. Non-human.

I indicated to the man that I had his answer, but although he acknowledged that I wanted to speak, he didn’t let me for some time, instead making me wait until he and Mistress were sufficiently through with their conversation. And that was perfectly fine with me (even if a little frustrating) because it fit my true role in life.

After I started talking, though, both the man and Mistress became rather interested, and they completely agreed with me. And Mistress and the man both said they now know exactly how to treat me.

Pretty much every piece of the puzzle has already been mentioned in my previous postings in this blog.

Among the puzzle pieces are:

I’m fixated with Gor in a way I can’t shake. I was in Gor for years, serving Owners both online and in real life. I long to return, but Mistress won’t let me because she feels it would be detrimental. In Gor, the women are truly slaves against their will, liable to being killed or sold at the whim of their Owner for the slightest failure, sign of disrespect or act of obedience.

I long to be a wooden ballerina marionette, and I fantasize about it often whenever I’m sad. I was one in SecondLife for months, and I returned to it recently for a brief visit. Whenever I see puppets, I feel a connection and a wish to be with them, just a toy on strings, existing for no reason but to give joy, purely at the whim of my Owner.

As previously noted, I orgasmed 20 times in a single hour when Mistress’s Master took me to the porn theatre and allowed the men there to use me. He never once asked permission.

Possibly the most powerful orgasm I’ve ever had was when a potential Master in Colorado Springs inflicted very powerful pain on me while also intensely playing with my clit and breasts. He never asked for permission.

I love bondage with a passion. I love to be tied up and gagged and left with no recourse, no way out, existing only as a plaything.

I’ve fantasized for years, masturbating every day (sometimes multiple times) about being transformed into a vinyl inflatable fuck doll. In a typical fantasy, I’m sold or given to somebody who has no idea I was once human. Instead, I’m treated as nothing more than an inanimate object, with the purpose of being fucked then deflated until brought out to be fucked again.

And so on.

Despite it all, I have a shred of self-preservation. Which is why I was so upset when I was collared by Mistress’s Master. I knew if I allowed my mind and heart to be owned by him, he would abuse me immensely without any reciprocation to me.

I’m a toy. And as a toy, isn’t it right that I seek an Owner who would love me? An Owner that would treat me as a toy, but as a cherished one?

I have to admit I don’t know why I’m this way. But that’s what I am. And Mistress and the Evergreen man saw it without a doubt.

And last night, after that conversation, the Evergreen man wrapped me tightly in a long corset that extended past my crotch (he called it a “bondage corset”), then he cuffed my hands behind my back.

And Mistress called me her doll. And the man called me an object.

And I melted inside.

I started singing “Coin-Operated Boy” (a fantastic song by the Dresden Dolls that Mistress introduced me to recently), but I changed the words and created my own lyrics to a song I called, “Coin-Operated Girl.” It’s me. Really me. And I love it. *bounces gently*

I like the Evergreen man a lot. But, despite his wealth and resources, he isn’t Mistress. And I love her very much. Oh, I believe I could love the Evergreen man as well. But he came a bit too late.

We likely won’t be seeing him much as he’s often out of town on business, and the drive to his place took around two hours. Still, though, it was fun enough that eventually we’ll make it out there again … or he can come see us.

One wonderful side benefit of his Hinduism was he showed us a fantastic movie called “Sita Sings the Blues.” It’s a reverently irreverent animated telling of the part of the Ramayana that deals with Rama’s relationship with Sita. It’s written by a woman and is quite funny while telling things from Sita’s point of view with great old music. The creator has released it for downloading free online at Sita Sings the Blues . Do yourself a favor and watch it soon!

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

By the way, I lifted the term “conscious object” from an incredible blog entitled: The Thoughts of a Conscious Object . The author, known as “K-8”, has been posting regularly for years about her fixation with the idea of becoming a sentient object. There’s a whole subculture devoted to this, which includes numerous art and stories and discussions. (FYI, the subculture is called “ASFR”, which relates back to old pre-internet days when the stories were listed in a news group called “alt.sex.fetish.robots”). I’ve been fascinated by the subculture for a very long time and have read almost every story out on the Web about the topic, despite the fact that many are rather creepy, in that the person who is transformed does not want to be transformed. *shrugs*

To my total surprise, I met “K-8” in SecondLife a couple of days ago (she’s known as “Kate Battery” there). When I realized it was her, I completely embarrassed myself by behaving like a blushing teenage fangirl, and I don’t think an intelligent word was uttered on my part. Hopefully, the next time I meet her (should I be fortunate enough to do so), I’ll be able to have a better conversation.

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

Mistress’s Master came over today by surprise. Well, he gave some warning.

I’ve realized why I don’t like Mistress’s Master. He takes people’s good traits (like compassion and tenderness) and selfishly exploits them.

Mistress loves him deeply, even though she is very bothered by the fact her Master is cheating on his wife and, as a result, nothing long-term will ever come of the relationship. Mistress keeps telling me that she feels she and her Master will break up soon, but it seems yet to happen.

Mistress’s Master treats her like Mistress treats me. Today, for instance, he brought over a married couple and had Mistress suck his cock while they watched. He humiliates Mistress, uses her without concern for her desires and uses her to no end. He treats her as a slave. The problem is that Mistress doesn’t want to be treated like that, but she allows it because she loves him so much. In contrast, I want to be treated like that (as a slave, that is, without being asked for my input). Mistress is pretty much at her limits with her Master, in that it’s doubtful anybody could push her further than he does. I, however, am far from my limits with Mistress, and somebody (like her Master) could seriously hurt and abuse me if I let them get their hooks into me. I came pretty close to doing something pretty bad – I almost signed over power of attorney to a Master and Mistress in Colorado Springs – but I was stopped by my Mistress at the time, who refused to let them own me without them agreeing to a contract approved by her. That contract was a deal breaker, and I’m glad. Anyway, Mistress is hurt by how her Master treats her, and I’m blessed by how my Mistress treats me, yet we’re treated the same way. The difference is, of course, that Mistress loves me, and Mistress’s Master doesn’t love her. Such is life.

Mistress told me to expect to suck her Master’s cock, but fortunately, that didn’t happen. What did happen was I was stripped naked (except for my panties) for her Master (who occasionally groped my breasts), then tied up with skilled finesse by Mistress. My breasts were bound, my wrists were tied behind my back, and my ankles here tied together so I could hardly move. Well, hardly for some people, as I could still dance, spin around and kneel fluidly (which Mistress found amusing). After the couple arrived, I was told to stay in the living room while they all went to Mistress’s bedroom to play. I never found out exactly what happened except that the married woman was crying at the end and was rather uncomfortable with the events, and she was likely convinced against her wishes to try out BDSM today. Sounds like her husband and Mistress’s Master share a like mind in a few ways.

While they were all in there I decided to make good use of the fact that Mistress had untied my hands, and I made a plate of hor d'oeuvres using what little we had at the new house – which turned up to be little tuna-salad sandwiches and pickles arranged in a sunburst wheel around a small bowl of spicy dip. I had hoped to impress everybody because I was thoroughly pissed at myself. I was supposed to be in high protocol during the visit, but at one point when Mistress was trying to help me to my feet she slightly wrenched my arm by accident, and I corrected her by quietly saying I could get up better by myself and said she hurt me while doing so. I was embarrassed beyond belief that I had blurted out my thoughts like that, but nobody seemed to mind. Afterward, Mistress saw my inner turmoil and, to help me, she punished me by slapping my breasts and face around painfully, and that actually did help. Anyway, although I had hoped to further make up for that with the food plate, nobody ate it but Mistress and me, although people saw it, and Mistress was happy with it. And that was enough for me. *grins*

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

Mistress wants to head out for dinner, so I’d better post this before it turns into a novel. Hopefully I didn’t make too many typos, as I’m posting it without proofreading it. La kajira!!!

Day 48 - On Having 20 Orgasms in a Single Hour, An Unpleasant Tattoo, and Dreaming of Being a Blow-Up Sex Doll

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Day 47 - On Giving A Blow Job to a Stranger, Being Treated as a Slave, and Remembering My Toy Master

(Note: I haven't skipped a lot of days. Instead, I'm now counting from the day Mistress collared me instead of the day I moved in with her.)

Mistress had me give oral sex to a stranger today.

It’s the first time she’s done that.

A male friend of hers visited our new house today, and Mistress gave him a tour. Along with showing off her inorganic property, she showed off her human property – me. She bragged about how pretty I was to him, talking as if I wasn’t there, and after he agreed with her, she caressed my left nipple and pulled up my shirt to expose my breasts. After the man examined them, Mistress invited him to touch and play with them however he wished, and he massaged and suckled my breasts while I stood at attention.

After a few minutes of this, I asked Mistress if I should further undress, and she asked me if I wanted to, and I told her the decision was hers, and she ordered me to do so. After taking off my clothes, Mistress had me stand in front of the man for his inspection, and he began caressing my body (never once asking my permission, of course). Mistress bragged about how large my clitoris is, and the man responded by rubbing his fingers against it until I orgasmed to his satisfaction. Mistress then bragged about my mouth and asked the man if he wanted me to give him a blow job, and the man responded enthusiastically by pulling down his pants, and I got on my knees and gave him oral sex until my jaws were so sore I couldn’t take it anymore. I was very apologetic and felt ashamed that I wasn’t able to get the man to orgasm in my mouth, but Mistress told me later that the man had already masturbated today, and that he left very pleased with my services.

I wouldn’t have volunteered to service the man like I did. But I’m a slave, and Mistress wanted to impress her visitor, and I did what I was told.

I’m not ashamed in any way. It’s part of my life now. Giving oral sex to a stranger is like washing a stranger’s car – both would be jobs I wouldn’t necessarily desire to do, but I’d do it if Mistress wanted me to. She doesn’t even have to order me to do such things. I actively seek to find ways to please her, such as when I asked her if she wanted me to undress for the man. Or when I do the dishes and laundry without being told. For some people, stripping for a stranger doesn’t exactly fit in the same sentence as washing dishes, but for me they’re both part of my duties.

Last night I asked Mistress – practically pleaded with her – to please treat me like a slave in all respects. I told her how I’ve come to trust her deeply, and I want to give my life over to her. Mistress responded by saying that she would do as she desired with me, and that she has, indeed, come to fully see me as her slave. Every day she controls my life more and more as she sees fit, and she’s become very acclimated to having a human possession at her beck and call.

And I’ve become quite acclimated to it, too. I am a slave. And I’m happy.

La kajira!

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

On another note, I posted on a wonderful site (www.stuckposing.com) dedicated to the fetish of living statues. I put the following into a thread dedicated to a continuing story written by a man very dear to me (who is known as "Masteroftoys" on the StuckPosing site). The story is about a group of college students who stumble across a Jumanji-like game, but this one changes them into various toys as they approach the finish space. It’s quite enjoyable, and it can be found at: "Egnhcyot!"

Anyway, here’s what I posted …

Quote from: Masteroftoys on September 16, 2009, 03:37:55 AM
I have been working on a new story, but it’s only for a lovely little wind-up doll I know.

*smiles softly, her wooden limbs swaying softly on her Owner's strings*

That's a lucky little wind-up doll, I have to say, to have a story being written for her by so wonderful a Toy Maker as the author is.

I should know. He created me early this year.

One day in SecondLife, an online virtual reality, a woman was wandering a bit lost in an island dedicated to dolls. There she encountered the Master Toymaker, and after a long, tender process, he pulled a beautiful wooden ballerina marionette out of her heart. The doll went on to be with him for two wonderful months, cherishing the infrequent times they could be together. He would at times turn her into other dolls, including a China doll and, his favorite, a wind-up tin soldierette. She loved being a soldierette because she knew her Creator enjoyed her being one. At heart, though, they both knew what she truly was -- a wooden puppet whose life's true purpose was to dance on strings for the entertainment of her Creator and, when he would put on shows, for the merriment of children and adults alike.

That doll is me.

A lot has happened to me in both SecondLife and RealLife since then.

I am owned now in RealLife as a slave to a Mistress I love, who I live with and share her bed each night. It is a life that feels right and truly natural to me, and I enjoy it in so very many ways.

Isn't that what a slave is? An organic puppet in many ways? One flows into another, I guess.

I discovered a wonderful professional puppet theater in my city, and while I was there watching a delightful show, I purchased two marionettes -- a wooden girl with blond yarn hair, and a white unicorn foal. Together they have become best friends, and I hold them dear to my heart.

And whenever I am hit by stress and despair, I remember with joy my time as a wooden doll. And I imagine what bliss it would be to be that marionette, her one purpose in life to be a toy alongside her dearest companion.

The Master Toymaker taught me a great deal about myself. His insights into being a toy continue to touch me deeply to this day in numerous ways.

I told my Mistress today of how much I still dream of being a marionette, and she asked me why I felt that way. In response, I read to her this snippet from Egnhcyot:

“Well that’s because you aren’t used to being a rag doll, it’s not all bad.” with that Jason reached out and grabbed her by the wrist, then pulling her onto his lap he gave her a bear hug.

Melt.

That’s all that went though Jenifer’s head at that moment. For some reason everything in the universe felt “right” she had an owner, he was playing with her, she was clean, her dress presentable.

Melt.

Looking around she noticed the shop seemed to change suddenly. No longer dark, but brightly lit. beautiful. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Aisha still dancing, but now she seemed to be doing so in a completely different way. Before it seemed simple, but now it was simply stunning. And Aisha herself seemed to be glowing. Or at least had an aura around her that let Jenifer know she was special. As Jason released her from his embrace she was able to see June and Phoebe lacked the aura effect. But Jason seemed to glow to such a degree it made her wince when she first looked at his face.

“See, Not so bad is it?”

Words so wonderfully crafted such as those show without any doubt how beautifully and perfectly the Master of Toys understands the hearts of us who are not-quite-human in our dreams.

I long to read the conclusion of this story, but I understand, indeed, how muses can lead a writer astray. I just want to make sure the Master of Toys knows that he's missed in many ways by some people, and that they wish for him joy, love and success while thanking him for all he's done.

-- Wilma the Marionette

~~~~~~~~~

On a final depressing note, I didn't get the job I interviewed for two days ago. I cried off and on all afternoon about it because I had been so extremely confident I would be hired. Mistress didn't like the way I was acting, but she was very sympathetic and loving the entire time. In case anybody hasn't guessed yet, I'm slightly bi-polar, and I'm prone to extreme ups and downs in my moods. Mistress is doing all she can to help me in times of stress. I'm her property, and when Mistress collared me, she accepted the entire package. Very few slaves in this world could ask for anything more wonderful. *smiles softly and tenderly*

Day 22 (or Day 45) - On Remembering Being Collared by Mistress, Why I Didn't Go With Her Master, An Explanation of Protocols, and Being Fucked By a Guy Like a JackHammer

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The Life of a Slave - Day 21

We're moving to a new house in Longmont. And I have a long job interview this morning. So what little time I would normally have to write has been thrown out the window.

Well, I did have a couple of hours two days ago. Sorta. In the middle of the night. And I used them to get into SecondLife instead of sleep. I returned to being a magical wooden ballerina marionette, who after a long absence was somehow cosmically plopped onto the space station at Skara Brae (which is located at a flux between high magic and high technology). It was rather enjoyable, particularly because of a woman there who was suffering from having a computer Artificial Intelligence grafted into her brain, thereby causing her to suffer from two personalities, and having her own personality overwritten at times without her realizing it (for example, even though she would openly claim to be independent and even dominant, she would kneel at the feet of visitors and do all they commanded, and when asked why, she would explain she was just being "nice". *grins*). We got along famously, and I wish so much I could go back there. I wish it a bit too much, actually. I want to lose myself in SecondLife again. *sighs* Once an addict, always an addict, I guess.

The move has been taking a lot of time, indeed. It's a great place with plenty of room and access to a wonderful concrete nature trail perfect for roller blading through trees and alongside a beautiful creek. The town is small enough to be warm and comfortable but large enough for almost all our needs and even some good potential employment. And there's even a gaming store with somebody wanting to run a Shadowrun campaign, which is rather appealing to me, as I'm a long-time fan of that game. Whether I would have time for it is another matter, however.

Mistress and the man with the treehouse I mentioned talked, and he gave a lot of info about himself to Mistress and ... I'm a bit disappointed. He's not a Master. He's a switch who likes being humiliated by being forced to wear women's clothing. Does that mean I won't like him when we meet this weekend (which Mistress has so nicely set up)? We could wind up nuts about each other, I realize. I was just hoping for something a bit more traditional. A good strong dominant masculine Master with a heart of gold. Yeah, I know. Me and a thousand other women with slave hearts want the same thing, so good luck.

*sighs again*

Gotta go. Wish me luck at the interview.

-- schatzie

The Life of a Slave - Day 19

*sighs*

The last few days have been rather busy. It's hard to believe that at one time I was spending literally two-thirds (or more) of my waking hours lost in the online virtual reality known as SecondLife. Now, I hardly have time to even update my blog.

Where do I begin today?

Do I talk about how I first became a real-life slave, and how I quickly went from discovering it online to kneeling alongside two other kajira at the feet of a man known as possibly the most determinedly Gorean Master in Colorado? It may have been part-time, but it was very real, and even though it may be detrimental to me, that man still owns a part of my heart today.

Or do I talk about the last few days since my last post, about how my job intervew went so incredibly well last Tuesday, and how I had a horrible day Thursday with several hours of depression when my health insurance was cancelled (but was re-instated the next day by an incredibly nice manager at the insurance company), and how I joined my Mistress (and stayed the night) at the house of an extremely masochistic puppyboy who is also a sub to Mistress's (*sighs*) Master, and how I got a bit drunk and lashed out a how much I can't stand Mistress's Master, and how Friday night Mistress and I experienced the high protocol event at the local BDSM club, and how Saturday was a fantastic day with my children (including the creation of a very delicious and lovely chocolate house)?

Or do I totally leave the topic of slavery and talk about therianthropy and how I have experienced the effects of having a wolf spirit, including distinct bodily dysphoria and shifts in mental patterns, since I was a young girl?

Do I talk about how Mistress and I share a devoted love, but there remains an underlying tension due to the fact that I'm naturally heterosexual, and I want a Master who will be devoted to me, and I continue to have problems to a degree with the fact that Mistress is female and has a Master of her own (who I can't stand) and she has repeately said she will not commit to me long term? And how my mind has been pulled by the interest of a man in a mountain town near Denver who seems on the surface to meet many of the needs in my life that Mistress cannot fulfill?

Or do I finish my chores?

I'm a slave. Chores, of course, come first.

I hope to have time tonight to write. I'll do my best.

After I finish my chores.

....

Okay, I'm being a little naughty. I still have housework to do, but I posted a comment in "Collar 6", which is one of my absolutely favorite online comic strips. I HIGHLY recommend you check it out at http://collar6.com !!!

Here's what I wrote regarding today's comic:

My heart melted when I read the last strip.

If I hadn’t known it before, I would have realized it then — that the writers of this strip truly understand the desires of a slave girl.

For a slave, it doesn’t matter at heart whether her Owner is rich or poor, as long as the devotion between them is blessed with a richness of its own. One that is, hopefully, blessed with love.

And I believe that’s what Mistress Sixx and Laura share. A love that makes Mistress Sixx’s wealth seem paultry by comparison.

Call me a romantic, but that’s what I am. I am a full-time live-in slave in real life, and I love my Mistress. There were a lot of people wanting me as their slave when I first decided to accept the lifestyle, but it was love that led me to where I am now.

By the way, I admire Laura’s ability to withstand pain. I’m in no way a painslut, and last night Mistress punished me (for forgetting at first to put on my seatbelt during a recent car journey) by putting very tight nipple clamps on my breasts. I screamed within 10 seconds, and she removed them with a harsh warning. But then, maybe it’s just my nipples are rather sensitive, as I can handle Mistress’s disciplinary spankings when needed. Well, usually. *groans and rubs her tush*

Good luck, Laura. You may be fictional, but you’re real in the hearts of a lot of women, and you’ve definitely got sisters out here in spirit.

The Life of a Slave - Day 14

Busy day today, as normal.

This morning I saw a bit of a documentary on the history of American puppetry. It’s a particular interest of mine for various reasons. I’ve loved puppets all my life, and I have probably a couple of dozen, mostly the realistically furry Folkmanis animal puppets, but I also have a couple of marionettes. One of the marionettes in particular is special to me. A wooden female puppet with a peasant outfit and yellow-yarn hair. Her name is Wilma, named after a SecondLife avatar I had. I was a marionette for months in SecondLife. Out of hundreds of thousands of people in SL, I was one of the handful of full-time marionettes. I truly lived as one, and even dreamed I was one. I was made of wood, I wore a lovely pink ballerina outfit, I had strings that would make me move, and I had a repertoire of beautiful ballet dances. More importantly, it was what I was at heart for awhile. It was a strange and wonderful time. In an area dedicated to people who like to pretend to be dolls, I met a man who talked with me for a long time. He was a master toymaker, and during the course of several hours, he slowly reached into my soul and found a wooden marionette, which he pulled out from my heart to live. At times the Master Toymaker would turn me into other toys, primarily a china doll or a windup tin soldierette (which was his favorite – he actually had a fetish about them). I was madly in love with him, and, to me, being a marionette was a dream come true. I wanted so very, very much to become one for real and … I still do. And that’s what Wilma is. She’s me, in a way. It’s hard to explain to other people why I want that so much but I’ve met more than a few who share my deep longing.

Along with the normal chores, today was spent preparing for tomorrow’s job interview. If I get the job, I’ll be writing software for a weather satellite system over the polar icecap. If I had my choice, my only job would be to be Mistress’s slave. There’s an important truth that seems bizarre but it can’t be denied: it’s a luxury in our society to be a slave. Heck, it’s a luxury to be a stay-at-home wife these days.

I got called about another programming job today which sounds much more to my liking. The company said it’s pretty unusual in that software development would only be about a third of the job, and the rest would be everything from documentation to working with customers. The company sounds like it would have a relaxed atmosphere where my desire to serve and help others might shine. The woman who called me said to expect to talk for only a quarter hour, and she wound up talking to me for 45 minutes, scheduling an interview and asking for references. All good things. We’ll see.

Today I got hit with a reality of being a slave … the fact that one’s Owner may not always be right. I needed to study this afternoon, and I needed to get some documents and references to the woman regarding the new programming job. Mistress, however, told me to put it all on hold and go with her to get some personal items out of her car, which had been repossessed last week (she’s been able to use her former stepson’s truck after getting it licensed and set up with insurance). I didn’t want to go, and I knew it was a bad idea, but I obeyed and went with her … and felt tense from the moment we started driving. Traffic was bad, it took longer than we thought, and the guy wasn’t there to let us in the impound lot.

After sitting on the tailgate of Mistress’s truck for a half hour, not able to do anything but stare at the sky and the fence around the lot, I was a bit of a mess from frustration, and I was blaming myself for not telling my Mistress I needed to stay at home. I realized that by allowing Mistress to make all my decisions, sometimes something would go wrong that I could have prevented. Seeing how distraught I was becoming, Mistress eventually decided to give up on waiting and take me back home, and I remained basically wrapped up in a ball in my seat, my brain all screwed over as we drove along … that is, until somebody slammed into us on the highway. Some idiot crashed into the side of the truck as they were changing lanes and, instead of pulling over, they sped up and wove in and out of traffic to get away from the accident. Fortunately, neither of us was hurt, and the truck is still operational, and we got the license plate and reported it to the police. And it turned out that the guy never showed up to open the impound lot (he apparently got so stuck in traffic he just didn’t bother to fulfill his appointment), and so Mistress was right in leaving, and she’s rescheduled for tomorrow. And I was able to get the documentation sent out in time, and I got plenty of studying tonight. So it all worked out in the end.

Still, though … the reality is a reality. As a slave, I’m giving up the decision making process to somebody else. Is that truly a good thing? I believe it is. It’s what I want to do with my life. It’s what I am. I want to be a slave. I want to be a puppet. I want to give up my self will for the pleasure of another. Does that make me crazy? I don’t know, but I know this … I was happier yesterday morning than I’ve been in a long, long time. And Mistress and I both feel that was definitely a good thing.

The Life of a Slave - Day 13

Today was a hell of a day. And a heaven of one. But then, that’s life, isn’t it?

Mistress woke me up bright and early this morning, determined to get us both on a good schedule. From the moment I awoke today, I was fully a slave, and she and I knew it. I dedicated myself to overcoming my three biggest problems – talking too much, self loathing and eating too much. I got involved in everything that needed to be done, from making breakfast to cleaning up to doing the laundry, and I found myself practically flowing all day to a deep, inner rhythm of my servitude and total obedience. I spoke gently and sparsely, being always extremely respectful. Mistress repeatedly commented on how good a slave I was today, and how beautiful I was, and I felt loved and appreciated for what I am at heart. I felt good about life, and about my place in it. I felt I was what I should be.

I was happy all day. Until a little after 3 PM.

I have a job interview in two days for a software-developer position. I got the letter about it a week ago. I barely skimmed it, even though I’ve been stoked about the job all week. Today I read the letter carefully as I prepared to cram for the types of questions they might ask. To my shock, it said I needed to submit two application forms to them no later than 48 hours before the interview, and I had just missed the deadlines. Actually, it said I was supposed to have submitted the applications, which included a security screening, within two days of receipt of the letters, so that meant I should have sent them in last week. I hurriedly put the documents together, which took hours to complete, and I sent an apologetic letter to the human-resources person, offering to delay the interview if needed. And then, after all that was done … I broke down into tears and fell into a deep, horrid blackness of self-loathing and depression. I wailed and wept and fell apart so much that Mistress took over and made dinner for us, which ashamed me deeply. I babbled, breaking my vow of self control, repeatedly attacking myself to her as being worthless.

Mistress comforted me and had me meditate, but at heart it had to all wear off. Toward the end, Mistress made sure I understood that I am not the one to say I am worthless. I am not the one to say I am a bad slave. I am not the one to hurt or punish myself. My life is hers, and I put into her hands all judgment of myself. And knowing that gave me such an intense feeling of relief and peace.

Mistress emphasized her point by pointing to a beautiful wooden table in the middle of the room. The table, she said, was in horrible shape when she got it, but she worked hard on it, buffed out some awful burn marks and made it into something truly beautiful. And that's what she's doing to me, she said. She's working on me, she'll get the burn marks out of my heart, and she'll make me into a truly beautiful slave.

Mistress said I’m clearly trying to sabotage myself regarding being a developer because, truth be told, I hate it. I am not technically minded. Computers and the such make very little sense to me. I got into software developing by accident because I really wanted to be a computer animator. I’ve stayed in the business only because I wanted to make good money for my family. But, even though I got the letter about the great opportunity, I’ve ignored it for almost a week until most likely too late. Instead, I’ve focused on serving Mistress and making her life better. I’ve focused on being a slave. Which is what I am, and what I love.

La kajira! I say it with pride. Nobody could ever tell me that being a slave is less than what I should be. It’s truly what I am at heart. And this morning showed both my Mistress and me that it’s what brings me true happiness in life.

On another final note, Mistress warned me regarding her Master, who today found out that Mistress had collared me (she said she didn’t tell him simply because he didn’t need to know and it didn’t come up in conversation, but somehow he heard it from another source and asked her about it today). Mistress and I both know that, as somebody with a slave heart, I find myself strongly compelled to do whatever I’m ordered to do by somebody that expresses strong dominance. I will even lie to them if they ask if I don’t want to do something because my desire to please them is so strong and overcomes my wishes regarding my own pleasures. I’ve been pretty much raped because of that, all while the man was asking me whether I wanted him to fuck my brains out, and I would tell him I did.

And tonight, with that in mind, Mistress said she’s not sure she could protect me from her Master should he order me to do something I didn’t want to do, because she is so subservient to him. To quote: “I’m not sure I could protect you. It’s a bad situation. You need to make yourself scarce when he’s here. Leave the house. Go to the coffee shop or something. Make an excuse.”

Something to keep in mind. *sighs*

Oh, and by the way ... I didn't post yesterday because I was with my kids all day. Most of it was centered around the fact that my son wanted to go fishing. Numerous mishaps with the fishing equipment were both frustrating and rewarding, although I suffered a pretty nasty cut to my left pinky as a result of a bad situation with some fishing line. I came home happy but very tired, and Mistress was wonderful about it.

And ... I misunderstood Mistress's relationship with her female friend. They're purely platonic friends, even if they are quite close. Mistress told me the next day that her friend, who is a bit submissive, felt a bit awkward at being served by me and the submissive male, but she enjoyed it nonetheless. Chicken curry with rice (cooked by Mistress) and hot tea, followed by ice cream for dessert, all on a table covered with a lovely cloth and bedecked with candles. All the preparation paid off. The night ended with Mistress's friend giving Mistress a beautiful manicure and clear coating my nails as well. By that time I was so sleepy that Mistress ordered me to bed, and I fell asleep to the smell of popcorn as Mistress and her friend set up a movie to watch. After her friend left, Mistress tenderly came to bed and lay beside me. I slept rather well. *smiles*

The Life of a Slave - Day 11

Mistress is having a party tonight. Well, a get-together would be more like it, as she only has two guests – the submissive male who I mentioned in an earlier post, and a female friend who is also into the BDSM lifestyle. Mistress has already told me to plan tonight to leave her and the female friend alone in her bedroom after dinner and into the night, so I’ll be either sleeping with the male submissive or on the floor (or on the couch possible).

Mistress wants to make things as nice as possible for her female friend, and as a result I’ve been cleaning up the place since yesterday morning. We’re also moving to Longmont soon, and so we’re starting to prepare for that. Mistress isn’t the most thrilled with where we live now – a large trailer home in Frederick, a small farming town a good half hour from any type of city life – and she thinks we’d be much better off in the city. I like Longmont a lot, too, as it’s large enough to be complete in what it offers but it’s small enough to retain a beauty untarnished by urban sprawl. Mistress’s Master lives in Longmont, which she sees as an immediate advantage, but she’s repeatedly told me she doesn’t expect their relationship to last forever for a variety of reasons. She hasn’t explained the reasons in details, but it seems to be that his shallowness might be a large part of it.

My life continues to be almost non-stop busy. If I’m not doing the daily chores (laundry, dishes, etc.) I’m picking up in preparation for the move or I’m studying for potential employment. FYI, I got a computer science degree after high school because, after floundering around for years in college without having a clear goal, I decided I wanted to be a computer animator, and I mistakenly got a B.S. instead of getting a degree in graphical design, which is really what I needed to get into computer animation. To be honest, my parents would have refused, just like they did when I told them I hated engineering and I wanted to be an artist or a writer. My parents, who have both been dead for more than 10 years, controlled me like a puppeteer handles a marionette ever since I was a young girl, all the way into college. After a couple of unhappy years in computers I paid for my own way to get a second degree, this time in journalism, and I have about a decade of experience as a newspaper journalist as a result. After having children I returned to being a software developer, which I did for eight years until getting laid off more than a year ago. Getting the axe right at the start of the depression didn’t help things, but it seems the recession is finally over, and next week I have a job interview at a very established software company. I’m hedging my bet a bit by studying to be a copywriter, a new career that I hope will tide me over after my unemployment runs out in November. I took a class recently by a professional copywriter who said my journalism and technical experience together should make me a shoe-in to find companies wanting my services. We’ll see.

And there’s also my novel I need to finish. I got three-fourths of the way done with it and then stopped to take a break in the spring of last year. Fortunately, the novel will practically write itself to finish up, as I have an outline prepared and everything is in place to complete things. I just need to find the time and, more importantly, the drive.

The male submissive came over last night and took me to The Sanctuary, a professional BDSM hangout (dungeon) in Denver. I’m beginning to think he really is slave hearted, but he’s just forceful, in that he loves serving so much he practically demands that people allow him to serve. We met with the Master I talked about in a previous post, and things got a little weird for awhile. On the drive to the dungeon, I started feeling rather spacey, and fell asleep briefly. When I awoke, I felt almost feral, and I could strongly sense my wolf side. I didn’t feel submissive at all, and in fact felt a bit dominant toward the male submissive (who I’ll call “Ed” from now on). Okay, I felt very dominant toward him. Or maybe I was just annoyed at him. I’ll admit it – I have a prejudice against male submissives, especially male slaves. To me, that’s just not natural, and I tend not to like them. It’s a bias that I should overcome, but it still comes out. But that still doesn’t explain last night. Something was going on chemically, so I assume my hormones were out of whack last night. Or something. So, anyway, last night I decided to start ordering Ed around for awhile, and I was treating him like he was just property and I was to be obeyed without question. My orders were initially for things such as getting me food or coffee, but later I commanded him to get on a St. Andrew’s cross for flogging. The Master (who I’ll call “George”) found my behavior quite amusing, as did another live-in slave I met that night, but they both attributed it to the fact that I had earlier in the night talked about how I have sometimes online role-played being a dominant just to pleasure somebody who wanted to be bossed around. And, to be honest, Ed was loving every minute of it, judging from his reaction.

After Ed stripped off his clothes and got on the cross, Master George proceeded to teach me about how to safely and effectively flog somebody, and he brought out a very large selection of floggers made from everything from deer skin (which is extremely soft and causes almost no pain) to those made of caribou to those made of rope with sharply pointed barbed ends (ouch!). Not only did he demonstrate all of them on Edward, but he taught me to use them as well, and within an hour I was striking figure eight patterns up and down Edward’s back, buttocks and thighs. About halfway through, though, whatever was going on in my head faded away and I returned to normal, and I started feeling rather awkward doing what I was doing. I told nobody this and kept going because not only was it a rare educational experience, but especially because Edward (who is a masochist) clearly wanted me to continue. Also, Master George was telling me I was a very quick learner, and he also clearly was enjoying teaching me the new skill.

The image that kept going through my mind was from SecondLife of all things, back to a time in Treve when I was the Headmistress of the local kajira academy and I was whipping a disobedient slave girl. But fortunately such thoughts were only fleeting, and the reality of what was happening stuck in my mind much more deeply.

This morning it was revealed that my strikes against Edward cut through his skin, leaving several rakes of bloody welts below his shoulders. To him, not only were they a mark of pride, but he now seems to see me as somebody he wants to obey. After Mistress woke me this morning, she said Ed and she had talked, and from now on I am considered first girl of the household, and Ed is to be subservient to me at all times, to the point that he is to call me “Ma’am” or “Mistress.” I’ve been first girl enough times in SecondLife to be used to the idea, but it still came as a surprise that I’m still getting adjusted to.

Master George, by the way, seems rather enamored of me now. After the flogging session, he had me sit at his feet for hours while we talked about life, slavery, BDSM and the such. Okay, I’ll say it … I love him, and I think he loves me. But I also love my Mistress, of course, very much, and he loves his wife, of course, very much. What I feel for him is what a slave feels for a Master she adores, and I think the feeling from him is that in reverse. The good thing is Mistress really likes him, trusts him and deeply respects him, so much that she has said I am to treat him as a Master in all ways, and I have full permission to “play” with him and do whatever he commands in all respects. He is, naturally, quite happy to know that, and he wants to do things with Mistress and me on a regular basis – which thrills me to no end, not just because I’m nuts about him, but because he is extremely knowledgeable in so many ways. For example, he told me last night about a monthly high-protocol dinner held at the Sanctuary, and today he wrote me saying he wants Mistress and me to go so much that he’s willing to pay our admission costs and teach Mistress about the expected protocol ahead of time. I love protocol and ritual – it’s one of my favorite aspects of being a slave – and I can hardly wait!