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

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

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

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

Mistress was more fun, without a doubt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*giggles*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’ve experienced it all my life.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*smiles*

So, for now, and as always …

La kajira!!!


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

Therianthropy, species dysphoria, and my life as a dog

I'm a wolf in a human body.

No joke. No roleplaying. It's real.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

Several very intense hours.

Hours in which I wasn't human.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At least, that's what I experience.

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

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

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

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

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

Day 55 - On Writing a New Short Story, Not Writing My Novel, Wasting My Life in SecondLife, Having a Great Time with My Daughter at an Old West Celebration, Having a Nervous Breakdown After My Divorce, and Reading a Disturbing Erotic Tale

Two days ago I wrote a new short story, a transformational tale which anybody who’s read my previous blogs will recognize because basically I took some recent events in my life and turned them into a slice-of-life work of fantasy.

If you want to read it (and I hope you do) you can find it at: "An Untangling of Threads"

Yes, it’s not the longest story in the world, nor the most complex. But I had fun with it. I stayed up late and wrote it in one setting, and I’m rather pleased with it for what it is, no more and no less.

The pleasure I got from writing that makes me feel I truly need to get back to working on my novel. My dearly departed novel. For almost two years I worked religiously on it, and reached the final few chapters before … running out of steam. Well, that’s not the best description for what happened. In truth, I became distracted. After a year and a half absence, I rediscovered SecondLife. After my divorce in March of last year, I soon became more and more addicted to SecondLife, to the exclusion of my novel (and other pursuits). The death blow for my novel was when I was laid off in May of last year, and I sunk into a clinical depression which I’m only now finally clawing out of, almost a year and a half later. When that happened, my addiction to SecondLife became complete, and for almost a year it truly became my life, my escape from a reality I couldn’t emotionally face.

SecondLife is truly like a drug. I got into SecondLife because I couldn’t face reality. And because SecondLife seems so wonderful, it makes the real world seem awful by comparison. Well, it does when you’re addicted, when you find the real world to be one that you hate, and you lie awake at night wishing you were dead. That’s how I was back then. Fortunately, I’m much better now.

Still, though, even though I’m not addicted to SecondLife anymore, I’ve moved on. I’m a much different person because of what I’ve experienced. A year and a half ago I was planning on marrying a wonderful man in Kentucky who is half my age. Now I’m Owned by a Mistress with no plans to change my situation. That man I loved (and still love deeply) was a writer and was my editor, and he still desires to be that should I ever pick my novel back up.

Lately, though, I simply haven’t had time. No, of course, that’s not true. I simply haven’t made the novel a priority. Even as a slave, I’m sure I could write it, because my Mistress knows of it and would most likely approve.

I could have written in it tonight if not for SecondLife, of course. *sighs*

Yeah. I was in SecondLife tonight. I feel like I just finished a weird little vacation.

Mistress is out tonight with a female friend, attending a BDSM mixer “munch” in Longmont. Mistress’s Master will likely be there, so she gave me the full choice of whether I wanted to go or stay here and simply enjoy myself doing whatever I wanted.

If she had been alone, I would have gone with her, but I sensed she wanted to be with her female friend, and so … I stayed at home and undertook the guilty pleasure known as SecondLife.

*shrugs*

It’s not as intense as it used to be. But then, I was only in it for a few hours tonight, and I used to live in SecondLife for usually eight to twelve hours a day, every day.

I feel a bit tired and mentally exhausted, and I have a slight headache. I think I’ve gotten mentally out of shape in able to live in a virtual world for long periods of time.

Tonight I was a puppet – a marionette – like I have been the last few times I’ve been in SecondLife. I interacted with people on Doll Island, Doll Works and a store named “Dirty Dollies,” but the roleplaying wasn’t deep. Instead, it was like we were at a costume party, and all of us were having fun interacting with each other.

In contrast, when I would roleplay in Gor, I felt like I was really there, because the roleplaying was psychologically overwhelming at times.

Looking back, I find it amazing that I spent three hours in there tonight because so little happened. I chatted with people here and there and played a bit and talked about music, all while pretending to be a marionette. I had some fun with K-8 (the author of the blog at consciousobject.livejournal.com), and this time I was a bit more eloquent.

*shrugs again*

I did, however, get the chance to pass out a few copies of my new story.

So far nobody on www.stuckposting.com has commented at all on my story. Actually, they haven’t commented on anything I’ve written there. Oh, well.

Along with writing the story, most of my time the two days before today were taken up with moving. And, yes, we’re still not done yet. Not only are there still a lot of little (and not so little) things at the old house, but the new place is full of boxes stacked up on top of each other, and it still definitely needs a lot of work to become a normal house. I simply cannot imagine us moving again anytime soon at all.

Today was the day I spent with my kids. It went decently well. I hardly saw my son at all. He wanted to spend the day with a friend and not with me, and when he returned tonight, he didn’t want to talk to me. Something’s bothering him and I don’t yet know what it is, but I think it has something to do with the divorce.

When my ex and I divorced last year, we had stipulated joint custody in the agreement, with the kids being at my place and my ex’s place every other day. But the first night at my place, the kids wanted to go back home, and we let them. My ex got to keep the house, and to two young children, my apartment must have been a scary place. Well, they soon got used to it because my ex made it clear that we weren’t going to “traumatize” the kids by forcing them to do something upsetting to them regarding the divorce. Being so submissive, I gave in. Then I started falling into the clinical depression, the first serious signs hitting even before I was laid off, and my ex and I decided that the children should stay at their old place most of the time because my emotional condition wasn’t best for them. I gave in and … it became the norm. During this last summer I was seeing my kids almost every other day, but they haven’t slept under the same roof with me since my divorce a year and a half ago. As things are now, because of all that’s going on (particularly with the move), during the last month I’ve usually only seen my kids one day a week, and only for around eight hours each of those days, more or less. My ex sometimes complains about having the kids too much, but all-in-all I think my ex wants the kids to get used to me not being around. I should be fighting it but … I don’t know how. Part of me agrees because I’m still mentally unstable. But I miss my kids so much some times I can’t stop crying.

I’m not the only slave in this situation. I know of another slave in the Denver area a little younger than I am who only sees her children about once a month. I don’t know her situation, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s sadly similar.

Well, today was a lot of fun with my seven-year-old daughter, at least. We went to the annual Pumpkin Festival at Four Mile Historic Park in Denver, which celebrates life in Colorado’s pioneer days. I dressed up in my pseudo-Old-West clothes (tall boots, a long brown dress, a white button-up blouse and a tan frilled shawl), and I had expected my daughter to do the same because she also loves Old West stuff, but instead she went as a cat – which for her meant wearing a great sweatsuit with a nametag she made that says she’s a member of the “council of cats”. She was, naturally, adorable the whole time. *smiles* We rode on a really bumpy ride in a covered wagon, and ate sugar cookies from a wood-burning stove, and talked with fur trappers (*sighs and grumbles*), and drank root beer, and listened to silly music, and played with antique toys, and I learned to walk on stilts and my daughter was in a sack race and a “carry-the-egg-in-the-spoon” race, and (my daughter’s favorite part) we panned for gold using real equipment, and I taught her (and a bunch of other kids there) techniques an actual gold panner taught me years ago, and my daughter brought home several large chunks of (fool’s) gold at the end of the day! So even though I don’t see my kids a lot, at least I try to make my time with them as good as possible.

Well, Mistress just came back, so I’d better get this logged and get to bed. We’re going over tomorrow morning to play with two of her submissive friends, and even though I may not be playing that much, I need to get some sleep.

Oh … I was going to talk about the fact that the married couple came over again the day before yesterday with Mistress’s Master, and they all did things I’m not privy to inside of Mistress’s bedroom. I do know Mistress’s was forced to suck her Master’s cock in front of the couple as his way of showing off his property to them.

And I know that I had to give Mistress an enema before the couple arrived. Which brings up a rather gross topic I was going to cover in this entry, but I’ll save it for next time.

Until then, toodles!

La kajira!!!

p.s. With any luck, as I try to sleep I won’t be thinking tonight about a disturbing short story I read online tonight about an intelligent woman who is gradually turned into an ultra-horny imbecile with a body so super feminine it’s a pure caricature. The woman hates what’s happening because she has a family and friends and is a college swimmer, but it’s done purely because of the psychopathic desires of a crazed woman who traps her into the process. I know some people really get turned on by such stories, and I have to admit that I’m turned on, but in a way that’s very disturbing and may possibly give me nightmares tonight.

I can’t read a story and think “it’s just a story.” To me, fiction and reality often blur in my mind, at least in my emotional responses. But then, I admit I’m not the most emotionally healthy woman on the planet.

Day 52 - On Depression, Money Issues, Power Exchange, Car Problems, Marionettes and Paying Things Forward

I hate having clinical depression. And, yes, I’ve got it. And most likely, Aspeger’s Syndrome, which is like being autistic except being able to function in society. Actually, it’s exactly like that, because that’s what it is. Oh, and I also suffer mood disorders to the level that my psychologist believes I suffer low-level bi-polarism. So, yeah, my brain’s fucked up. I’ve read the blogs of a few other full-time slaves, and a lot of them suffer similar problems. Am I saying that you have to be screwed in the head to be a slave? No, not at all. But I do think that people who have problems dealing with the complexities of life sometimes find solace in being able to give control to somebody they trust.

Depression sucks. Imagine walking down the street and suddenly tasting extremely strong espresso while you’re eating a hamburger. Or hearing the clash of cymbals while listening to a violin concerto. Today I was feeling wonderful about life, and I was thinking of how I’m blessed in so many ways – and I suddenly started feeling overwhelmingly sad and burst into tears, and felt that way for a long time.

It also hit last night … which sucked big time. Mistress knows how much I’ve been wanting to get tied up, but she hasn’t done it in earnest, and so last night she decided to give me a treat. She tied my hands to my knees with me lying in bed, and then tied my wrists together so I couldn’t move, and proceeded to take a dildo to my vagina and a vibrator to my clit and ... I didn’t enjoy it because I had been suffering a low-level depression all day. Being tied up and lightly tortured is supposed to be a weird release based around the discomfort being turned into a thrill, but ... my depression kept that from happening, and instead I started crying. And the fact I didn’t enjoy what Mistress did for me greatly disappointed her, and the fact I wasn't enjoying it pissed the hell out of me because I had been wanting for a long time for Mistress to tie me up, and the fact that it happened on a night I wasn't emotionally stable made me even more depressed. Mistress says she’ll tie me up again someday here, but she doesn’t know when. *sighs*

Asperger’s causes me to feel incredibly confused and scared when I’m in a situation that’s overly chaotic, and as a result I feel like running away and hiding. And if I can’t run away, I get all upset and angry. Basic fight or flight syndrome exhibited by a wild animal in a tense situation. And being bi-polar shifts me up and down without control.

Mistress knew all that about me when she collared me. And she took me in anyway. Which is why, despite the problems we may have, I love her dearly.

And, yes, we do have problems. Definitely.

For example, today Mistress reminded me that I’ll need to pay my half of the rent soon. As things are, I pay for the cable and Internet bills, half the rent and another $75 for storage space away from the house. Mistress pays for heating, water and half the rent. And yet, my possessions take up only a small fraction of the house – a few boxes in the garage and a few boxes in an upstairs room. And I have pretty much no say regarding finances or any of the big matters, such as the fact we moved out of the old house into this townhome. Plus, as a slave, I’m doing most of the chores around the house, and I provide Mistress with sexual pleasure whenever she desires. We’re both on unemployment, but Mistress is able to work odd jobs for extra cash here and there, while I can’t. Even more, my duties as a slave sometimes get a little in the way of my search for employment.

Do I feel like my submissiveness and slave heart are being exploited? Yes, sometimes I do. Maybe.

In a non-fiction book entitled, “Separating Fact from Fiction: The Life of a Consensual Slave in the 21st Century” By Shannon Reilly, she says, “As equals, the members of a consensual slavery relationship will exchange power with each other, giving and taking that power in a constant flow. Power is neither created nor destroyed in power exchange relationships. Rather two equals remain equal while power flows between them.”

Mistress controls my life to a large degree. Not as much as I want, but she does impart control. And she takes responsibility for me, taking care of my needs. I’d prefer the relationship was much stronger, in that I could totally give up myself and almost all control in exchange for being able to be nothing but a slave almost all the time. Mistress, however, doesn’t want that. She told me tonight she still struggles with the word “slave” (despite all the talks we had a month ago), and she doesn’t think we’ll ever be in a situation where she’ll support me financially. *sighs* Such is life. Mistress is the best Owner I’ve found, and the only one where the mutual attraction has been strong enough to result in us living together, so I should count my blessings, without a doubt. There might be a better Owner out there for me, and there might be a better slave out there for Mistress. But, for now, we’re going to try our darn best to make this work for as long as possible. The way Mistress puts it, she and I satisfy each other’s needs, and that’s why things work. I hope so.

For a while today I was confused about Mistress, because she seemed to be both too much of a sadist and too concerned with not hurting me at the same time. Communication solved the puzzle. The answer was simple. See, she loves to pinch my nipples really hard until I cringe, and she loves to spank me unexpectedly. Yet, last night, when she tied me up for fun (as I mentioned earlier), she started to ram a silicon dildo in my pussy, but wouldn’t do it for fear of hurting me. And when my arms started getting a little sore when I was tied up the other day (for the benefit of the couple that had visited), she immediately untied me, even though I didn’t want her to. She said the difference is that with nipple pinches and spanking, she knows she won’t do permanent damage. It’s “known territory.” But with thrusting large things into my genitalia or potentially hurting my arm muscles, she said it’s “unknown territory” in which she’s afraid of causing actual damage to her property. So Mistress is a bit of a sadist, but she’s a caring one, in that she wants to keep her property safe and in good shape. Which is perfectly fine with me. *grins*

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

I’m not automotive savvy, I hate to say. Mistress got me hooked up with a male friend who said he could fix my car for cheap. Well, turns out one of the belts was broken, and he replaced it and another that was frayed for $25 plus the cost of the belts. It was a great deal ... except suddenly I don’t have power steering, and I had had it before he started working on it.

Mistress just got off the phone with him. She knows cars pretty well, and she was able to talk shop with him. She can’t think of anything he could have done wrong, but she’s going to look under my hood to check his work tomorrow. I just know I have my car working again, but it’s suddenly hard as hell to turn the wheel, and I don’t trust the abilities of Mistress’s friend. Whatever the case, Mistress said she’ll deal with it.

Mistress had car problems of her own today and called to me for help. She rear-ended a pickup, which bent up the fender of her own pickup like crazy and hardly damaged the other person’s truck. She was so shaken up afterward she couldn’t drive, and she was a half hour from home. She called me first and then called her Master, and her Master happened to respond first, and he agreed to take her home, and she asked me to drive down and move her car somewhere safe. I decided she really needed something to calm her down, and I made an Irish coffee (whiskey, hot cream, sugar and coffee) and started driving down to see her. Half-way there she called and said her Master would handle everything, but she did gladly imbibe the hot toddy when she got home tonight, and she’s feeling quite relaxed at the moment, so I figure I did my proper duties as best I could. *shrugs and slightly grins*

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

One a final note about money, a couple of nice things happened the last few days.

Today I was in the supermarket and I bought a cooked chicken for dinner for five bucks. Then when I checked out, I realized to my frustration that I had left my money wallet at home and so it wasn’t in my purse, and I had to tell the clerk to void the sale. Well, an extremely nice man who was a total stranger overheard the conversation, and he asked what happened, and he very generously pulled a five-dollar bill out of his billfold and said he’d pay for my purchase. Talk about shock on my part! I was extremely grateful and told him I’d pay it forward and return the good deed to somebody else, and he just told me with a smile not to worry about it!

And last weekend I wrote to the makers of the blond marionette I have and told them I was working on a play that I want to perform for kids in the community at libraries and schools, and they wrote me back and told me they would sell me any of their marionettes at wholesale prices, which is truly a great deal!

Oh, yeah ... I’m working on a play! In the back of a great little book on creating marionettes (“Marionettes: How to Make and Work Them” by Helen Fling) is a quite simple and quite short puppet play, and I liked it so much I’ve been working on enhancing it into a complete one-person production. I’ll need to create some backdrops and the puppet stage along with finishing up writing the play, but I was concerned about making the necessary marionettes, and now that I can get six great storybook marionettes professionally made for cheap, I’m pretty darn happy about the whole thing!

And that’s how I’m going to try and pay things forward ... by writing and performing a marionette play for local children that not only encourages environmental awareness but also has a strong, brave, smart heroine. Wish me luck!

~~~~~~~~~~~

Before I sign out today, I wanted to mention a well-written blog by another live-in consensual slave, entited: Diary of a Contented BDSM Slave. I made a posting there today in response to her feelings of unease at how her Master took care of her physically when she was recently sick in bed. Here’s a snippet of what I wrote:

It's not easy being taken care of, indeed. I've known of more than one Master/slave relationship that fell apart because the Master truly enjoyed doing certain "chores" (such as cooking gourmet meals), and the slave felt indignation at seeing her Owner doing things for her that she felt she should be doing for him.

It all comes down to communication in the end. Sometimes, truly, the best way to serve is to allow yourself to be served.

When a Master serves his slave, he's not being less dominant in any way. He's likely being warm and loving. And he's also likely taking care of his property, as others have said.

If one's Master spent hours carefully polishing a beautiful sculpture, or repairing it should a piece fall off, is that being submissive? No, of course not. He's simply doing maintenance on his property.

And taking care of you when you're sick is him doing maintenance on you, his slave.

I pray that you get well soon, my sister. You'll be in our thoughts.

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!!!