Personal Service

Today's topic from Syr is to write about a new rule that She recently implemented for me to provide some small bit of personal 'service' for her every night.

I don't write about it much, anymore, but I have some pretty intense triggers to past stuff that really gets in the way of my ability to provide physical service in the 'touching' category. I love doing service things for my Syr ... but I tend to freeze up/lock up when I feel it's expected.

If Syr says "My neck is really stiff", for example, I perceive an expectation to rub it or give Her a backrub. I LOVE giving my Syr massages and backrubs, mind you, but once I feel it's expected, I can't bring myself to do it. I should point out here, though, that expectation and an order are two very different things. It's the more 'passive' type of expectation that really messes me up.

The passive "my neck hurts" locks me up in two ways: first I freeze and can't 'act' once the 'expectation' is there and then I feel guilty because I know I SHOULD be wanting to massage my Syr when She needs it especially. If She isn't directly ordering me, though, I find ways/excuses/reasons not to, and end up spiraling into a thought pattern of guilt/shame which locks me up even more.

Syr and I discussed this quite a lot the other day and the result of that discussion is that Syr is going to require some bit of personal service whether that is a back or shoulder rub, a mini mani or pedi to keep Her nails trimmed, or whatever, but some form of touch.

I have mixed feelings about this new rule. I'm really glad that Syr is finding a way to work with me on this, and to help me get past it. I'm also terrified of 'locking up' every day, too. I need firmness and I think I'm worried that I'll make excuses and that She will let me get away with that. I can't get past it if She doesn't hold Her ground so I'm afraid of that. Mostly I get nervous about failing at a task or succeeding at manipulating my way out of a task.

Syr has started instituting some strict behavior guidelines and I'm finding the minor corrections on behavior, tone, and such to be very grounding. I feel loved and cherished and very safe. But I also feel like She's pushing me a little, in that healthy and healing way that only a good Top/Dom/Master/Syr seems to know how to do right.

And I'm grateful.

Coping

Coping as a lifestyle choice vs. coping strategies forget through tough life situations.

Syr asked me to write on this topic after a heavy discussion we had on Saturday morning about certain coping tools that I have. Syr wanted to hear my thoughts on the differences between coping strategies to get through a situation or situations and coping as a way to get through life.

I think the major difference lies in the ability to learn and grow and improve your life, to take responsibility for your own happiness.

Coping as a lifestyle choice, in my opinion, is making a conscious decision to do only what it takes to get by from one moment to the next. It's like choosing to do the very minimum required to keep from going stark raving mad. It doesn't really address solutions or making changes to improve the situation so that coping isn't necessary.

I've known, intimately, people who choose to live life by coping. They tend to be unhappy, in general, and are often convinced that they have no control over their situation. Hell - for a while I was like that myself.

As I've learned, grown, developed as a person, I've discovered my ability to take responsibility for my life, my happiness, my personal well-being.

There are parts of me that feel bruised, damaged or broken. Syr often reminds me that I'm strong, that I've come a long way, and that I'm constantly improving. Sometimes I find it difficult to see those improvements, and I start to feel like certain things will never get any better. Syr finds real examples to prove that they have been and are continuing to get better.

I've developed several coping mechanisms. Some of these coping mechanisms were subconsciously developed over time to protect me from certain types of abuse or mistreatment. Some of them were to keep me from having to step outside my comfort zone. Regardless, these coping tools make me feel like I'm not 'good enough'. I feel like I am handicapped in certain areas, crippled from being able to do the things I wish I could. Syr points out that the difference between coping as a tool and coping as a lifestyle lies in my desire to overcome the things that hold me back in whatever ways that I can.

There are no guarantees but at least I know that even though it's 'coping', it's temporary.... not permanent victim-hood.

Writing again...

Thanks to some functions and Freeware that I have recently discovered on my Palm Pilot, I now have the ability to write entries just about anywhere and just copy and paste them into my blog, rather than trying to sit at my computer witth very little privacy and try to focus.

I also now have the ability to download and read RSS feeds on my palm, which means that (finally) Syr can read my posts without having to be at the privacy-less computer! This has opened up some possibilities for us. It also means probably more posting! Yay! Of course it also means that I get to finally keep up on reading my favourite kinky blogs!!! It's so hard to read them with teenage boys hovering wondering whenit will be their turn at the computer.

This intellectual 'side' of Syr and my D/s has always been important to us and, interestingly, hardest to maintain after we moved in together due to the lack of privacy.

The first is that so Syr has said that She does want to start seeing me writing on topics again. That's starting with Luna's Submissive Journal Prompts (see my blog's sidebar for the link!)

This week, I'll just respond to one, and we'll see how it goes.

Are you a perfectionist? How do you think this affects your service?

Absolutely, I am a perfectionist! And it definitely affects my service.

I am constantly worried about making sure that what I do is done 'just so'. This also means that I tend to 'serve' in any formal way at all unless I am SURE I can go all out. This means, I suppose, that Syr misses out on quite a lot of service in the long run.

I love giving Syr massages, pedicures, manicures, cutting Her hair for Her, cooking for Her, making Her coffee, etc. But I tend NOT to step in and do those things unless I can do them to the utmost. If I can't do a full blown massage with oil and go at it for a while, I don't offer. If I can't give a full foot bath with the pedicure, I don't offer.

I've never really thought that much about how my belief that "it has to go a certain way" really affects the service Syr gets from me.

It's something that I want to work on. I am sure that Syr would appreciate a backrub, even without 'the works' and I'm sure She would appreciate a pedicure, even if it was only nail care and a foot rub.

So it is definitely something I want to work on, especially since Syr and I are trying to find ways to get that D/s energy more frequently.

Public Play Party on Friday

Last Friday night, Syr took me to a local kinky queer women's play party. We went with our friends t & R.

I had been looking forward to it SO much! We don't often get the opportunity to play in a way that makes *noise* so I was really excited! I could tell Syr was too. It was absolutely thrilling watching Her pack our bag for the items we'd need for the evening. She brought the clothes-clips, the flogger, rope, collar, cuffs, leash, crop..... *swoon*

At the last moment I thought to bring a couple thick, fuzzy towels because I remembered the floor from the hall where the party was taking place was hard, with no soft spots suitable for kneeling.

Once we got there, the first thing I did was lay out those towels and kneel at my Syr's feet. Words can't even begin to describe how completely incredible that felt. Doing that publically is a rare treat and I was loving it. Syr locked Her collar around my neck and put my wrist cuffs on. She put the ankle cuffs on at first but took them off again so I could kneel more comfortably.

We watched the play for a while, and I enjoyed chatting a bit with t while Syr and R chatted a bit as well. It was interesting to see the Dom/sub dynamics at work in that way.

At one point, 'Closer' by NIN came on, and I just melted. Syr put my blindfold on and whispered terribly naughty things in my ear while I listened to the music thumping.

Almost immediately after we'd arrived at the hall, Syr had noticed a rack, but instead of a St. Andrew's Cross or grid/rack style, it was in the shape of a pentagram, a 5 pointed star. We both loved the look/feel of it and She was dying to get me onto it. But, the people using it were playing for a LONG time...

After a bit, Syr got impatient, and removed my top. She pulled out the clothes-clips then and I knew what She had in mind.

The twist was sitting very still and handing her the clips, one at a time while She placed them all over my breasts. When She was done, I was sinking and sinking, feeling all mellow and quiet and as usually happens when I drop into subspace, I got tunnel vision and there was only Her with me there. Everyone else just falls away.

She walked me around a bit on my leash, topless except the clothes-clips that covered my breasts...

But mostly I knelt at Her feet and felt Her knees at my back, or faced Her, letting my hands rest on Her strong denim-clad thighs, or I laid my cheek on Her knee.

When the equipment became available, Syr led me to it, and we quickly discovered that my clothes-clipped breasts fit perfectly into a gap in the frame at the center of the pentagram. She was thrilled She didn't have to take them off yet and promptly went to work on my back.

As usually happens within a scene, the actual details are fuzzy. I was shaky from the clothes clips before Syr even delivered the first blow to my back and shoulders. I remember She started with Her hands, and used Her belt and the crop a little. But mostly She used the flogger... and it was absolutely amazing.

We 'created' a system on the fly last night for communicating where I am at pain wise as playing in public is not something We do often. We always use Red as a default safeword but there are all those inbetweens...

She put my hands way above my head and told me to drop them if I need Her to stop. What I found myself doing was lowering them a little when it got a little too intense, and She'd lighten up, and then raise them when I was in a 'green' place pain-wise.

It worked SO well and because of that silent communication, She got me to that 'sweet zone' so easily and quickly, part of which I attribute to the prior warm-up of sorts with the clothes clips but hey.. it was still awesome!

Halfway through, She took off the clothes clips... I always forget how much they hurt coming off! Yeowch! But a good yeowch!

At the end, my legs were so shaky I could barely support myself. She led me back to the kneeling place to come down with some gentle, loving after-care.

My sub-space bled into the next couple of days. I was soft and floaty and happy and melty for several days. And Syr ...definitely enjoyed that.

All in all, it was a delicious experience and we took from it several more ideas and cravings for quiet private play.

Ashamed

I am deeply ashamed.

Burning hot tears keep escaping from my eyes, unbidden, even as I try to make it through my work day.

I know this is not what Syr wants. I know She doesn't want me spiralling this badly, and yet knowing that I did a bad thing, a forbidden thing makes me ache with self-dissapointment and guilt.

Syr enjoyed yesterday's post very much. Afterwards, She tormented me a little... again stopping at an odd moment when I desperately wanted the torture to continue, even knowing the ultimate answer to my pleas would still be No.

The hardest part has been craving the torment of being brought to the edge and left dangling there. I've craved that almost more than the prize itself. Last night, She dropped me, reminded me I was Hers, took me to that little place and held me safely in Her embrace until my tears subsided. She has remained consistent in Her promise to deny me release until the night of our Anniversary.

The last couple of mornings, I have awakened and, in my still half-asleep state, reached instinctively between my legs to try to relieve the pressure and throbbing that I wake with each day. And so yesterday, Syr said that perhaps I should sleep in my cuffs that night.

When it was time for sleep, I reminded Her, asking Her if I could sleep in my cuffs, not trusting my own bleary morning instincts to betray Her wishes. She obliged and put my cuffs on, clipping them together, and I slept that way for the night.

This morning when I woke, She unclipped me and sent me to take a shower and get ready for work. She stayed in bed, dozing, as She works later than me today.

I remember stumbling into the bathroom, bleary-ided and undressing, hopping in the shower and starting to wash.

As I held the showerhead and aimed it lower, to wash, tiny little streams of water drummed on that throbbing and urgent part of me and, without even thinking, I switched the showerhead setting to the piercing, three-jet intense direct spray and held it, aimed carefully, quite a ways away and leaned back against the shower wall, losing myself in the feeling of the water pummeling so ruthlessly against that ultra-sensitive part of me.

I wasn't thinking, I was just feeling, and even though I wasn't thinking through my actions, I was still very much aware of the fact that I was not allowed to seek release.

And yet I was revelling in the torment. I could never find release this way anyway, I figured it was safe, standing there in the shower feeling the tiny pulses of pleasure shoot through me like little dancers playing upon my nerve endings.

I knew it was naughty. I knew that Syr would not want me playing at all. Somewhere inside me I knew all of that, but it didn't stop me. It should have... I'd like to think that it *would* have under normal circumstances. But... it didn't.

I was losing myself in the sensation of the water pounding aginst me, when a particularly strong pulse shot through me.

I pulled the water away from me and froze.

I didn't.

I couldn't have.

It didn't FEEL like an orgasm usually feels to me. But it was an undeniably strong 'pulse' that I couldn't just chalk up to ordinary sensation either. I wasn't sure. I'm still not sure.

I hadn't tensed my muscles like I always have to, and I hadn't braced myself and it didn't have aftershocks of any kind (like it normally would).

But I knew it was possible. I had to finish washing and getting ready for work. Syr was dozing and I had to go or risk being late.

I turned everything over and over again in my mind during my short drive to work.

I am most ashamed to admit that I actually *decided* I didn't need to tell Syr. I didn't want to let Her down, dissapoint Her. I figured I was allowed a secret... everyone has at least one. I always tell Syr everything - every thought, every deed (good or bad), every hope and wish, dream and need. But I figured, this... this I could keep from Her.

By the time I got to work, I had firmly assured myself that it would be my little secret.

And just at the same moment I truly *decided* to keep it a secret, the shame and guilt washed over me. It was in that moment that I felt I had betrayed Her. It was that moment that made me realize I *had* to tell Her what happened.

I felt panic choke me at the idea that I almost kept something from Her, the One I trust with my life. I felt pain constrict my heart as I raced from my desk to call Her on Her cell phone, knowing I had 10 minutes to catch Her before She started work.

The second I confessed, tears started falling. I couldn't fall apart, not here, not at the office, but it was hard not to.

The tone in Syr's voice when I said I have a confession to make shook me to my core. She knew as soon as the words were out of my mouth. She knew.

I gave her the short version of the details and explained I wasn't really *sure* if it was anything. The truth is that my self-torment in the shower has only awakened me even more and put me in an alarming state of need. I don't feel the least bit sated. But mostly I wanted to let Her know that I wanted... needed.. to atone for my wrongdoing.

She demanded a formal apology - for the act of playing at all. She had made it clear that She didn't want me touching, playing and for precisely that reason - that something might 'happen'.

To play at all was a direct act of defiance. I wasn't thinking through my actions at the time, only on a yearning for a physical sensation. It was raw and animalistic and completely disrespectful of my Syr's wishes.

There are many reasons I feel ashamed, but the biggest was the betrayal. In my innermost thoughts and my heart, I could never hide anything from Syr. Our complete honesty and trust is the foundation for our relationship, our dynamic, and our marriage.

My body burns hotter for Syr, not less, and I know that this constant state of wanting that I awakened by my actions this morning is only one part of the punishment for disobedience. My intense guilt and shame and the knowledge that I let my Syr down is also one part of my own punishment.

Never before did I feel this level of true *real* submission and surrender to another person. It's real. It's not something being played at. The emotions and desires, the needs and the energy exchange are all very real. The knowledge that I am owned is with me always. I have a symbol of Syr's ownership of me permanently tattooed on my flesh and Syr wears a symbol of Her ownership of me tattooed onto her skin as well.

Just like so many other things in life, I'm going to screw up, and let Her down sometimes. But no words can ever describe how much it hurts to dissapoint the One I seek only to please and make proud.

Writing this all out to be read and judged by Dominants and fellow submissives and slaves alike is a form of self-punishment. Syr didn't ask me to do so. But I felt I deserved to feel the reproach of others with such a blatant act of disobedience.

And now, my apology:

Beloved Syr,

I'm not sure words can express how deeply and truely sorry I am for my disobedient acts this morning, nor the defiant thoughts that filled my mind immediately afterwards.

I will tell you that I have never felt as ashamed of myself as I do now, and I know you believe that I speak the truth.

I tried to express what happened, and my feelings as best as I could in the above post and hope that it helps You see inside of me in the ways that You need to know how to go forward.

I know You have probably not yet decided what punishment, if any that You will administer but please know that I will accept anything You decide with nothing but perfect love and perfect trust.

I am sorry, Syr.

I am always and forever Yours,
~alena

Desperate

So, I have a list of topics to refer to for my Wednesdayh and Saturday writing assignments. However, something told me that Syr would most want to hear about this topic instead this week.

~*~*~*~

It was the day after one of the most phenomal nights that Syr and I had shared in some time.

I had spent the day reminiscing, reliving, replaying the events that had transpired the previous night. By the time I got home from work, I had worked myself up into quite a state and was so little I could barely stand up straight. When Syr got home, She smiled that smile at me that told me She enjoyed finding me in that state.

It was at roughly that moment when She made it clear to me that I was not going to experience an orgasm again until our anniversary weekend.

That was Thursday.

It hasn't even been a week yet, and I only have to make it until Saturday night... and yet it feels like it's been AGES and that there are ages yet to go.

The weekend was terribly difficult but somehow I squeaked through. And yet now, looking back, the weekend seems easy as pie by comparison to how I'm feeling right now.

I often wonder if my drive is even remotely normal. I feel as if I've always been hungry and needy like this and like I always will be. I know that's not necessarily a bad thing...

And yet if I wasn't so hungry for Her, so desperately yearning to feel Her covering me, taking me, driving into me, claiming me as Hers.... then maybe this would be easier.

Sometime this last weekend I was desperate enough that I begged Her to touch me, even knowing She was going to torture me. I needed Her even if it meant driving myself further over the brinks of desperate longing. My goading and begging got me exactly what I wanted and it was as delicious as it was unsatisfying.

I found myself whispering my pleas against Her mouth as She kissed me, Her fingers moving deftly over my swollen, throbbing clit, and then inside of me, teasing, stroking, lighting every nerve in my body on fire.

I whispered things I never dreamed I would. I begged Her to take me to the edge and stop, to leave me aching for Her. I wanted Her to be cruel, to get me right.... there... and then stop.. just because She could. I wanted to feel owned and I wanted the reminder that is She and She always who decides when and in what form my pleasure took.

While I am sure She enjoyed my begging, Syr stopped after it went on for a few minutes. She stopped even before getting me to that edge - because ultimately She is the one who decides how and when She starts or stops.

I think I found that more frustrating than anything.

It seems that ever since She told me I was going to have to wait, I have been edgy, cranky and also ridiculously little.

It just snowballs every day.

But today I am in an emotional place where I am near tears constantly.

I need the release and comfort and pleasure and free-falling, sinking, overwhelming surrender that only my Syr can give me.

Four more nights to sleep through without the soft shudders of my body's aftershocks to coax me to sleep.

Four more full days to be productive at work or at home, to get done what needs to get done and to do so without completely falling apart for want of my Syr's touch.

I'm not sure I'm going to be able to make it... not without just falling at my Syr's feet, a quivering mass of hot tears and aching need.

Time has never moved so slowly before.

Keeping track of daily tasks

This is a very short post. My writing assignment will be posted later today or tomorrow.

But I had to share this fun and very interesting new way that Syr and I have found for tracking my daily tasks.

It's here if you want to see it.

It's designed for splitting up household chores among family members in a roleplay game-type setting but all the treasures, monsters, and so forth are completely customizeable.

You can see what this 'looks' like here.

There you can see what tasks I have logged. In my case I'm not messing with the attributes but each task has a set amount of gold that can be earned and each task has a specific set of treasures that could be happened upon (50% chance of finding treasure) and all are very ... D/s oriented.

This way, Syr doesn't have to find the privacy to specifically ask me what I completed that day and perhaps we could also work out consequences (negative and positive) but at least now there's a way Syr can check in at any time to see how I'm doing. ;)

Naked.

Syr and I took a walk this evening, and as we were strolling, Syr told me about a news blurb She'd caught on a national news network today.

The story is easily summarized in one sentence:
A woman was seen going into a convenience store and purchasing a pack of cigarettes wearing nothing but high heeled shoes and a necklace before climbing into the passenger seat of a ferrari just before the car sped away.

She let me think about this for a moment, turning it over in my mind a little as Her eyes glinted slyly. She smiled as the potential implications washed over me.

Nothing but a "necklace" and a pair of high heeled shoes, hmm?

Obviously it could be any wealthy man and his girlfriend's kinky fantasy, as the image of a nude woman wearing a necklace is probably erotic for a great many people.

But the implications that instantly occurred to the both of us were much more exciting to entertain:

~That the "necklace" was more than just a piece of jewelry, but a symbol of ownership.
~That the woman who went to purchase cigaerrettes was purchasing them for her Master... or Mistress.
~That the trip to the store was a test of obedience and service, rather than random thrill-seeking.

Syr asked me to put myself in her shoes (so to speak). How I would feel if it were me, if all the social, legal, and ethical considerations of the situation were not there, leaving me unfettered.

Being nude is something that makes me feel particularly vulnerable, even in private. Being exposed to Syr while She examines me, or grooms me, or looks closely at my most secret places is one thing that drops me into one of the most intense little space that I can experience. The idea of being nude in public at Syr's command.... well the very thought makes me tremble inside, clench with blissful wishful thinking, blush with the heat of being forced to do something so unnatural to my shy self, and quake with fear.

The idea of being able to be obvious about my slavery is incredibly appealing and intoxicating. It's not possible nor ethical nor appropriate for society as it exists today and given our personal situation, but the idea of a society where it is acceptable is nothing but thrilling to think about.

I would adore living in a society where I could walk several steps behind Syr, my thick leather collar around my neck, a chain leash dangling from my throat to the leather handle around Her wrist for a casual walk down the street.

For now, I will content myself with the subtle and intense energy of our exchange and with the anticipation of a weekend alone for our first wedding anniversary in 12 days.... a weekend when we can explore and enjoy some more 'obvious' D/s time together.

Feeling Her

"Describe how it feels to feel my marks at "inappropriate" times?"

I should clarify that when Syr assigned this particular topic, She clarified that "inappropriate" is referring to times like when I am at work, or doing more mundane, non D/s related activities.

Marking me has become something that Syr does regularly now. Not often, by any means, but definitely regularly. We both enjoy the effects both during the scene and for days afterwards and the spaces I reach as a result of Her knife on my back.

Recently, we both got tattoos which symbolize our relationship to each other. Mine features symbology which identifies me as queer, a femme, and as Her property. Hers identifies Her as queer, a butch, and as my Owner.

My tattoo is on my back, near the top of it, creeping up onto the back of my neck, a place that holds significance as Syr often grips the back of my neck right in that very spot, and used to mark me in that spot on my upper back. Now, She marks me slightly lower, underneath the tattoo.

She got a new knife, razor sharp a couple weeks ago. She marked me with it and we both loved the sensation, though because it was so sharp, it left very clean smooth lines which stung only right after, but healed VERY quickly (within 24 hrs, all sting was gone).

Formerly, I would feel the 'sting' for days. So we're shopping for a knife that while sharp, is not TOO sharp. What we do isn't cutting, it's more like scratching.

As to the topic, what I am used to is feeling the sting for days afterwards on my back. I'd feel Her marks when my shirt brushed my back, or when I pressed or leaned back against a chair. When I wanted to remind myself, I'd reach back and run my fingers lightly over the raised lines that lingered.

A few weeks ago, I was having a very stressful time at work, and whenever I felt overwhelmed, I would lean back in my chair to feel that light sting on my back, reminding myself that I belong to Her, that I'm cared for and safe. It was reassuring and thrilling, simultaneously.

It can also be exciting, to sit in a meeting with coworkers and feel the physical sensation that reminds me that while I am confident and powerful within my work, I also am a full time slave.

So there is a thrill aspect, as well as a comforting aspect. It is like walking around all day with a delicious secret that is all my own. I suppose one could compare it to wearing no underwear and going out to a fancy dinner. It's a naughty secret, a 'taboo' secret. And it feels wicked.

And that definitely appeals to the bad-girl parts of me!

Written Rules

Describe how you feel about having written rules?

Today's assignment (well, technically yesterday's, I'm a day late) is to discuss my feelings on written rules.

This came about because within the last couple of weeks, Syr has created a list of rules. These rules are still being tweaked but is the most extensive list we've ever had between us.

Among them are :
~Call my mother once/week
~Greet Syr with "Good morning, Syr" every morning
~Make the bed every day
~Cook home-made meals twice/week (minimum)
~Complete writing assignments twice/week (once by Wed, another by Sat at 10pm)
~Elliptical machine at least four times/week plus one other cardio activity at least once/week
~Meditatione for 5 minutes every day

And there are others...

But how do I feel about them? I love them, want them, need them, crave them.

I crave and need the structure that comes with rules, but only when they are enforced. A rule given and not followed up on can be really degrading to the dynamic and to the relationship.

Ultimately -- I'm thrilled with the list of rules.

I need to find more ritual in my day again, rituals that are geared to help me be healthier and happier and also rituals that are geared towards reminding me of my place in Syr's world, of Her posession of me.

I think these will help with that. And that, above all else, is what I am most pleased about.

Frustration

"Tell me about something that frustrates you."

Oh ... sure. Easier said than done!

It's easy to write with glowing praise about my Syr. I am well cared for, well groomed, and incredibly blessed to have someone in my life who is so attuned to my needs, my desires, my triggers, and all the other parts of me.

But it is far more challenging to write about the less than perfect aspects of my experience serving Her.

But - that is my task, so here goes.

---

I think it's normal for there to be frustration within any relationship, but perhaps even more so within the realms of a relationship that is molded by a power exchange of any kind. The art and energy of a Dominant/submissive lifestyle can bea tricky thing to navigate. It is amazing and energizing, but can also be draining and a lot of work.

If I'm being completely honest, I would have to say that integrating D/s into my life was a lot like opening a floodgate. Once it's done, it is done.

Could I be happy living a vanilla life? Sure. But a part of me would feel the loss acutely. My submission fills me with an inner light that I would find hard to replace. It grants me peace and serenity when the world spins out of control around me. It gives me safety and security when life throws challenge after challenge at me. It has helped me get to know myself in a way that I may never have without it.

And yet, it also awakened needs in me that really must be met. The ways those needs are met can be as varied and unique as individual snowflakes falling from the sky, but they must be met. When they are not, I am thrown off-balance, and can easily spiral into a place where in it's mildest form I find myself unsettled or cranky and in it's most severe form can throw me into mild forms of temporary depression.

So when asked what is something that frustrates me, the answer is simple (though its explanation is not):

What frustrates me is when I have a need and circumstances, lack of privacy, or other life 'stuff' gets in the way of me reaching, or maintaining little space - espcially when I really... REALLY need that little space.

Sometimes, those circumstances or life "stuff" are avoidable, and then sometimes it's hard to be patient or understanding, when my little voice is screaming "I NEED!!! Fix it!!!! Please!!" and other times, the circumstances are out of both of our control and I nearly rage at them in a petulant way that while probably adorable to watch is just a small outlet for my internal frustration.

For me to be at my best, I need little space.. I need it regularly... and somewhat often. It can be achieved in subtle ways or blatant, but I do need it.

So I admit sometimes that I get frustrated with Syr, when She can't deliver. It's a selfish urge, and I realize that there are slaves and submissives out there who are probably aghast with shock that I would spend an entire post talking about my needs. What kind of submissive am I? ;)

Well - I'm me. I'm my type. And being submissive, is a part of me. And that part does include needs. *nodsnods*

Syr recognizes this, appreciates it, and understands it. I am sure my needs can also be a source of frustration for Her. What's most important is that we work together, we ebb and flow together, and that we both do our best to strike the balance between wants and needs, both of ourselves and each other.

Overall, I think we both do a damn fine job.

Grounded

Syr and I went away this weekend. One of the things I had been so desperately looking forward to was a good, solid beating. Not the quiet, more subtle kinds of pain play that can take me where I need to go, but the raw, earthy good old-fashioned beating.

There’s been so much going on in my life, more than I ever thought possible. So much of this stuff has had me feeling lost and unbalanced, scared and worried. It’s all resolving over time, but the more lost and floundering I got to feeling, the more I wanted to feel the steadying thud of a flogger on my shoulder blades.

I didn’t want to push for it, because the energy has to be right between us for it to happen the right way, but I opened the suitcase and invited Syr to fill it with whatever She wanted for the weekend.

I can’t tell you all how my heart skipped when I saw her pack the leather collar, the cuffs, the nipple clamps, the leash, and the flogger (along with Her two favorite cocks). I knew, then, that I would most likely be getting what I’d so desperately been needing.

Our first night at the hotel, we were both tired and still tense from life these last couple of months, so we spent it bathing and snuggling and doing other relaxing things.

But, Saturday evening..... Syr didn’t hold back at all. She built a fire in the fireplace in our room. She ordered me out of the robe I was dressed in and had me bring back to Her the cuffs and collar. I knelt, naked, at Her feet while She locked the collar around me and strapped my cuffs onto my wrists and ankles. When She pulled the cool chainlink leash out of her pocket and clipped it to my collar, I quivered with the subtle security and subspace that began to wash over me.

I sat at Syr’s feet while She held the leash in front of the fire for some time. When She decided it was time to get started, She turned me to face Her and clipped the nipple clamps on in such a way that the movements of the leash would catch the chain attached to the clamps which sent shivers through me.

I remember that She clipped my wrists together behind my back, and I remember Her tossing me forward onto the bed which put me straight into a gigglefit. It was quite comical – you’d have had to see it.

I remember Her hands on my ass, warming me up there some, and then the kiss of the flogger on my ass, but mostly on my shoulder blades. It begins to blur then. I remember I felt the stings more keenly and there were certain angles that really just didn’t work at all, but over time, the rythmic thud of the flogger swept me away.

I remember that She stopped more than once and laid across my back, biting my shoulder at my neck on each side, and I remember the way that made me yelp and sink even deeper, all at the same time.

And after the pain had brought me to the malleable, floaty place that we both so adore, She pulled me to Her and drove Her cock inside me and took me to a place wholly higher and sharper but still floaty and warm.

And when She had taken Her fill of me, to the point where I could not form words, but could merely point and mumble, She pulled me into Her arms, into that place on her shoulder that is my pillow, and I fell asleep.

It was a wonderful experience, and the following night, I got the nerve to beg a spanking before Syr made love to me, and was so glad I had. She pulled me over my lap and spanked my ass until it was hot and the warmth flooded through me before taking me once more...

Ahh yes...

I am a lucky, lucky slave.

A Perfect Day

This writing assignment's topic was to describe my 'perfect' D/s day.

When I first saw the topic in the notebook where Syr keeps my instructions for tasks, writing assignments, etc, I remember feeling excited.... thinking it was a really fun assignment.

Now that it's time to write it, I'm not quite so sure. ;) It actually seems kind of hard to imagine what it would be like to have a "perfect" D/s day, though I am sure I can give it a whirl. So here goes nothing....

My perfect D/s day would start with a perfect wake-up: Syr waking me by curling into and against my body, covering part of my body with Hers, pinning my wrists above my head and whispering in my ear: "Who owns you, little girl?" and awaiting my sleepy but conscious reply: "You do, Syr."

We would have the place to ourselves, of course, or be in a place where we had no fear of being disturbed by anyone. She retrieves my collar and locks it around my neck, due to our privacy, I will wear it for the day.

Pulling me against Her and wrapping those strong and loving arms around me in an embrace before whispering my morning instructions to make Her coffee and bring it back to Her. I would make Her coffee and my own and bring them back, and kneel at Her feet sipping mine while She sits on the bed sipping Hers and occasionally reaching down to play with my hair or touch my cheek.

After our coffee, She would lead me into the bathroom, help me out of whatver clothing (if anything) that I slept in and help me into the shower.

She would have me wash Her and would wash me in return. I find it interesting that when I wash Her, it feels like an act of service and submission, yet when She does it for me, it feels like an act of grooming, of caring for Her property and feels like an act of Dominance and tenderness.

After our shower, She would instruct me to lay out Her clothes for Her and then instruct me to wear my full length robe, an item of clothing that is comfortable, covers me, yet allows Her easy access to my body whenever She might wish.

Both dressed, we would head to the kitchen for breakfast. Syr likes to cook so She might fix something simple and tasty for our first meal. I would sit at Her feet and She would feed me bits of food from a single shared plate, for very little makes me feel so cared for and so slave-like as being fed by my Syr.

We would spend our mid-day talking or reading, going for walks or whatever suits our fancy. Perhaps our day includes a trip to the local aquarium, an activity Syr enjoys very much, and perhaps as part of that trip, She instructs me to stay in little-space and to be mindful of Her needs while we're out. A simple instruction but perhaps during our outing, Her words stick in my mind and I find myself making sure that She is offered a rest, or a drink, or that I point out things She might find interesting.... and as a result, I find myself staying in a soft level of sub-space all day long.

We return home or back to our private space and I cook dinner... and again sit at Her feet while She feeds me bites as She chooses off of a shared plate.

After dinner, we do something quiet and simple together, like watch a movie or play a game...

And when Syr is ready, She pulls from a pocket or side-table the chain leash and clips it to my collar, leading me back to the bedroom. Once there, She wraps Her fingers in my hair and pulls me to my knees in front of Her.

What She does next could be a myriad of things, but in my 'perfect' day, I would hope it would include her hand on my throat, her hands slapping my cheeks, pain for Her pleasure in the form of spanking, flogging, Her knife, Her nails, clothespins or a myriad of other forms, and Her cock buried deep inside me.

And after She has taken what is Hers alone to take and given what only She can give, She would pull me into Her arms, and whisper words of love and tenderness. And as I curled into Her with my head on Her shoulder, She would tell me a story or read to me from a book so that I could fall asleep listening to the sound of Her voice and the soft beating of Her heart, and I would know that I am safe and I am loved.

"Slave."

It sometimes seems like every day with Syr I discover some new, often incredibly simple yet powerful, route to reaching that deep subspace.

In my previous experiences, it always seemed to get harder and harder to find and maintain subspace of any depth worth mentioning. It became quite frustrating because the harder it got to get there, the more i craved or rather, needed to get there. This used to cause all manner of conflict and difficulties with my partner at that time.

I'm sure that it created issues for them, a sort of frustration when what used to work for them, seemed to stop working as well, and when my needs seemed to increase and their part of it, their job got harder and harder.

My relationship with Syr is quite the opposite. I am often caught quite off guard by sudden and unexpected drops into subspace that plummet me at a pace that is almost dizzying.

The other night, Syr took me there during what would have otherwise been an incredibly fun, yet quite simple, "quickie", by Her words alone.

It started familiarly, as She reminded me who I belong to, words that always take me into a level of subspace...

As She continued, Her words became moreraw, more intense, whispering to me, reminding me that I am Her slut, Her whore, and Her slave...

And then, She made me repeat each statement back to Her. My voice shook desperately as She wrapped Her hands in my hair and demanded I speack each aloud.

Afterwards, SHe honed in on the word slave which, though it describes my role quite honestly, is a word used more rarely by comparison to others in the past. It was the only word She used for teh rest of our time together that night and each time She said it, it took me deeper and deeper.

The words resonated and jolted through me. I still remember the way I reacted with pure raw physical and instinctual shivers each time She growled "cum, slave" in my ear.

Unlike other times, when I am called by that word, I instinctually reply... calling Her Syr without even thinking about it. When I am reminded that I am Her slave, it is only natural to me to call Her Syr.

This may seem simple, but it really isn't. The thing is, that other times, I often have to think about it.. and thinking can be bad. I second guess, doubt, or get shy about using a word that I so desperately want to use.

Yet when she calls me slave, so seriously like that, it's all I can do not to melt into a puddle of slavey goo right there in Her arms, or at Her feet.

I wonder what it is about that one little word, that seems to change the way I function and operate. Because that is surely what it does. I stop functioning as the everyday me. I let all of that go and really allow myself to become the soft, pleasing slave that I dream of being.

I'm sure that it bears further scrutiny, but then again, perhaps in cases like these it is better just to enjoy the lovely simple and pure result of the use of a word that surely speaks straight to my heart.

Symbols of Slavery

I was given an assignment some time ago to write about this photo, and others that have followed since that first one.

Life circumstances kept getting in the way and it kept getting put off for another day. I have an opportunity now to discuss it.

I have missed writing here, very much indeed. Writing about our D/s centers me in a way that very little else can. Physical D/s attention is, of course, the most important for that centering, that balancing, but writing is a very ritualized and therepeutic tool that puts me in touch with the submissive energy that is constantly swirling inside of me.

And so, when Syr assigned me a list of writing assignments, I was intrigued by the very first topic:

"What is your favorite symbol of your slavery, and why?"

It seemed like a trick question when I first thought of it, for I am very much attached to various symbols.

There is, of course, the sterling silver, simple figaro bracelet that I wear on my right wrist 24/7. It was the first 'collar' symbol offered to me by Syr and it is never off my wrist unless absolutely necessary. In fact, it is in desperate need of a good shining, but I haven't been able to part with it.

Then, of course, there is my last entry - written over two months ago, where I described the lovely lavendar collar that Syr purchased for me. However, it is not the least bit subtle and as such is only pulled out for special occasions or when we can be guaranteed a modicum of privacy. The sound the lock makes as She clicks it into place at the back of my neck sends feelings through me that are absolutely indescribeable.

More recently, still, is the purchase of an anklet, also a sterling silver figaro chain with a tiny enamel heart lock pendant. This piece was ordered recently and once it arrives, will be an ankle reminder of my place, owned slave to my Syr:

And, coming up very soon, hopefully within the next few weeks, will be a permanent mark upon my back and one upon her chest, tattoos that compliment each other.

And when musing upon this topic, it was not these adornments, as precious as they are to me, that I realized were my 'favorites' but instead, the more temporary marks that Syr places upon my back with Her knife.

Those marks you see in the photo at the top of this post were the second set that She ever set upon me, and the experience was absolutely indescribeable.

The very first time, She set me on my knees at Her feet while She sat in a chair. She pulled the upper half of my body over Her knee to hold me still and began using Her knife upon my back. The interaction was almost completely silent from beginning to end, and yet nothing has ever dropped me so deep into that intense tunnel-visioned slave space as that did.

The knowledge that I trusted Her completely, and that I was not only comfortable but desperately yearning for the feel of Her blade against my skin was all it took to remind me that I truly belong to Her, in every sense of the word.

The goal in this, is not to scar me, nor to humiliate me. It is a sensory experience and a pyschological experience. Since the first time, there have been occasions where there was some minute amounts of blood. And in more recent markings, I have felt the sting of those marks for days on end.

I would have to say that the mark of Her knife is my favorite symbol of my slavery to Her, and of Her ownership of me. While the mark itself fades, the feelings that it evokes in me are raw and pure, untouched by doubt or fear or anxiety or the normal over-thinking that can sometimes blur my feelings on other symbols.

All that matters, when I feel the touch of Her cold steel against my tender skin, is that I am Hers...

Forever.

A collar and a bracelet...

Syr purchased a collar for me this last weekend while we were travelling.

It's a beautiful light purple leather and the buckle in back has a hole in the pin that a lock goes through. The lock is silver and heartshaped and the key is kept on Her keyring.

Interestingly, last weekend was also when the special gift I had ordered for Her arrived: a silver cuff bracelet with a black leather inlay. It is a tool to be used by us both as a way to let the other know that we are wanting or needing a more formal or intense headspace. If it is me that is seeking it, I can bring the bracelet to Her and without a word being spoken, She knows I am needing the harder Syr. If it is Her that is wanting a more obedient and formally subserviant slave, She simply puts it on and once I see it, I know. We established certain protocols that are in place whenever She has the bracelet on and it's been an incredible tool in the few days we've used it so far.

As to the collar....

While She has owned me for some time, She had not yet found the perfect collar. The more common places to buy them charge quite a lot for ... well.. not a lot of value (if you ask me). But in this shop we went into just for fun, there it was. It was perfect. It was the only one on the shelves, and wouldn't you know it, it was incredibly inexpensive.



It's the perfect size, and words can not begin to describe the way it felt when She locked it onto my neck for the first time.



Security, Safety, Adoration, Love and many other emotions washed over me. This symbol of Her ownership, the feel of the leather at my throat, is an amazing gift.



It is not to be worn 24/7, (that is what the wedding ring, engagement ring, and bracelet are for) but it is ours.

And when, last night, She put on the bracelet and then put me in Her collar and cuffs and put me on my knees at Her feet, all I could think of was how amazing it felt to float in perfect peace and surrender with Her in control of it all. I found myself, once again, both lost ... and found.

Sometimes, it's the little things.

Sometimes, it's the little things.

The lessons that help or force you to grow. Sometimes I need to be reminded, to know that I can mess up... that I can dissapoint Her. Sometimes it's helpful to realize that there is a difference between pushing, and taking advantage.

I was right earlier. She would have been okay, had I confessed at the time instead of waiting until the next day. I shouldn't need to be micro-managed, especially by Her, and yet I seem to back us both into a corner where She has to.

My 'lesson' after She read my confession was that today I was to straighten all the rooms in the house and get a couple miscellaneous, smaller, tasks done. Detail work. Atonement.

I didn't sleep well last night, and neither did She. When we woke and I sent Her off to work, I sat down with my coffee at the computer.

Before I knew it, hours had flown by and She was calling me on Her first break, only to discover I had not yet started my chores.

When She admitted She was dissapointed, my heart fell.

There's a difference between pushing and taking advantage. She went 'easy' on me after my confession... and in return I still procrastinated.

For the record, I did get everything done, and did a good job. I just wish I hadn't taken advantage of Her trust by putting the computer first when I was trying to atone for earlier procrastination.

Later on, during Her afternoon break, She assured me as best as She could that what was done was done, but that in the future I can expect to be given time limits or deadlines for my chores.

I admit that I need boundaries, limits... and rules. I like the security of knowing where that invisible line is that I shouldn't cross.

I think I have been craving service these last several days. Perhaps it's because I've been so busy with some necessary work-things that have taken my focus off of what I do here, for Her every day. I need to find that focus again. It can co-exist with the other.

I doubt this post makes any sense. I guess I just wanted to think 'out loud', so to speak.

Syr gets off work in a few minutes, and Her commute is around 45, so I will sign off now so I can get dinner started and have it ready and on the table when She gets home.

On being deserving...

I didn't have any particular topic in mind when I sat down to write today. I went through my usual routine of finding an image that struck my mood or captured something for me, and I decided I would put the picture up and then free form write for a little while.
So here I am.
I have had some incredibly intense evenings with Syr over the last few weeks. I find myself going back and forth between luxuriating in the subtle exchanges between us, the exchanges that define our 24/7 dynamic and craving deeper, harsher, more intense exchanges.
We lack in the time and privacy to indulge in those more intense exchanges more often than not. Yet, somehow, we find a way and the time to lose ourselves in them.
Last night, I had spent the day running around doing a multitude of things, and in the process of being busy, had managed to forget to complete my daily tasks for the day which included: making the bed and straightening the bedroom and bathroom. Making the bed is a daily chore. The bedroom and bathroom are to be done every Monday.
So there I was, playing on the computer, when Syr called from the train on the way home. I had completely lost track of time. I wanted to be starting dinner when Syr got off work so that it would be ready when She got home. But instead, I was hit with the sudden realization that the bedroom and bathroom were a shambles and the bed was still unmade. Syr expects me to make the bed the moment I am up and out of it (unless there is a real reason for not doing it right away). Suddenly, I was up in a shot, running around like a madwoman, scrambling to get it all done.
I started the chicken thawing while I ran to the bedroom in a mad dash to get everything picked up and the bed made (including changing the sheets). I had just finished in the bathroom and scooped up all the dirty laundry and deposited it into the hamper and landed in the kitchen to begin prepping dinner when Syr walked in the door.
I didn't hear Her come in like I normally do. Instead, I was startled to see Her walking towards me, still in Her leather coat, damp from the evening rain with a look in Her eyes that said She was in a *mood*.
Suddenly, I forgot that I had just barely squeaked my chores in, in time for Her to get home. I forgot that I had been a little bit lazy that afternoon. I forgot that I could have had dinner ready to go when she came in, but instead was just starting it.
Instead, I was simply proud of myself that I had gotten it done; that I hadn't forgotten completely. I was pleased as punch with myself that as far as She was concerned, I had done what was expected of me. That look in Her eyes that said She was in a mood to ravish me felt like my earned reward.
When we were finally shrouded in the darkness and privacy of the night, Syr made it quite clear that She fully intended to have me. In return, I made it quite clear that I was very much hoping She would take me. I was craving something harsh and intense. I wanted to drop for Her, to surrender to Her, to get lost in Her touch and Her voice.
What followed was amazing and perfect in every way. Looking back, it's a rush of moments, snapshots that stand out the most:
~Her hands tangled in my hair as She pulled hard and growled in my ear, calling me Her whore and Her slave.
~Her teeth on my neck and shoulders and biting down on my lip until I cried out.
~Her fingers pulling and stretching and pinching my nipples so hard.
~Her strong hands, spanking me everywhere, and pinning my wrists above my head and out of Her way.
~Her cock driving into me with ruthless abandon as She covered and claimed me with Her body.
~The way She made me wait, and wait, until She was ready to let me cum for her.
~The way it felt as She slapped my cheek, or covered my mouth and nose to control my breath.
~The way She pushed me forward, harder and deeper and faster until the tears came.
All of these, memories to fill me with soft, warm heat; that heat that makes me feel inexorably linked to Her. I feel owned and loved and adored...
And guilty.
Damn it.
I should have confessed that I scrambled around at the very last possible minute to get my chores done yesterday. Getting it done was the *most* important thing. But I made a point of preening over my well done jobs when I knew that I had done the fastest possible rush job on all of it. I let Her praise me for doing well and loved how happy She was with the job I'd done when I knew that it wasn't my best work and I also knew that I had prioritized my own personal playtime over the chores She gave me.
I can't help but feel that I falsely accepted a reward that I didn't deserve.
Would She still have taken and ravished me, had I confessed? Most likely.
So why do I feel as if I took advantage?
Because I didn't confess.
And just how does that make sense? I suppose you'd have to know me very well to understand it, but it's how I operate. I don't misrepresent myself to Her. Ever. And I think that I feel that's what I did.
I'm not agonizing. This isn't an episode of self-flagellation. It's just something I found myself thinking about. And, in all honesty, it's something I felt I needed to confess.
The question is: Was I deserving of the ravishing I received?

Even my breath belongs to Her

Mild breath play has been something I have always found quite intoxicating. It sounds dramatic to explain it the way I feel it, but here goes anyway. It is this enormous feeling of trust and the giving over of power to another to submit to this sort of play. I say "mild" because I am not interested in more than a few moments at a time, ever. But, the feeling of having my Owner have this power over me is something that can not be duplicated in any other way.

The form of breath play I am most, personally, familiar with is Syr wrapping Her hand or hands around my throat, firmly. Sometimes She squeezes lightly which restricts my airflow for the breifest of moments, and sometimes She doesn't. With Her hand on my throat, though, the very knowledge that She could restrict my airflow and that I trust Her with this power is enough to bring me to my knees both metaphorically and physically. It drops me into little space so fast and hard and that feels really amazing. Her hand on my throat is one of the simplest gestures She can make that will instantly remind me who I am to Her, and who She is to me.

The other day, She stumbled on a new form of mild breathplay that in it's own right is very intense in a different way than Her hand on my throat. She wraps Her palm gently over my mouth and uses Her index finger and thumb to close my nose, restricting my ability to intake air. She only does it for a brief moment, and with the lightest touch, not rough in the least, and it is absolutely overpowering.

There is this base thought that She owns my very breath and can decide if She wants me to have any. That's the thought that I believe sounds dramatic. She and I both know that I could easily pull free and would if I felt threatened. I don't have any over-the-top belief that a 'real slave' would never pull away, and I certainly wouldn't endanger my life. But the incredible thrill is that I trust Her so much, with every fiber of my being, and trust Her to keep me safe. This isn't a belief, it's knowledge. It's fact. It is not somethng I can doubt, because it is true, therefore there is nothing to doubt. I don't doubt that the sun is yellow or the sky is blue. And I don't doubt that Syr will always act in my best interest. She loves me like no other ever could. So, keeping that in mind and returning to this base thought that runs through my mind that I am Hers to do with as She will, that even my body's breath belongs to Her, and that thought is both thrilling and humbling.

I really find myself at a loss for words for how exactly to describe it. All I know is at the moment it occurs, there is the briefest feeling of panic... incredibly brief... and then I am falling backwards into the safe and warm embrace of the unending trust I feel for Her, and all I feel is protected and taken care of, and incredibly owned.