KINKSTERS ...

i deleted the last post because it was too preachy.  : )

Here is my new one.

KINKSTERS

What is a kinkster anyway?  

(Kind-a rhymes with trickster, prankster ... might imply the same?)

i keep getting these irritating notices in my inbox -- "scorching hot kinksters for you!" ... or "new fellow pervs in your area!" ... just what a i need ... a scorching hot joker or a supposed "fellow" who will try to convince me that conformism, cliques, and safety-in-numbers (otherwise known as lowest-common-denominator reduction) is cool.  

Okay, so maybe i just have some quirky prejudice about the term "kinksters".   Maybe i just don't see sincerity as being related, and besides, i can't help it -- any time my religion is reduced to something goofball-ish, i see it as a mockery of all i hold dear.  

So, if it doesn't imply game-playing then maybe it is to suggest something like dabbling? Being a dilletante of sorts?  Eh -- then just say you're experimenting or you're not sure or you're a novice.  Call me a stickler but i find dilletantes equally bothersome since they too lack commitment or conviction.

i think i'm kinky.  i'm the only who finds kink to be the new vanilla.

the art of screwing

Well, Master screwing me is an art. Any other type of screwing means ... um ... er ... you're screwed!

i'd rather be the one screwed over than the one doing the screwing of another. i mean, either way you're a victim. You can be the sole victim or you can be the bully and the bully is both bully AND victim. They're a victim of their own bullying. i mean, who wants to be an idiot in life? Bullies and deceivers are more the victim than the victims they bully and deceive!

Point is, i'd rather be the one screwed over than the one screwing someone over, that is, until i'm then screwing over the person who screwed me. That's called screwing back and i'm a very fair person. Screw me; screw you!

confusion on the OKAY-corral ... or the old-fashioned modern woman

Master says that when we're living together, He wants me to portray Donna Reed every single day. Okay, Donna Reed in chains, but its still Donna Reed all the same.

What He's saying is that He wants a WOMAN, a feminine creature, the subservient servant tending to the one thing every Man wants -- a woman to come home to -- a woman who fusses over being a woman FOR a Man. Service is her namesake.

At the same time, sometimes Master chides me by saying that He is convinced that i'm trying to turn things vanilla on Him. He thinks i'm abandoning my slave self the closer we get to any domestic arrangement.

i'm petrified actually! First off, i'm not wanting a vanilla relationship and equally first off, i actually enjoy all facets of my life -- i hate to think of sacrificing anything for anything. But how ironic is this -- isn't Donna Reed the epitome of all things vanilla, all things mainstream, picture perfect, suburban, mundane?

What Master doesn't understand is ....... well -- sorry to say it but its true. It really is true despite all the slave rhetoric strewn all over the place, Masters don't necessarily know EVERYTHING.

Does He realize, for instance, how much anxiety i have in thinking about HOW i can actually abandon the OTHER part of life in order to live this INNER part of life ALL THE TIME? How much horror i feel should i possibly neglect my slave self for a minute while occupied with responsibilities or other passions?

i used to say that this life is obtainable so long as one incorporates -- as long as you make allowances for reality -- why then you can have it all. If you don't expect the unreasonable -- if you don't expect that all that dark filth, enlightening and empowering and exhilarating as it is, is not ALL the time but just SOME of the time, then you're a REALIST and THEN, you have a REAL BDSM relationship.

.

If you think you're going to LIVE in the dungeon day in, day out, well .......... i guess you could ... if you've never known anything else in life.

Its all achievable but its about compartments and for the life of me, i'm still wondering how on earth i'm going to be Donna Reed while NOT being Donna Reed. i'm a mother with a life that encompasses all things NON-BDSM and i'm a slave whose life encompasses everything NOT real-life. How can i ever sew the apron to the shackles without snagging the goodness of the apron and hiding the beauty of the shackles?

i don't know what is going on with me but EVERY SINGLE NIGHT, since the beginning of time, i've had vivid dreams ... but now vivid has gone MANIACAL. Every dream or nightmare has a message i can easily interpret and they are all so real and so detailed that i think i'm really living it while dreaming it.

By the way, never discuss or describe your dreams to anyone at a dinner party. VERY BORING.

But ... since we're not at a dinner party and we're at my blog, here we go!

Last night i dreamt of a whole lot of Men, running around in a circle, nude, and with their cocks flopping all over the place and they appeared as, of all things, nymphs! Wild! The visual of it reminded me of Matisse's dancers. i think a few were even wearing a crown of flowers in their hair, or at least it felt that way.

i'm not sure what this one means except that maybe i'm horny? Maybe the dance circle and whimsy of it was to imply some sort of artful or light-hearted, ethereal gangbang? Or maybe its just another variation on being with sexual purpose -- that being, seeing sex, breathing sex, needing sex, sex as a metaphor, sex as a drug, sex as a way of being. Hurrah for sex! i'm having some really dreamy nights of sleep!

~~~ + ~~~

Art: Matisse.

THE HUNT IS ON!!!!!!!!!!!

If only house hunting was as easy as Easter egg hunts.

Ahh, if only we could just paint up some cozy little egg -- God, i'm dying for the furthered containment ... the incubation with its warmth and nurturing and SAFETY!

Okay, the cat is out of the bag ............ Master and i have been looking for a place to move into together. And we've been looking and looking and now we're taking a break. The process is exciting, daunting, exciting, exhausting, exciting, disillusioning, exciting, disheartening and you could say its the ultimate yank job. Think: yo-yo.

Still, the next chapter is about to unfurl and i'm thrilled! The reason i haven't been around here much or posting is because i've been uber-consumed and extremely preoccupied with this next step while keeping other things (namely, life as we know it) afloat.

.

More on all things soon ... forgive my absense (please) and don't stop missing me (PLEASE!), that is, assuming you do miss me and you do, don't you? (Say "yes", please!)

Today is Sunday and i think i experienced Church.

You know life is good when you have to battle a cum enema all day long.

(Ahh, decorum is stripped, liberation is in full sail, slave is restored, bliss has returned. Thank You, Master! Thank You, God!)

a little update from here

And here is ...... where??

Apologies to folks who visit -- gosh i owe you so much more than this!  i have ached for you to visit.  And now i've gone and abandoned you.  Its just not fair.  Not right.

i haven't been my usual self.  i've been someone else.  Today it occurred to me that i so much prefer my singularly sexual self.  i don't mean single -- i mean SOLELY uniquely without-diversion sexual self.  Because i've been immersed in lots of horizon oriented stuff, i've neglected slave2bholed.  i've neglected the self-expressive me.  The selfish me.  The me we all love!

God, i want her back!!!!!!!!!!!

Its not multiple personalities; its multiple responsibilities.  Please forgive me for tending to priorities.  i miss you.  i miss me!

i am here.  i am still Master's slave.  We are currently trying to make our next step ........... i will pray to remember how to log on and post blogs more often.  i miss it.  i miss you.  i miss me.

~~~ + ~~~

"Shipboard Girl"

Lithograph by Lichtenstein.

one split second

i try to be chipper.  TRY.  i usually am a sort of variation of chipper -- a sort of moderate chipper.  Master says i'm probably generally happier than most.  At the same time, i probably get WAY DEEPER DARKER MORE DEPRESSIVE AND DESPERATE than most.

  

Regardless, all i know is that i have been consumed with the tragic death of the football players lost at sea.  i'm especially thinking about their plight because i have an intimacy and a fear of the sea.  i have been wanton in the Gulf of Mexico.  i have gone out in a small motor boat, age 15, all caution thrown to the wind; even a kayak, just a compass, my beloved Master as both Captain and navigator, no telling anyone anything ....... both times never thinking to tell anyone of my return time.  The football players actually told people when to expect them.  They did the right thing.  They took precautions.  They were in top physical condition.  Athletes.  Fishermen.  Men familiar with the waters, having been there before.  They were not amateurs and yet ........

Now, on top of that, Natasha Richardson has died.  Suddenly.  A simple private ski lesson on a beginner hill.  Something innocent.  Something so instant.  Maybe amateur, but all within the confines of safety, privilege, the places where nothing bad is supposed to happen.

You see?  THIS is my fear.  THIS is the reason that the descriptive to my fear is the same descriptive as my daily modus operandi. 

Immediacy.  Everything boils down to immediacy.  Here one moment; gone the next.  Need to do something?  Do it immediately.

unbuttoning the buttoned-up

So there i was in the locker room after kickboxing and there were about four to six women in close proximity chatting and .................. okay, sorry to say, not very exciting because no, this does not segue to one of the girls dropping to her knees to taste my pussy.

But what happened is entertaining nonetheless!

i didn't get in on the hubbub as i was doing my quick change into work clothes and suddently i was self-conscious about my bust since i had just heard one of the women exclaim, "YEAH and can you believe it -- I mean, really, its ridiculous! Its like they all wear uniforms! The really short dress up to HERE (and she motioned to where her thigh meets her bum) and the really big boobs and the spike heels and the Chanel purses -- can you believe the Chanel purses, my GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!".

Apparently she had just returned from Vegas.

She may as well have been talking about me (sans the Chanel purse).

She went on (or i guess it better to say, she went off) on the spectacle of these sexy girls and the other women piped in, too. There was a sort of mutual outrage passed around in convivial fashion -- they all had at one time or another seen the same eye candy feast in Vegas. They were united in their scorn and disdain, but it was a polite, giddy sort of snickering.  More like giggling or playful gossiping -- all claws were carefully manicured but i suppose they could penetrate all the same if you let them.  

i'm wondering if i'm lightening up, feeling less put upon, and if that is why i could see their judgments as fairly innocuous, even innocent.  i mean, i didn't feel defensive for a change -- i felt charged!  Besides, i've come to realize that lighthearted condemnation relieves envy ... jealousy ... contempt.  They need to do this because how else will they explain that real women don't dress sexy. 

The soundbytes went something like this:

"i don't even think they were wearing underwear!"

"Oh my GOD! How do you even SIT DOWN without underwear?!!"

"Can you imagine sitting down?  Ewwww!"

"Not even a g-string. I was looking! -- I mean I couldn't believe it!"

"My husband was drooling."

"I told my husband, honey, you go ahead and keep enjoying this because when you get back home ......."

"My husband said they were all prostitutes."

"I'm sure some of them ARE prostitutes but I don't think all of them are."

"Can you believe those SHOES?!"

"They're like THIS high!  Hookers wear shoes like that."  

"I wouldn't even dress like that in my own home!"

"Well, we're kind of conservative." (Ya think?)

"I mean, its really great people watching.  I'll say that."

"But they all wear the same thing! -- the REALLY TIGHT dresses ... everyone notices the dresses but I just want to know about those CHANEL PURSES!!!!!!!!!!"

(Break out of big laughter.)

After having gotten over my self-consciousness in that my big boobs image makes me akin to the very girls they're putting down, i then felt compelled to MAKE them look down their noses and roll their eyes into the back of their pretty little privileged heads.

At that very moment, i was PRAYING for the night when i'll be in my SKIMPIEST, TIGHTEST, metallic silver dress with the five inch spikes and my tits and hips jutting out all over the place, my eyes laden to their smokiest sultriest black. GOD, i really want them to see me in my uniform!

i was unbuttoning in the lockerroom, wanting to strip the puritanical down to the pulchritudinous, smack the buttoned-up out of their elitist prudish stupor.  They didn't want to applaud their female comarades; instead they needed to pronounce women who are in tune to their sexuality as sluts or deviants ... or, of course, whores.  Less threat that way -- if you're marked as above the crowd, you're safe in the pretense, the notions of grandeur, the comfort of seeming good rather than bad.

For some unknown reason, i felt empowered! How so? i was a complete outcast -- not included or looked to for any rah-rah join-the-club two cents. How on earth could i feel good when i was basically one of the women they were talking about?

i guess its because i know that when dirty looks come your way, there is something someone wants that you possess and they don't.  Aww well, i'm forgiving ... i'd like to show them that here they are, all of them regulars at kickboxing ... knock-out bodies, dynamite leanness, and the ability to unbutton priggish in favor of celebration.  Femaleness and sexuality have been flaunted and glorified since the beginning of time ............. when will they see that sex appeal can be cheap can be chic can be RIGHT IN THEIR FINGERTIPS if they'd just open up their clenched fists.

When its time for little girls to grow up!!

Okay, so we've established that i'm a little girl.  Sometimes even a needy little girl but that's the little girl i don't like.  We've confessed to serious sin in the matter of liking Hello Kitty flannel jammie bottoms and sure, i know, i know -- that would seem a little girl thing but you have to remember, i'm balancing little girl and sexy siren while on tippy toe.  Nothing is ever the straight and narrow for me.  i've got to make it complicated.

So, if i'm a little girl at heart and i'm Master's little girl and that is desirable to Him, is there ever a time when little girls should NOT be little girls?

In my case, no.

In other people's cases, YES!

Am i a hypocrite?  Not really -- let me explain.

i'm a self-sufficient little girl and a survivor.  i may NEED with a horrible greed and i may LATCH ON and be reluctant to let go ... i may grow very deep attachments emotionally ......... but in the end, i'm fully capable (take note:  productive and efficient, too, hurrah).  i could be successfully independent or autonomous if i chose it.  But i don't choose it.  i prefer FULL IMMERSION to the point of subjugation.  i like to be told what to do -- i like to obey because its arousing.  But most of all, i like bringing home good grades to Daddy never mind i could wear Daddy's pants if it suited me.  i'm a validation junkie and a whore for connection and intimacy.

Its again that great irony of enslavement -- slaves have inner strength when their outsides scream dependency.  i'm the woman-child who needs always to answer to a higher power.

NOW ON THE OTHER HAND ...

There is a client who keeps calling (read:  pestering and whining and moaning) and BUGGING THE HECK OUT OF mE.  She insisted on her husband, her two brothers (not just one), AND her son, all reviewing the material we sent and then insisted they all be named on her accounts so that a simple transaction means tracking down one idiot in Africa, another idiot in Europe, one more in Florida (where lots of idiots live), and the main one here in New York (where i used to think no idiots lived ha ha ha too-shay on me and shout out to Florida friends i'm just horsing around whinny-whinny-naa-aa-ay).

It means that the one simple transaction requires ALL of their signatures and Fed-X and coordination up the wazoo.  But what it REALLY means is all our UNDIVIDED FULLY FOCUSED ATTENTION on this nag of a client.  Good God in Heaven.  GROW UP WOMAN!  You are not THAT important ... which is really the issue afterall, isn't it?  

She likes to be the center of attention.  Everyone has to fawn over her and protect her and take care of her and hand-hold her and oh poor betsy-wetsy can't make a decision without her team of advisors and all her advisors have to stop their lives at the drop of her dime.  Oh she may as well be wielding a whip its so exact in rallying the attention to her every whim but dang! how come that whip is so invisible when she plays that poor old fragile woman routine?  

Ahh, but not all things are what they seem and not all things seem what they are.  This woman is nothing about being frail or unable.  Helplessness is an act.  Reigning power while feigning weakness; synonym:  manipulation. 

~~~ + ~~~

Painting:  Portrait of a Little Girl, 1878, Mary Cassatt.

creature comforts

More than a human, more than Master's pet, object, sex-kitten, possession, anything else, i'm a creature.  With comforts uniquely comforting to the creature.  (And wow, i'm sure this picture of Pamela Anderson is a HUGE comfort to all creatures!)

What i want to know is, does Pamela Anderson like Hello Kitty flannel jammie bottoms like i do?  Does she have to keep it a secret like i do?  And if she does like them and doesn't keep it a secret, could she please tell Master?

crossroads

Recently, some moving plans came to a hault and i immersed myself in the anti-climax. i'm really good at that.

But on a positive note, i am right at the cusp of celebrating w/ Master, our five years together. 5! 5 years! Wow. It really is amazing. Amazing that it has been five years AND amazing in that even today, its as sizzling amazing as it was in day one.

Because of the big anti-climax of the move not working out and the aftermath murk i've been navigating (not so well i might add, surprise, surprise) and because of this monumental time, Master, rightfully so, had some hard questions to ask. Who am i really? Have i evolved into another person altogether? Was this a catalyst for things not yet divulged? Am i a fraud or have i just become a skeptic?

As a result of all this sex-appeal and confidence He grew and provoked, have i outgrown my slave self? By His allowing me certain earned privileges, has it actually come back to compromise Master's control of me?

No. Absolutely not. No!! So then, what is it? What is going on? Why am i so restless?

In order to get to the bottom of it, Master gave me a homework assignment. He presented me with a series of about six questions. First off, i LOVE being asked questions. i LOVE answering them. Makes me feel interesting and like others are interested (in me me me). Its the same reason i think that submissives love those evaluation fetish lists that prospective Doms give them. They're actually be ASKED what they think and how they feel -- and that is arousing.

Plus, i LOVE challenges. i loved the assignment. AND i love communication -- without it, there is no connection. Any chance to nuzzle up closer, is always my desire.

So, i did my homework -- answered the questions and then some. i guess you could say i added to it for ... um ... extra credit? i sent Master a 61kb email response! Maybe i was a little wordy. But since when would over-explaining myself come as any surprise?

This all got me to thinking that at work, we have annual reviews. Your supervisor assesses performance for the year, you discuss goals, expectations, job-satisfaction. Potential raises. Increases or decreases in benefits.

Well, why not employ this practice in BDSM?! Masters should evaluate Their slaves and slaves should be permitted to respond, request, and ask for consideration. If a slave has earned her keep, perhaps a Master takes it into consideration and offers a new perk. A flexible schedule? More vacation time? Maybe the Master trusts more and micro-management is not necessary ... maybe the slave becomes more autonomous ........................................... but wait a minute! Wouldn't that go against everything D/s, everything about Leader/subordinate dynamics?

Actually, the best management is the type to treat its staff well. To listen to them and hear them. And the little ones earn privilege, they don't demand it. They're not entitlement brats. The powers-that-be recognize and reward and keep their charge forever appreciative and devoted that way. They're not megalomaniacal dictators. Its all about mutual respect really. No one rebels. No one oppresses. Its all about value across the board -- for the director and the worker bee -- everyone as integral to the project. i guess you could say its like a Total Power Exchange. There is a paradoxical equality.

Communication, like evolution -- allowing for both -- its good relationship business. Meeting at a crossroads to determine the best route going forward -- this means a unity in wanting to ensure success. (Master, thank You for being a real and realistic Master.)

Born Again (and again and again and all over again)

In a very short while, it will be officially five years. Five years since the day Master acquired me.

i can only tell you that ANYTHING -- everything and anything and anyone -- is only as good as "what have you done lately?". TODAY is more important than yesterday or tomorrow.

i question myself sometimes -- really scrutinize myself should i dare to get too comfortable -- i used to feel guilty about getting too familiar, but now its more about growth ... i just want to forever keep growing.

Saturday with Master was incredible. He told me He watched some squirting porn and decided that He'd take my squirting to a new level. He slapped my pussy mercilessly as i was coming and sure enough, the fountain went wild. Master is the King of Fresh. Master is forever keeping things new and exciting. God, i adore Him. i get so affectionate after He takes me places.

And with this, i should admit too that i haven't been all that interested in what is been-dare-done-dat. i am so happy with myself -- i'm patting myself on the back in having removed myself from the rut (or is that rot?). i got out! What once was so intriguing became old hat. i don't want to live in high-school. i don't want to stand still. i don't want complacency or boredom or stuntedness ANYWHERE NEAR mE!

i look around and see people who remain in the same place. They never evolve. i'm sure its okay for them, but if you are with the sick impulsive live-for-the-moment bug, you're doomed to FOREVER HAVING A GREAT TIME rather than anything moderate or mediocre.

As a result of Master growing His slave, i have now come to really appreciate all the parts comprising me. i'm Master's slave and i'm a slave to seeing all that there is to see. MULTI-dimension coupled with ample obsessiveness -- you just can't go wrong.

So .......... on the note of newness, i think its time for some new pics! Here are some pics from a couple of weeks ago when Master and i visited Master's bestfriend. Master's friend wined and dined us like You would not believe and as a little thank-you, i posed for a photo shoot exclusively for Master and His friend, both of whom, i hope, went hog wild.

Then later, we all played wii. (Since afterall, we're just trying to keep up with what's new.)

How bi am i ??

i still giggle at the remembrance of my friend, upon learning that i would be open to girls, announcing very matter of factly, "oh -- so you're a bi".  Bi as a noun, not an adjective.  God that still tickles me when i think of it.

Problem is, sometimes i wonder if i really am "a" bi.  (Laughing inside.)  Okay -- so i'm bi.  But, i can't say that i'd just go around calling myself bi.  i feel like i'd be lying -- i mean, what constitutes being bi?  

Okay -- say it again to self -- let me try and absorb this:  i am bi-sexual.  But am i?  i'm selectively bi.  As to Men, gosh, i can and often do imagine any 'ole Man using me ... attractiveness is not necessarily a pre-requisite.  With women, sex-appeal is mandatory.  So, does this make me less authentic?  If i love being used by Men, then why am i not an equal-opportunity f.-toy?

i think my consistency hang-up is at issue.

i think this just confirms that if i am bi, i'm definitely Male-identified.  You know -- some girls are female-identified -- and then i suppose there are those who find Men and women interchangeable, too.  But for me, i would never be satisfied in a relationship with just a woman.  If i feel LUST, i can surely imagine that i would be "in love" and entirely smitten, but could i ever be without cock?  Would a surrogate cock suffice?  No!  Never!

i love MASCULINITY and TESTOSTERONE and i want to be smothered in it.  Practically drown from it.  Substitutions won't do.  But, supplements will!  i still would like to find a female complement and counterpart -- a girl to fill the friendship void, a girl to be my fraternal twin, and a girl who can do the things i can't do (namely, go hog-wild deep-throating Master).  

Add to this that Men and Their POWER feel essential to me but girls who are butch don't cut it.  More consistency inconsistency!  i want women to be womanly which is to say with feminine wiles but i sure don't want them to be trying to be Men.

But what i'm really getting at is that i wonder, here again, if i'm a fraud.  Am i fooling myself?  i contemplated it further the other day when Master and i discussed it.  

i've made out with women and i've had some great deep VERY PASSIONATE kisses.  i've man-handled women, i've played with and suckled from and slapped around all sorts of different kinds of tits ... and i've flogged women ... and i DROOL for some women.  i'm just as lecherous as a horny guy when watching sexy girls flaunt and flounce around leaving a trail of dripping sin in their paths.  And aggressive women who TAKE turn me on ... i think i'm only turned on if i'm looking up, in awe, or over-powered.  

At least the strength seducing me thing is a constant.  At least THAT is consistent.  A thread runs through it.

i try to imagine what it would be like to lick pussy.  To eat it.  One of my favorite imaginings is some crazy sort of show with a stage and some woman hailed as having the plumpest and longest labia ever in the world.  She is interviewed and the audience is going maniacal to just have a view of it.  They idolize her not for her but for her body modification!  i imagine her slit being back-lit -- the silhouette alone is arousing because there shouldn't be anything that hangs between a woman's thighs like that.  The cameras zoom in on it and she idly plays with it and twists the lips and explains how she's been stretching it since age ... who knows when.  

But then, maybe i'm seeing her only as objectified.  Maybe that all fits into my LOVE of being an object more than it is about me wanting her.  In other words, i don't think i'm responding to being one of those people in the audience.  i'm responding to her as if she is one of me!  She is just a creature put on this planet for the sole purpose of having her genitals made available -- she is just some thing that is exploited so that all that really matters is how her holes can be more accessible and her entire purpose in life is to BECOME and thought of as ONLY a cunt -- not in a bad way, just a matter-of-fact way.

i'm imagining her because i'm dreaming of objectification -- i'm not a predator here -- i'm a voyeur but i'm not busy desiring her -- i'm instead identifying with my own favorite station -- the position of being a revered thing on a pedestal.

i like thinking about how succulent that girl's pussy would be, all exaggerated like that.  But i don't know if i can say that i want to suck ALL pussy the way i might think to want to suck ANY cock.  Besides, i'm not the greatest oral person in the world.  i'm much more of the f.-sack cum-bucket -- the receptacle.  Yes, i know -- this means i'm lazy; i'm just not into performing.  And so, okay -- never mind that -- how would i like to once again feel the delights of having my own pussy eaten?  i would!

Ever since the day i discovered that my submissiveness, my entire sexuality was steeped in something that actually had a NAME (D/s and BDSM), i have never again had a Man go down on me.  It just didn't seem right.  i'd see Him as weak -- subservient.  He'd have to be submissive.  But i sure wouldn't mind a woman going down on me, even a strong woman! 

So much for consistency.  This lack of consistency makes me feel untrue!  How can this be?  How can i feel one thing one way and another thing a another way when i'm implying that i can go either way?  It wouldn't be fair to say i'm bi when i've got so many caveats going on, would it?

i have no conclusion for this post.  All i know is that i should just say bye-bye to labels like "bi". Afterall, its all in the eye of the bi-holder, right?

Masters are not always right.

Master thought for sure that i'd like the film, Fight Club.  Well, sound the buzzer, WRONG.  i didn't.

They say that when things hit too close to home, you tend not to like it.  It creeps in on your territory and that feels like an intrusion.  A bit offensive.  Naturally, you're going to be taken aback.

First off, everyone i know who liked the film (rather, LOVED it -- they all said they loved it), explained that i will never believe the ending.  That it is a surprise ending.  Don't worry to those who have not seen it, i won't tell you what happens, but let's just say that i knew the ending before it ended.  i kept watching this thing, growing really agitated as the film kept DRONING on, BECAUSE i was waiting for the surprise ending.  i figured it had to be something REALLY wild or extravagant. 

Master says i'm smarter than a good lot and that is why i was aware of the ending early on.  Okay -- here we can say Masters ARE always right.  (wink)

Seriously, it isn't that -- it isn't that i just grew impatient -- its that i was DISTURBED and my anxiety built when i couldn't find some restorative element as if to say, okay, this sucks but here is the shining light.

And too, it forced me to consider my masochism.  Here i think its all such a healthy thing ... something practically Darwinistic ... one leader, one follower ... just some accentuation of that, albeit, steeped in psychological paradox, a psychiatric nuance or severe need mended through an entirely opposite pill ... just some strange way of coping, releasing, healing and making one's self all better.

The underground fight clubs made me angry.  It reminded me of self-mutilation -- something that scares me and makes me cry FOR the victimized.  i started hating the film!  Outright hating it!  i was almost ready to curse Master for just THINKING that this would be my kind of film.  (He usually has such a good handle on me, on my idiosyncrasy, my needs/desires/dislikes ... maybe this time He was going only by the Brad Pitt factor?)

What upset me was the Sadism toward the self.  It didn't seem shocking that someone would want to beat someone into a pulp -- get out aggression -- that wasn't it at all.  It was the other part -- the seeking RELEASE through BEING beat up.  The apparent enjoyment of coming out of a practical comatose state smiling.  The possibility of permanent impairment being to me, a sacrilege, but to them, nothing more than a notch on the belt.

i don't like to see myself that way.  When i'm reduced to the point of becoming a blubbering, slobbering piece of put-through-the-mill wet putty, when my decorum is completely stripped to render me just a thing or an animal, i then begin an amazing climb up.  Nothing hurts anymore.  

Is THAT what this film represented?  And if so, WHY then would my own religion bug me so much?  Because it was bloody?  Because it seemed so brutal?  

i think i know why.  It was because they didn't depict it as beautiful.  The beautiful part was missing.  Instead, it felt harrowing and violent and ultimately destructive.  It didn't feature anything about redemption the way i know it.  It only looked hostile, not holistic, which is how i believe it to be.

today's limbo

Today i realized that yesterday is the measure for tomorrow.  

Today i realized that i have to do BETTER.

i just can't allow myself to get comfortable!  i can't settle just as i can't accept just as i can't stop STRIVING for something more.  Ahh, the perpetual glutton.  Never satisfied.  Some ingrate, some ravenous whore!

Today i spoke the length of an entire novel, all in musings, all in some symbolic language that no one else speaks, and it basically fell on deaf ears.  i cooked another one of my phenomenal dinners, and i really do think i'm great with improvisational cooking, and there was no one here to eat it.  

Careful what you wish for!  i've been wishing for peace and quiet and well, i sure got it!

No one to share with nor to eat with or to listen to or to commisserate with, to banter with, to dance with, and ................ well ...

That's okay.  i'm owned and there is Master and if not for that, i'd wither.  Today i realized that there is solace in quiet and in too much time on my hands.  Enjoy it while it lasts, baby girl, enjoy it.  For tomorrow you'll be wishing for this night right here.

Permission, please?

So, i'm wondering if its ever allowed that a girl can be sexy AND smart.  

Sure, initially its the polite thing -- you know -- compliment a woman on possessing both the sex appeal and the brains.  Between the ears is as important as between the legs.  But in the end, if you ever state your case or defend it, isn't it always seen as being too forward, too pushy, too ............. "strong"?  Strong as in something unattractive?

When i was growing up, i remember how some women were referred to by my parents as "strong" and it was described as if a repellant.  There was nothing attractive about being a "strong woman" because it usually implied offensive.

Its like the Midwest accusing the East Coast of being aggressive when meanwhile we just like to get things done.  Wow does context and cutting to the chase get really screwed over by provincial thinking.  Just because you might skip a few steps, you're instantly deemed an aggressor.

i can put forward a real plan, i can crack the whip, provide the support, even come out on top as a result, but will it ever be possible without compromising how my femaleness is received?  No wonder the term feminists means both feminine and masculine.  The original intent got pumped full with steroid thinking -- the premise got injected with over zealous women messing it up for the girls.

You're allowed two roles in this life.  Submissive.  Dominant.  The switch thing and the matter of situational being different from inherent is almost always dismissed because permission is apparently denied. 

A Master is a Man is a .............................. Boy at Heart?

i was talking with a teen boy the other day and he announced that a particular girl he knows is just a whore.  He broke up with her.  

i tried to prod a bit -- find out a little bit more ... had she cheated on him?  Was she fooling around or just flirting a lot or, was she like that sleazy girl, the slut parked in the bathroom giving blow jobs -- the one who had the attention of my crush -- the boy who took my virginity -- the star highschool basketball player who used her like all the other boys did (while forgetting about me and my puppy love)?  (Damn those girls then.)

my conclusion is this -- Men really do want the girls who are sex fiends ... receptacles ... like i like to think of myself when i'm horny -- a f***-bucket.  They do lust for the girls who enjoy feeling used or let's say, useful to a Man's physical needs, but too, they want all that dedicated to them.  They want to own it and control it.  They want fidelity -- loyalty -- they want a faithful pet, an engaging companion, a devout worshipper ... and a whore to call their own.

~~~ + ~~~

Statue of Man and Dog; Wellington, New Zealand.

(Photographer unknown.)

newness & "what else is new?"

Master showed me a picture of some chick in a porn magazine and He said, "I want you to do your eyes like this.".

Well, some things never change.  You can't take the woman out of the slave.

my first reaction was to get my dander up.  i did that thing that women do.  i got territorial.  i was almost taken aback and it was on two counts.  1) i thought it would be clear that i should know more about great eye make-up and its application than even Master (read:  my subconscious told me to be insulted -- afterall, i wore a tasteful Lancome blue when i met Master but He said to change it), and 2) the girl sucking cock was ugly!  Surely i can't be compared to her!!  Surely i know about SOPHISTICATED style, not trash.

HERE, after having been proven wrong.  HERE, after having had five years of experience of Master surprising me, shocking me, showing me that He knows how to bring back passe and make it fashionable better than trendsetters and the seasoned fashionistas.  HERE, after having doubted Master when He said, "wear these" (stripper shoes rather than Stuart Weitzmans, rather than dreaming of Jimmy Choos).  HERE, after He said, "wear leggings", and then "wear leg-warmers", and "here -- don this June Cleaver dress", now, NOW, wear blue eye shadow UNDER your eyes, well ...................

Can you believe that Anna Sui had it on the runway this year?!  Its true!

So, will i never learn?  Will i never TRUST implicitly?  How is it that Master is constantly ahead of the curve, even with womanly matters?

(Because He appreciates the enticement of women?)

my new look is making me CRAZY-go-sexy-happy.  i went to Sephora and got the Urban Decay "Adore" which is basically electric blue and well ........... i got $200 of other stuff, too, including a VERY cool compact with all sorts of glam-goth-ish colours.  

So much for no debt in the new year, at least i've got a new look!  i'm LOVING this NEW BLUE smokey eye thing!!!!!!  And hey, the way i'm doing it, it looks MUCH sexier than that girl with the mega cock in her mouth.  (So there!)

Between the waist cinchers and the hip huggers, i'm groovin' on my curves -- the ones i once tried to disguise -- with Master, its like a perpetual coming-out-of-my-shell party.  Forget Cinderella, its more like, trash-meets-Fifth Avenue, Jenna Jameson-meets-Grace Kelly.  The contradictions swirl around like some fabulous psychedelic twist.  Well, here's to Master and ringing out the old to bring in the new ... or is it bringing out the old to ring on with making it new?  

Happy NEW Year!!

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Lots of things are changing. Oh how i LOVE evolution. Darwin is my guru. In fact, i haven't even written about this yet (talk about change -- i'm less knee-jerk, less reactive, less in NEED of expressing myself) but Master has allowed me to now talk in first person.

she can hardly get used to it!

Almost five years of being Master's slave and i have come full circle.  Privileges granted were proverbial or rhetorical or genuine privileges now taken away and that too amounts to privilege. 

Its a privilege to be acquired -- to follow all those rules -- talking in third person, using only a litterbox ........... but with time comes change or else you're guilty of stagnation.  i guess you could say i graduated. 

i'm simplifying and streamlining for the new year. Its about change but it started with getting completely overwhelmed and about breaking down as a result. Master started taking things away. i'm now on easy street!  Leading up to Christmas, i was Scrooge turned Mrs. not-Santa but SATAN-Claus.  i tried but ................. .  Master basically said, look, even elves can't help you.  Delegating -- poof.  you are not even going to do that anymore.  I'm taking over.

Master took over -- He accentuated MORE of the total power exchange.  He took away some of my responsibilities by making them now His own.

i could not muster the glee until multi-tasking went up the chimney in smoke.  Being given responsibility is usually seen as a reward ........... until it becomes too much and then it is a gift from God to have it removed.

~~~ + ~~~

All kinds of little symbolic things are at play now. When i send emails, i'm sometimes in lowercase throughout -- i'm leaving off commas and periods and i dOnt car e im not e ven GONNA cor rect typ0s!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i'm also using LESS exclamation points (disregard the previous bevy). And i'm not even saying "dear so & so" anymore. Screw salutations and any people who don't deserve them! 

Let's just say i'm going to be more selective. More about priorities. i'm going to READ more. Do more of the tactile, less of the virtual.  

Ever since my computer crashes (plural -- more than one on more than one computer), i've relegated my time at home to NOT include computer time. i'm trying to watch junk t.v. instead. i'm brushing my dogs rather than writing blogs. i gave up on porn when it gave up on me by being so darn redundant (talk about stagnation).

i'm lightening what started to become the carrying of a cross. Persecution, the put-upon, the pitied and the self-pity -- these things are being eliminated along with people who promote it (read: whiners and perpetual complainers).

Life is grand! i'm farming new land! i am giving up all sorts of jobs -- a whole slew of them. Things that had me WISHING for the simplicity of the slop, the peace of the pig's pen. The things i used to grow, well, any of the crops that stopped growing or wouldn't even sprout are now being replace by new fields. Greener fields. RIPE pastures. i'm only good if i'm juicy and fertile.

Well, its true -- i really started to see that it was ME, and not everyone else. It was not the world against me. It was me in my own little isolated world and once the bubble got claustrophobic instead of safe and cozy, i knew it was time.

Time to garner NEW fruit. Grow new things. i've been rehashing the same 'ole, same 'ole. Oh sure, a few things will remain the same ... like that recurring imagining of being confined to a stall in the stable for a long weekend of authentic and diverse animal training. But for the most part, i need new soil and i am happy to report that i've turned it over all by my wee self. By myself and with help from the greatest farmer of all. Master.

~~~ + ~~~

Photograph of Betty Brosmer.

http://www.bettybrosmer.com/

Dear Santa ................

Dear Santa,

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Naughty or nice. Well, i definitely SEEK to be nice. my motivations are good, but my coping mechanisms aren't. (Are anyone's?)

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Here is what i wish for more than anything ........

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A better reflection in the mirror. Oh no -- silly, Santa -- i haven't forgotten the massive jugs request and how you honored and bestowed and THANK YOU A MILLION THANK YOU.S FOR THAT, but its more than a body i want to see in the mirror.

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Its that i want to sleep with myself. i want to offer a permanent bed to my conscience.

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i want to see a better body in the mirror, sure -- without question -- i want to work harder at the gym. But i want to be a better person.

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This mind, make it better -- this matter of compulsion -- of waking up writing lists -- of my brain going "on" and not shutting off until i am spent with accomplishment or fatigue AND FORCED EXPECTATION UPON EVERYONE ELSE TABOOT! Well, its no different from this masochism. i can't stop until i have proven myself ... to me. To Master, to others, to the world? But i really don't want to be that person.

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i want to be a new person. An improved person.

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i want to be content within myself. Indifferent to judgments and more importantly, indifferent to my own PERCEIVED judgments. i want to stop creating fairy tales and nightmares. i want to just know that i know.

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Master knows -- He says He knows, He shows me He knows. i want to forgive myself now. Not worry about what others know or what others THINK they know. i want to be peaceful and forgiving. i want to stop imagining innuendo. i want to stop blaming the culprit! Oh how i used to have to DECIPHER meaning -- find the words underneath words ... how nothing that was said was meant and nothing that was meant was said. And so, should i wonder or beat myself up for letting my mind play tricks on me?

.

i've been at odds and combative. i've been mistrusting, suspicious. i've turned intuiting into concocting and exagerating. i don't want to complain. i don't want to live in a state of paranoia. i don't want to CARE. i don't want to feel compelled to ITEMIZE my accomplishments or EXPLAIN my reasoning or provide back-up and substantiation to my deeds -- i just want to DO and not turn it into some self-serving spectacle.

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i don't want to constantly see myself as a criminal wrongfully accused.

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So, dear Santa, please -- please could you send a better reflection, please?

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(Oh and okay, just one more thing. Some candy canes preferably in the form of a verb? i really have been a good girl and am aching for the sweet sting of a sound caning.)

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Merry Christmas!

xoxo,

--s2bh.

What's my line?

There is a fine line between the comfort of ritual and the burden of routine.

Just as there is a fine line between release and rebellion.  Take humiliation, for instance.  In the dungeon, its release; elsewhere, i'll spit back to escape its destruction.  Context is apparently everything.

i'm always courting the edge -- i'm always on the precipice of teetering one way or the other.

A WIDE OPEN ..................... world

Okay, so, i watched the World Music Awards show tonight on television.

Strike "okay".
Strike "so".

Start again.

i watched the World Music Awards show tonight on television.

(Wow that sounds better. More mature. Strike wow.)

It was better than okay!
It was better than so as in so-so or so-what.

For a change, it was MORE interesting than any of the American produced music award shows with our same 'ole, same 'ole. Even poor Christina did some stale choreography on the last show i saw -- and she doesn't have to! She's got the chops so why chop it all down with trying too hard? i mean, look at Mariah. She just stands there or moves very little and ........... OKAY, SO, WOW as in YOWZA!

(Do you like my grown-up review so far?)

i enjoyed watching the World Music Awards because i got to travel.
Got to celebrate the music i love here but also, the music i didn't know previously.

Hey, even the Liberace Vegas Russian affair was kind of fun!

i sat there on my couch pretending that this immersion in watching was somehow akin to living. i guess its the voyeur taking pleasure in the exhibitionist -- i reversed roles for awhile.

Alicia Keys made me cry. That's power. i've heard those songs a million times this past year but since when would anyone, anything, remotely Stevie Wonder not have you think amazing talent? (However, why she continues to carry her purse to the award podium is still a mystery.)

Beyonce made me tingle. (Sasha Fierce doesn't.) That's empowerment. i've watched her perform a million times in many years but since when would titillation to the nth degree not have you feel excited? (However, why she is immune to getting a big blown-out ego and reality t.v. show in order to make a fool of herself is still a mystery ............... and one i applaud at that!)

You can tell me Kid Rock is a slouch but i don't care -- Detroit is the heart of America.

You can tell me Heidi Klum is a super model but i don't care -- it doesn't change the fact that she's just a glorified common sort of pretty and a b**** taboot AND that that risky business commercial that must have aired EIGHTEEN times during the broadcast STILL didn't have me know what product they were advertising.

You can tell me that contrived is bad and i still say it appeals to us Attention-Deficit-Instant-Gratification types. No hype; immediate; wherein is the problem?

Oh i could go on and on ............................ i'm wishing for an in-person tete-tete --------------- my reviews are all one-sided. i'm dying for the FIRE of either connection or contradiction.

And so there. There ya have it. i'm just beggin' ya ----------------- BEGGIN' ya to OPEN YER MIND ...........................................and converse with me from behind the shadows because i'm telling you, the spotlight, as uncomfortable as it may feel, is preferable to isolation .............

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tUDcEvufzwE

surrender

The reason i love to surrender is probably because i'm so tired and weary from responsibility! At work, at home, in general, ever since the beginning of time. Being independent is not all its cracked up to be.

Doesn't that explain the many male CEOs who are running multi-million dollar conglomerates and their desire to be beaten, thus released? Their secret submissiveness under the strength of character they must hoist out of bed everyday, day in, day out?

People are counting on them afterall. A pressure pot is DYING to spill over and let off steam.

Set me free!
TAKE me.
Make me do what ever it is at all that You want.
Anything! The more base, the better.
Then too i don't have to be burdened with the guilt of my own sick desires.
i can blame You for forcing me ............ and then i'm free.

Surrender.

It is EVERYTHING it is cracked up to be.
i am a wanton, carefree, lithe spirit now.
Free to revel in my filth and love it.
Shown a way to forgive myself, love myself.

In fact, shown a way to love EVERYTHING but for the fact that GOD, i REALLY dread having to go to work today. Drek always has a way of spoiling all the things that are purported to counter it.

Please get me back to the gutter and soon!
i surrender.
But NOT to the monotony of this job!!
(Thinking ....... Maybe if i were a CEO the grind wouldn't be as irritating? Hey -- of course! For then you'd have your refuge of surrender AND you'd get to crack the whip, exact punishment and even torture whomever you wish!)

~~~ + ~~~
Illustration by FIGARO.

Not your typical dog days .......

Master sure gave a lot of attention to the dogs this weekend. At one point, i think i actually felt jealous! Then i remembered that i'm one of them.

One of the greatest moments ever was the night Master acquired me (almost five years ago) and He had picked me up at my home just like any gentleman would come to the door to escort his new date. Chivalry was everywhere, and so too was His deviant knowingness, His prowess, His finesse.

In the car on the way to Le Cirque (where He had a quickie business appearance to make) and then to His place for dinner (a dinner that He prepared Himself -- yes -- can you imagine? -- a Master not NEEDING to impress but just knowing HOW to in seemingly effortless fashion? -- i mean, unlike me, He is able to talk AND cook at the same time), He informed me that He had already gotten a dog bed for me.

The thing that wow-ed me (or should i say bow-wow-wow-ed me?) was that 1) He read me from the inside out, knowing that that would appeal to me, and 2) that He was that confident to just go ahead and get it in place, with the full intention that He would indeed collar me that night and that i would say "yes" ... an emphatic but seriously afraid "yes" (as in "what am i getting myself into?") replete with wagging tail and a great desire to forever chase His bone ............... or ... um ... boner? Make that both.

There is great reward in being Master's pet. i'm loyal, i amuse Him, i love being His ... and in turn, He strokes me, disciplines me, has me follow Him around while an invisible lead keeps me tethered. How about those dogs that stay close without leashes? They know what i know.

Internal enslavement.
Its a dog's life -- and by the way, i've never understood that expression as having the connotation of being something unpleasant. i mean, God, if you lived my dogs' lives, you'd be ecstatic from the amount of play, peace, protection, and pampering!

Just as a good owner would have all accouterments and essentials purchased and on-hand before bringing home a new puppy, so too apparently does a Master prepare for a slave. That first night, there in Master's kitchen, i curled up in my new dog bed and listened as He explained the rules and expectations and He described a basic reward system that was clearly underestimated at the time. He had already fit me with a new collar ordered to size and cuffs and ankle manacles -- again, all things that meant He prepared and that He cared thoroughly enough to want to make me His.

You don't go to the rescue shelter to just look. You go with the intention of bringing home a pet. And if you're really sincere and genuine and committed, you've already prepared your home. Everything was there waiting for me. And now i'm no different than the happy pup anxious to greet its Master, eager to obey, excited by the mere sound or scent of Him.

i guess you could say, "every dog has its day".

~~~ + ~~~
Illustration by Asaji Muroi -- one of my heroes!
(For more of his work, visit my Dungeon-Love gallery.)

Riding the Bull

PUTTING OUT with no return. Its like futility. BUT, i'm not going to feel sorry for myself. i'm taking the bull by THE BALLS AND TWISTING HARD!

When you have high expectations of yourself, you tend to apply those high expectations on others. Its a problem. Its MY problem. i'm changing direction! Shifting all energy. EXPANDING. Trying to break out of my insular TUBULAR vision -- trying to stop seeing only from the inside. i'm throwing away magnifying glasses -- or at least i'm trying. (Repeat: TRYING.)

i have to get rid of everything that causes me to get riled or resentful.

Being ignored.
Being dismissed.
Repeating myself.
Repeating myself.
Repeating myself.
(See what i mean?)
Getting disappointed and then frustrated when there is no follow-through, a promise to commit thus broken.

i could get all bitter and jaded about it and just say that you can't count on anyone. That no one is to be trusted. That everyone talks out of both sides of their mouth. That promises are no different from hype. That i'm putting out, putting out, putting out, with no return. But that would be self-pitying. That would be some beat-myself-up conviction that no one cares, i'm not heard, i have no impact on anything, "nobody likes me i'm going to eat some worms and die". (That is an old song by the way -- and a bad one at that.)

That bull? Taking the bull by the horns when you're tired of bull? Well, i too HAVE the horns! Thank God i'm bull-headed -- this stubbornness keeps me from succumbing. Hit bottom, then gallop wildly and madly until you get back on top, wiser and stronger. Then put out again and recognize that the return simply doesn't matter because putting out feels good enough unto itself.

~~~ + ~~~
Painting: "Europa & the Bull", by Moreau.

ROUGH HANDLING ... ruff ruff!

i remember one time at dinner, early on after Master acquired me, and we laughed together over His comment, "you like rough anal sex". We really just laughed and laughed. It was so funny. The sound byte -- over dinner -- as if He had just commented that yeah, the rib-eye is delicious and isn't that girl's dress pretty?

It was so out of nowhere, such a juxtaposition, that it tickled us and well, i was already tickled having had some of that rough anal just prior to the dinner.

Today i was watching my dogs play. The male had the female puppy in a headlock and their jaws were wide open most of the time. They flared teeth, growled and yelped, made you think they were fighting when in fact, all the body language reminds you that its just play. The male got onto his back, paws straight up, ready for a rumble and to flip the little one over him when she attempted to pounce. Or he'd stand up, rear-end up to the ceiling, front-end down to the floor, egging her on.

That's us! That is Master and slave. We LOVE playing ROUGH. i love feeling over-powered after fighting with all my might.

i guess i should now describe it ... the anal, that is. i think that is what people like to read about. i'm so NOT rough THAT way -- the explicit play by play -- i mean, sometimes i can describe it but other times i think i'm boring people with technicalities. Only i can romanticize rough anal sex -- i mean, shouldn't i be writing about HOW Master preps my 2nd-cunt, stretches it open, how He may or may not use lube and how i actually squirt from my pussy when i'm coming from anal?

Okay -- that's the best i can do today. Right now i like focusing on the laughter over the sound byte. The aftermath when we make it last and last, the sub-space where i linger and bask in a pretty reflecting pool.

And hey! How do ya like that? i just looked over and the dogs are playing Master and slave, again! The little one just followed the big one to the kitchen, to the living room, to the dog bed, where she now is curled up in between his legs.

~~~ + ~~~
Photograph of my beloved dogs, by slave2bholed.

LONG & HARD, and slick and mean, and well .......

It has that profile. Long, hard, slick and mean. Its a remedy. It will make me breathe better and rest better and sleep soundly. "Is it phallic?", you ask. Well, maybe a little if you stretch your imagination (or something else).

Its my new air purifier! i ordered it today! Can't wait. Its either that or the dog goes and i will never ever EVER get rid of something that has me breathing better (if worse), resting better and LIVING (to heck with sleeping) more soundly.

Hey. Interesting. Its black! And of course they do say that black is longER, and hardER, and slickER, and meanER. Cool! i can't wait for an ENORMOUS amount of breath, rest, and sleep!

packin' an Uzi while oozing

Oh the clichés how they're occupying my head. "Let sleeping dogs lie." When will i ever learn that one?
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Here i am oozing all that love stuff, swirling around in the clouds like i over-used the photoshop blur tool. And yet i'm scrappy. READY to fight. Ready to do exactly like i was accused of doing -- acting on the compelling factor that one must be heard -- even a lowly one -- using my voice, expressing an opinion, and inevitably defending it, too.
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And when they politely and indignantly tell you that you clearly (or frankly -- God i hate that word "frankly") and obviously and apparently HAD to have the last word, well, aren't they really having the last word by condescending you with that tsk tsk nonsense in implying that YOUR having the last word is BAD while theirs is okay?
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Why does the broken self hear all the enunciation in it when they're just words?
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Why does that sticks & stones thing NEVER make sense to me? Why do the words hurt so much more? God, is THAT why i'm a masochist? Because i can TAKE or rather, RELEASE the emotional pain through physicality?
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And yet i still fight it in the outside world. i don't just succumb -- i don't surrender to it like i do inside here. i don't say, "hurt me" -- i don't invite it. i resist. i bristle! And then i basically explode. That's why i love Fiona Apple. IF BUT FOR EVEN ONLY that ONE most PERFECT, most symbolic phrase that epitomizes it all for me. "Fondle my trigger then blame my gun." God, the girl is genius. She gave words to my anthem -- a song for my mantra.
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One day i'll learn. One day i'll stop packing this mentality of needing to defend myself. Someday i won't care WHAT on earth they fondle or poke, incite, prod, provoke. One day i'll be gunless.
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i have a feeling that the stars i see are stars by design -- they're there despite this lament of trusting those who weren't to be trusted because i am DETERMINED to trust! Still, guns are handy when you're being robbed of your person. And they're seemingly essential since i continue to leave the doors to my insides unlocked. But i don't like them, these guns -- the holsters may accentuate great hips but i really don't want to be quick on the draw. i don't want discord anywhere near me. And i don't want this chip on my shoulder.
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Funny. When i'm with Master, i'm not compelled to fight or have my say. i'm less compulsive. i have nothing to prove. i don't worry if anyone thinks me as with a free ride, as if empty headed. Contentment and more keep me constant and consistent, free and unencumbered. Attractive.

And sleeping dogs lie ... quietly, peacefully, not disturbed, and with me as one of them.
.
~~~ + ~~~
Art by the amazing, Trevor Brown.
(See more of his work at my Dungeon-Love gallery! www.dungeon-love.com)

PS: This post would have gotten me banned at the alt site -- guns! i said, "guns"! They're not big on metaphors over there ... apparently obviously clearly frankly. But wait a minute! ---------- Ya see? There i go again -- fighting and being snide and cantankerous. Injustices can really do a permanent number on ya. So, how do you kill demons? Drink honey, ooze honey, BE honey -- guns only make me more miserable. i only like myself when i'm sweet.

Contained.

No wonder confinement is a fetish. No wonder the cage feels safe. Dogs have known it, slaves sense it, i am always after it.

Master and i are now back from our little get-away and what can i say? It was just as i imagined it would be. Perfect.

There was hiking and great meals, picturesque scenery, quaint towns, whipping and gin-rummy in bed, meandering streams and waterfalls and ... um ... water -- oh right -- and watersports, too, and i don't mean rafting down the Delaware River. i guess you could say that all those barns and hillsides make for pretty watercolours while Master coloured me pretty in water.

Most of all, there was the unwinding and reconnecting. The things to bring me back to a tranquil state of bliss.

i always feel so contained after being near Master -- the physicality extends beyond the accentuation of His strength and the way i get to fall in love with my littleness all over again (in addition to falling in love with Him all over again). i tried to explain it to Him this morning. Now i'll try to articulate it again.

This morning, Master pissed all over me in the shower stall (but not because we were in the shower -- it was just a handy venue). And the night prior, He had pissed into my mouth as a sort of pre-dinner cocktail.

Silly me -- we had just gotten into our cute room -- and it WAS cute -- very cozy and like described -- fireplace and bathtub in the room -- and Master had me pose by the bathtub. It wasn't the claw foot one as i anticipated, it was one of those big square multi-person affairs and He directed me to place my hands back a bit on the ledge and here i thought He was going to snap a glamour photo of me.

Little did i know He would then stand on the ledge and insert His swollen penis into my mouth to release a full load of urine. i swallowed a good amount of it and felt happy that i did a good job and although it isn't the sacrament it used to be, its one of those uniting things. When i first dabbled in watersports, it started off as extremely taboo -- i mean, i suppose it was my favorite thing at the time. But the more you practice something, the more familiar, the less forbidden, and before you know it, piss is no different from cum and both are no different from your rudimentary eight ounce dose of milk in the morning.

In other words, my cocktail had me smile afterward rather than tremble and Master and i continued to get ready for dinner as if Rob Petri had just come home from work to announce, "honey, I'm home". Being in that hotel room with Master felt like playing house. And the piss cocktail felt like a little pat on the bottom, something akin to the way you might wink at your lover or show that you care with some private caress under the table while chatting with guests over martinis.

i know, i know -- difficult to believe that pissing in or on someone could ever take on the connotation of a gentle but prodding loving gesture. But it can and it does. i actually think its one of the most beautiful things ever!

This morning, Master continued the theme by not letting me rinse off and He had me get back into bed with Him. i felt affectionate more than sex-ed up, even drenched and then air-dried in His piss. Master told me i smell like pee and i THEN instantly got into that head of humiliation so that affection exited to make room for lust.

He took me as He does when we are in bed in rest-mode -- He uses me as a masturbation device and i LOVE that, being that the rag doll thing is my thing. Performance practically kills my libido whereas rough-handling and outright use, degradation of any kind, stirs it. He screwed me -- no other term for it -- it wasn't even f.-ing this time -- it was like boys used to say -- a long slow comfortable screw. It was hard at times and really deep but it was utterly comfortable -- it was one of those things that CONNECTS me to Master -- some deep sentiment of EXAGGERATED endearment, mesmerized enchantment.

But what i tried to explain to Him was how when His large hand COMPLETELY covered my face right when i was about to come, it reduced me. And when He pinched my nostrils closed and suspended my breathing, when He used His other hand to tightly grip my throat, i was not just over-powered, but intoxicated by it to the point that He suddenly became greater than He already is.

And when He then came the way He cums ............... whenever i feel Him building up and i feel the friction and pumping more emphatically, whenever i feel Him pull all my hair into a reign for Him to clutch and yank back to steady everything, i know i am His pleasure.

i guess it is all a sign of how much i love being His. It symbolizes how much i love being His little thing, how i love being rendered helpless and malleable in the palm of His hand ... how i am the receptacle for all His needs, His tag-along side-kick, there one minute as His urinal, the next as His cum-bucket, the next as His pretty little vavavoom girl skipping along,

always protected,

always in His back pocket.

Contained.

~~~ + ~~~

Self Portrait of yours truly in Upstate New York this past weekend in our cozy little home away from home abode.

fuzzy wuzzy

Oh God, i'm in that affectionate way again. Probably because i'm going away on a long weekend trip with Master. The cabin has a fireplace AND claw-foot bathtub in the room! Sure, i love the dungeon, but i love luxury, too, just as i love intimacy and coziness -- even a tent can feel vastly comfortable. i'm a nester.

You can't get me away from my crazed passion for being an object, but too, you can't take away the little girl. i'm a big fat baby. i can't wait to just follow Master around all weekend. He'll lead everything and i'll just hold onto His hand.

i'm going to miss my new puppy, though. And all my pets -- i'm going to miss all of them. They're fuzzy-wuzzy -- and i've realized that this pet-therapy thing has real merit.

i just gave the puppy a bath last night and WOW i love that soft puppy fur. Its that tactile lust thing again. Too bad she just rolled in mud. i love the mud, too, but not AFTER a bath. i'm a mud baby -- i enjoy a good mess in the muck and the filth, but then i like gleaming afterward. The soft robe and the cotton blankets ... i love flannel jammies but i can't wear those around Master. i love both the reduction and coming back up.

So, i cleaned up the puppy again. Just like i clean myself up seemingly every other day -- there is always something to battle and recover from. Futility doesn't bother me at all when i'm happy and looking forward to things. If only i could have that mindset during the long weeks at work, the days i miss the gym and my kickboxing, and when Master is drowning at His job.

i remember a woman, a long time ago, seeing me pregnant and she said, "oh God, just wait" -- i thought it was horribly mean of her. She had a little toddler running around at her feet and she was smoking and drinking -- clearly NOT having felt that maternal-driven thing that happens whereby a woman suddenly sheds her sexy self and takes on the house-frau attire thus misnaming it, "au naturale".

i think about this because now with my new puppy, i actually remember the soft things in my life. The things that get clouded over when you're dealing with responsibility day in, day out. i get to remember shampooing my baby's head and then putting him in bed next to me to nap.

Once i let go, once hope or pleasant horizons again become omni-present (only because i let them take over -- i have no desire to RULE, i just want to be scooped up to then sail), THEN i could care less who cooperates with me, who hears me, who notices me. i'm so much easier when i'm ignited in love and HOT and saturated in my masochism and sex.

God, i love being a woman. i don't want to wear pants. i have no desire to prove myself as capable. i just want to nest. Sure, i want to accomplish things, but expressive things -- things that are feminine by nature -- projects having to do with art and my insides and rendering a home warm.

Master says its pretty hard to handle the word, "cuddly" and that's a good thing! Men should never be cuddly! BUT, lucky me; who knew that being Master's slave would have me feel that i'm tucked safely in the womb again while getting to see stars? Who knew that i could get to be His very own lap-dog? How can such supreme Masculinity feel so utterly nurturing, so tenderly soothing?

~~~ + ~~~
Manipulated Image of me in snowglobe -- see how i waste my time with these supposed "projects"?

A monumental new way to find sub-space .................

i'm floating. i'm crying from jubilation, big mush that i am. Such a sap -- being moved to tears by a smile or a sentimental story. i've just been put through, not a session, not a scene, but still, AN INTENSE EMOTIONAL RELEASE, A RELIEF TO SOME BURDEN, and that is, afterall, how one achieves sub-space.

Everything harbored up or pent up is suddenly remedied by means of some great exertion, some great expenditure of physicality and/or emotion.

Who knew that a presidential ELECTION AND MY CHOICE CANDIDATE WINNING WOULD HAVE ME ELATED TO THE POINT OF BEING HERE FLOATING IN SUB-SPACE? The campaign trail was the torture, the new President Elect is my celebration, our liberation, and like a slave's transformation through such rites of passage, this country is going to see great change, great growth.

Just as there are tons of Doms in this world, there are tons of politicians. For some reason, Obama transcends the generality and i think THAT is why i'm moved to tears. Its like finding a Master amongst all the Tops. i keep getting choked up. i think its because we might finally have more of a Man than a politician in the White House.

Hurrah! And congratulations America!

HISTORY IN THE MAKING

History in the making is a whole lot better than making HISTORY your living.

i used to do that. That was when i was trying to figure things out. Okay, but once you have figured it out, time to stop copping to it -- time for CHANGE. Sure, i referred to it constantly ... deciphered it, blamed it. The past, the past, my father, my upbringing, my genes, my experiences.

Now i say, let's MAKE history.

Get out and VOTE!!


Its empowering, liberating ... at least do it for the high.
(See my SUB.stance blog for a fun picture.)

i can't swallow !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Today.

Today, people, today.

Not to worry, its just temporary. i've got the flu.

Yeah, i thought it was pretty funny. i told Master this morning, "Master, she can't swallow." Then the mental tag-line blip appeared in my head, "that's a first".

On top of that, i'm house-breaking my new puppy and of course it has to be cold out or raining and he has to have a parasite we're treating which makes for ........... well, let's just say i'm NOT at all into scat and even piss has now taken on a new meaning.

CHORES & DRUDGERY. Kind-a like my current condition with swallowing. All the things i'm known to enjoy, swallowing and enemas and having Master's piss all over my face, well, funny how connotations can go in and out of fashion depending on what ails you.

Okay, so that's all i have for ya! (That exclamation point didn't even sit well what with this head that feels like its about to pop ------------- wow, see what i mean? THAT normally turns me on and now even a head under pressure isn't what it usually is.)

i'm sick.

Well, at least THAT hasn't changed.

'Tis the season for GOURDS!!!!!!!!!!!!!

'Tis the season for gourds. Autumn -- ahh, yeah, well, its fleeting. The colours are warm and the change is welcome and yet, it comes and it goes. By contrast, THESE gourds are nothing compared to THE Gord!

INTRODUCING .................. Gord. The genius. Have a look-see at my Dungeon-Love gallery where i now have a few pages featuring this NOT just seasonal, but rather, PERENNIAL artist's work.

(And here i thought i was good at making Jack-o-Lanterns. This makes me want to become one! Note that the shoes are a nice touch and that candy is most certainly tucked up inside.)

i now have a sister!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Okay, not a sister-slave (yet), but a sister all the same. i now have another new puppy! Hurrah!

i got my male dog a girlfriend and i was so geared up for it that i basically crashed a few days ago. Its a manic thing with me -- eager anticipation, excitement, just like too much chatter, these things wear me out. Master says there are, of course, advantages to that -- like all good pets, they need to nap so that they recover but more so, so that their Masters get some rest.

i relate on both fronts.

i'm recalling that good advice that they offer to new mothers. When the baby naps, YOU nap. Get in whatever sleep you can find. Oh how i remember that i may enjoy sensory deprivation of the erotic variety, but sleep deprivation is ------------- well, let's just say that a good night's sleep is a significant luxury and i'm a glutton. i am currently a glutton ON A MISSION. i am aching for sleep ... and rest ... sleep as the pet, rest as the Master.

i've been pretty busy what with training and cleaning up messes and fielding the occasional can't-be-happy-for-ya two cents (damn and i thought i purged ALL bubble-bursters from my life ... God, talk about strays .............).

i'm trying to remember how house-breaking the first dog went. Or diapers for that matter. You just simply forget. You're SUPPOSED to forget. Work pales in comparison to achievement no different than time healing wounds ... except for the abovementioned strays who manage to remember every agony despite the good stuff and never fail to tell you about it either. You know -- like they always have a BONE of contention or something ha ha.

Tonight is a little more trying than the first night and the first day of house-breaking was met with torrential rain -- the dogs were drenched, i was soaked (but then i always am another ha ha), and my floors won't know mud from poop. But wow -- a new sister! A girlfriend for my dog. Another loyal companion -- you've got to know that THAT is bliss and i'd stand in the pouring rain forever so long as it means that i have something or someone as my great reward. i'll weather anything so that i never have to BECOME a stray or DEAL with a stray remnant reminder of those who are only loyal if convenient or conditional.

~~~ + ~~~
Vintage Photograph: Photographer Unknown.

May i show you another side of me?

Okay, so its not like i don't show this side often enough.

i do.

But i still feel that i'm not supposed to show it. We're not supposed to go spilling our souls all the time, are we? And we're definitely not supposed to go showing our rear-ends and tits and twats fiendishly and like brazen tarts. That's for sure.

So how come it feels so free-ing?

i mean, i'm constantly flaunting the backdoor, my insides, the recesses; i'm perpetually exposed. Physically, okay, but emotionally? Is that really a good thing?

Deprivation does that to you. If you're told to smile all your live long life, its kind of liberating to be permitted to cry once in awhile. (Aww, boo hoo, i sense a sob story brewing.)

i have a few blogs out there ... the other one here at Dungeon-Love is SUB.stance and i try to reserve that for the more idiosyncratic (and let's face it, the blowing-off-steam opinionated PIG-headed) ... um ... dissertations. And lots of times i don't like what i write there.

But i like last night's post! (The one entitled, "SPARE me.") i hope you'll mosey over there to read it. i like when things come together nicely and when i don't over-explain myself.

Now, let me explain why i wrote it ......... ha ha.

Sometimes i like these multi-facets. i love depth and character and vulnerability and quirks and yet i crucify myself MOST of the time over anything that would deem me complex. i like people with problems as long as the problems become comical when commiseration minimizes them, but i DON'T like BEING a problem.

Then again, they say that COMPLEX carbohydrates are better than plain white, the bleached, the lacking-of-substance varieties. Those light ones go to sugar. i'd like to be a nourishing sort of confection and sometimes that means having a less than attractive disposition, a not so bubbly demeanor, and a definitely grainy definition. i'm not going to pretend i'm some air-brushed phenomenon.

i hope you like ALL sides of me. (And if you don't, there are plenty of one-dimensional wonders out there WHO MAKE mE OCCASIONALLY WISH i could be so easy, so unconditionally sweet.)

~~~ + ~~~
Photograph of yours truly, slave2bholed, in the Caribbean, 2007.

A Short Tale About My Long Tail

If you think that teetering atop five-inch heels while keeping up with Master's stride along pitted city sidewalks is rough, try it in a long flowing chiffon gown and then add a tail inserted up the bum on top of that!

Master got me three new dresses and there to complement the two super short, super tight black numbers was this elegant sheathe that was all about ladylike good manners albeit sexy, too. Although Master's taste runs the gamut (He likes Donna Reed dresses as much as skimming-the-pussy risque-goes blatant minis), little did i know that the whole reason Master picked out this gown this time was so that He could insert my tail so that i would wear it all night while out on the town.

He says He wasn't quite sure if i would be able to manage it all night what with a plug up my 2nd-cunt all through dinner and the movement getting there and getting back home, but i did. Basically, i favored one cheek and then another, back and forth in rotation (and i'm hoping that is good for the glutes), but i can't say that walking and being seated was easy. It gave new meaning to posture training and etiquette school where girls walk steady with books balanced atop their heads and slaves walk gingerly so that things don't fall out of their holes.

i had my oysters and an array of other delicacies and courses including the dessert paired with Sauternes for me, Port for Master (talk about symbols, so cute!) and i'm sure i really looked the part of privilege what with Master feeding me every single bite from His fork. i felt BATHED in His shadow which somehow feels like the glow of some eternal light and then afterward, He photographed me in a lobby where the doorman watched. All i keep thinking is, that guy has probably seen a lot of things but never a girl wearing a tail!

Master let the doorman put his fingers on and in my pussy. He had a nice smile. (And Master, too, for that matter.)

Master made this tail for me. It is my third tail and the best so far. My hairdresser would approve. FINALLY the colour matches and the consistency is much better than the ones that used to get really matted and ratty.

i remember the day when i first saw drawings of ponygirls with tails. i had never seen it prior and seeing it for the first time had me elated -- well, no, not exactly elated, more like i COMBUSTED IN RECOGNITION as if to say, hey wait a minute -- THAT was drawn FOR ME! THAT is what i like THAT is what i love THAT is what i NEED WANT HAVE TO HAVE.

And i'm not going to say either that it is a picnic. Sometimes i don't want to wear my tail. Sometimes it feels uncomfortable. For instance, you can't be needing to have to use the bathroom. Sorry to be so direct and sorry to admit it, but let's just say that thankfully, my insides were with enough room to accommodate it and that includes my head because your head absolutely has to be open wide and pliable, more so than your rearend, in order to wear a tail.

So there i was Saturday night, doing what ladies and animals do -- i had to watch out for my tail. When i walked, i lifted my gown along with the tail underneath. Everyone saw a princess; i was only aware of my need to clutch the tail up into the fabric, gracefully and with aplomb. When i sat down, i looked out for my tail. Up and down stairs, same thing. Going to the bathroom, i swept it up from under while cloaked in the chiffon of my dress. i managed to keep it in while peeing. i managed to keep it in period! Master had brought a garbage bag folded up in my little evening purse for the just-in-case contingency plan. (Oh my Master -- always thinking ahead.)

And here i thought wearing my little pussy bell was tricky. That has a little sterling ball that inserts into my pussy. Master likes to hear the little jingle which He says gives Him a hard-on. He says He likes knowing exactly where i am, how quickly i'm moving or when i'm approaching from another room.

my tail is another tale -- a completely different story as to its purpose. Its not for keeping track of me the way you'd hear your cat running around with that bell on her collar. Its about keeping a woman aware of her reduction and her animalistic self. i'm aware alright. Well aware. And i'm aware of the dichotomy, too. The poised and the made-pretty are sometimes the sickest and dirtiest creatures of all. There is the surface -- the elegance and the dress -- and then there is the underneath -- the no-panties, the vulnerability, and all the other ... er ... um ... tell-tale signs.

~~~ + ~~~
Photograph of yours truly, slave2bholed, just after dinner and in the lobby of some apartment building, NYC, 18 October, 2008.

The Copyrightable Slave -- COPIED!

Okay -- never mind my idea of posting the first version of the previous post from about a year ago. i thought it might share some similarities but also possibly include some different thoughts or insights because one can only hope we always evolve. i was prepared to see growth (or degeneration -- some sort of change). i guess i have some consistency about me afterall (or redundancy, one of the two) -- all that i wrote then is essentially the same as what i wrote the other day! But i'd like to think that the thinking now is more well-formed, more sophisticated, better articulated. (Keep believin', baby.)

Copy?
Copy that.

The Copyrightable Slave (Version 2: WELCOME HOME)

Just about a year ago, i wrote a post and entitled it, "The Copyrightable Slave". i never posted it. i just found it after writing this one here. It should be interesting to see if anything has changed in my thinking ............ here is today's version. (i'll post the first version in the next day or so.)

Welcome home, baby girl!

When Master first acquired me 4 1/2 years ago, i was a fragile thing -- really insecure and wow, i just came across some pictures from then. SOS! i think i look matronly or provincial or like i'm trying to be young and not pulling it off. i had baby-doll curls afterall!

my hair was basically platinum and now its like healthy bread: golden wheat. Wholesome. Much better for you. Less obvious, more noticeable. Gratifying rather than some quick superficial fix.

Still, back then, i thought i was hot and i was told i was hot and my demeanor said so -- i was just trapped in preconceived ideas and a fear of cheapness coupled with a desire to please that was so pronounced (read: DESPERATE) that i sought approval indiscriminately and in all the wrong places.

Master completely transformed me. Now i'm a woman in addition to being His f.-toy. Before this, i was perpetually lost while THINKING i was found. i thought i found myself via about eighteen hundred rites of passage and an equal number of chemical or organic alternatives. But, i knew nothing. Nothing!

i'm now the copyrightable slave. Master's creation, Master's genius personified. i'm His intellectual property -- the art He set out to create PRECISELY and meticulously in order to fit His vision.

Yeah and well, that's a bad thing? Tell me how being molded is really such a bad thing like they say it is supposed to be? If you're flailing around out there, how is being reeled in and being rebuilt such a disgraceful thing? If i reached up and took hold to a life line, i wanted it! How else do you explain why even the frightening is compelling enough to have you keep going, keep exploring, keep taking the baby steps that amount to letting risk encroach on the potential for missed opportunity?

He brought me HOME. Master introduced me to HOME -- and if anything, i suppose THAT is what i was seeking all along. Being owned is about having a home with consistent supervision and discipline.

Its so strange -- i have self-respect now. i have a faith restored -- the faith i claimed to own through lip-service and self-talk, but now genuinely practiced because, yeah -- okay -- corny, but i've SEEN THE LIGHT. Everything before was about covering up -- blinding myself, shutting down, NUMBING out. Now i want to FEEL. Master taught me to appreciate my sensitivities. He said i wouldn't be His if not for these PERCEIVED weaknesses which are actually strengths.

i dress differently. (Okay -- let's get to the fun stuff, enough with sentimentality!)

Master buys dresses for me that would have you swear He dresses starlets. In the outside world, i'm sure these dresses, if on a hanger rather than hugging a body, would scream insult or "slut". They'd be call-girl calling cards. Prostitute! Whore! (Sneer.) my aunt likes to say, "showgirl" but i know what she means. That's a polite way of saying its a bit much, or rather, not much at all (as in fabric).

i have never felt more sexy in my life!

In the first year after Master acquired me, He got me laser treatments so that i'd have a baby smooth pussy. A year or so after that, i got the big boobs i was craving. There have been both mental and physical transformations and women like to make sure that a girl is only doing it for herself, not the guy, but what difference does it make if i WANT to be the epitome of a Man's desire?

i get looks and double-takes and i don't always notice but i do know that some are admiring and some are disdainful. i've never walked with such confidence. i've never felt healthier. i like me so much better now. Love is the most important nutrient for me and i don't mean GETTING it, i mean giving it. i'm perfectly content to be in love with love and even better, to be able to deposit my love with someone who will appreciate it. Why, they don't even have to love me back! (Although that's nice when it happens and i think it usually does in time. i just don't ever need to hear it so long as i feel it.)

Master didn't just allow me to love Him. He didn't just transform the packaging of me -- the way i apply make-up, the way i now present myself -- He showed me how to move through the world, chin up, eyes bowed down to Him -- how to revel in my littleness. How to be generous again rather than taken for granted. He taught me how to recognize that what used to be a convenient disposable, is really a recyclable. Who knew that submissiveness is to be indelibly green?

Previous Masters are practically non-existent to me now. i can't say i really carry anything with me from then ... there is no more residual. That isn't to be confused with regret, for i have none. That is just to say that more and more, i am less and less connected to the past. i'm now impervious to those previous impressionable ways -- the ways that when in unscrupulous hands or vindictive hands, undid me.

i don't even like to refer to previous Masters as "this slave's first Master" or "my second Master" -- they basically are now just "a Master". i didn't belong to Them. Its like i didn't exist until now.

Its love -- its no different from any kind of falling in love -- it is the endall and its NOW and in the present which is OMNI-present and the past and the future are components but not directionals. The compass is right here, right now -- its in my enslavement, in this internal collar that i wear day in, day out, in this purpose i feel perpetually. Its in the fact that Master DESIRES this that i have become. (Is that what they call job security?)

Forget copyright, maybe Master ought to apply for a patent!

~~~ + ~~~
"Welcome Home" by one of my heroes, SIMON BENSON!
(See more of Benson's work at my gallery: www.Dungeon-Love.com.)

In my element.

BINGO! Figured it out. Being in my element is what makes me happiest. It has nothing to do with a sense of accomplishment or a sense of purpose -- those things are PART of it, but this weekend i learned that the COMPLETENESS -- the full circle -- that's what i'm after.

The circle is closure. The circle is infiniteness. i'm whole.

This weekend, Master had me on the webcam. (i hate the web-cam, especially at that yucky place, alt.) He had me perform. (i HATE performing -- i'm a f.-sack, remember?) But, it eventually segued into something more comfortable and Master says that i'm basically selfish (me?) in that i had so much difficulty ad-libbing and improvising. (i am NOT an actress! i'm authenticity! i'm vulnerability best captured in distress!)

When people started asking me questions, THEN i was in my element. THEN the spotlight felt warm and soothing, like a hot bath. That was my signal that people were interested in "me" not just showmanship. (Talk about selfish.)

i don't like the glare of the spotlight; i only like the kindest, most flattering light -- the one that allows me to be "me" in the way i want others to see me. (Emphasis on "the way i want".) Otherwise, i want to step back and shine the light on someone else. i do this all the time in life -- in conversation or when meeting people -- when feeling my usual of social-anxiety. (i think this is called, "selfish", too. i want to control what i can't otherwise own.)

On camera, Master beat me (flogger -- SOOTHING!, and cane -- HEAVEN!) and that was really just a teaser for the watchers (and for me for oh how i can take so much more!! -- want more need more PLEASE GIVE mE MORE -- is that selfish?).

And then He had me suck His cock down my throat (i'm not good at that but the angle was good and i think i get A for effort) and He inserted my tail which i then swished around for everyone. He f.-ed me hard (in my pussy and in my 2nd-cunt!) and had me scream (my head off!) into the microphone and He pounded me so hard that i squirted on camera (twice!) and well ................................ did that all mean that i was in my element?

Yes and no.

PARTIALLY.

Later that night, Master dressed me up in one of my favorite pixie style black dresses, thigh high boots, blush compliments of not Fresh or Estee Lauder but ENSLAVEMENT and SEX and He took me out and we feasted on Butternut Squash soup with lobster and six other things that i can't remember and we sang together later that night in the living room ...

... and the next day we took a drive in the country ... we saw the ignited foliage -- the heat having drawn sub-space all over the place what with that gold light and the orange and the red ............... and we had lunch on the Hudson and Bloody Marys and we went to the driving range and we visited with family and we ............. and we .............. and we .............

That's just it.

We.

We this. We that.

We slept together.
Master used me when He came into bed late at night each night. i LOVE being sound asleep. Accomplished, now serving more purpose. i get off not just on Him f.-ing me while i'm resting, but on Him thinking only of the sensations stroking His cock. i love that He just wants to get off. That i'm His masturbation toy. THAT, to me, is love-making.

i'm His dress-up doll that He takes to dinner, His play-toy, His f.-sack, His multi-purpose possession. His confidant, His companion. And i am His greatest champion.

i'm His loyal disciple, His ardent fan. Sacrifice and compromise don't exist here, no matter what anyone tells you. Its the full circle. Multi-dimension: its the dungeon and its courting of all of life, not just play life. Its autumn as a result of the full growth from spring -- its not JUST summertime.

Its the incorporation of THIS with THAT replete with the prequel of "we".

~~~ + ~~~
Illustration by Una Woodruff.

Whom is serving whom?

Everyone writes about it, just as anyone immersed in this world is quick to say they MUST write a book about their discovery -- their epiphany -- their BORN-AGAIN or BORN-ANEW status. You can't blame them, of course. It is THAT powerful, this world and the entrance to it -- it feels like a panacea. But, tonight i thought about it in a way that was like stepping outside of myself.

Normally i'm very inside -- i'll say that irony is everywhere and sure, its in here in good measure, but with things the way they have been, that being that Master and i are pretty consumed and extremely distracted with things that are kind of getting in our way, well ....... we both are aching for more time together. Tonight i attempted to view things from a bird's eye view rather than from within the womb.

Suffice to say, i, the slave, in particular, am (what else is new?) craving to a great degree, MANY sensations. Master and i are both in need of things. But i'm fixated on my desperation. i'm dying for wax, for instance. DYING for it. i'm also dying for a really sound beating that is ritualistic more than painful. Although without the sting, its child's play -- i really like to feel things afterward. Like the gym. i want to know soreness as my reward. i don't know that i'm after pain as much as i'm after the authentic -- i need to know in the aftermath that something actually took place and happened.

Tonight i wanted to ask Master for permission to ask for something. i'm never allowed to, as Master calls it, "beg". Some Doms like that, but this Master EMPHATICALLY DOES NOT. And still, i took a chance and inched my way up to asking not for a particular but just for the permission to ask for a particular and then .............

THEN, it hit me. First, i can't ask for the permission to ask because that is manipulation! Then, secondly, the irony hit me, but from a different perspective. Even if i were to be permitted to ask for something, why just think of it -- the slave is supposed to be GIVING, sacrificing, SERVING. But the slave is the one getting sensation. The slave is GETTING. The slave is RECEIVING pleasure. Even if she gives pleasure, she is receiving pleasure by being made to GIVE pleasure because that just means use and all slaves love use.

This is nothing new. i'm not articulating anything new here, but, point is, it HIT me in a furthered way. i already know that the slave is the one USED as an object but READ like a good book -- she is the one showered in attention, coddling, training, things being done TO her and FOR her. So, in essence, she is the one being sought after, devoured, doted on and tended to. Realize that internally or from the inside of sub-space and then realize it from a school desk -- i'm currently very academic in my thinking so it feels like a different discovery.

So, i thought, sure, okay -- what if i were to ask, "Master, PLEASE SOON can we do wax again?". WHAT EXACTLY IS IN IT for the Master? Work! What pleasure can possibly come to the Master by His showering His slave in hot dripping wet kisses while being a slave to making sure candles are bought, candles are lit, candles are at a good temperature, candles are used in a choreographed way that means making Your slave dance in a more artful way than Martha Graham while appearing more splattered than a Jackson Pollock canvas?

i suppose you could say that the Master gets off on the writhing around of the slave, on her reaction, on her succumbing, surrendering ............... on watching her sinewy body scintillate all over the sinful place, (hey, cool -- Sssssssssss), but still, i'd say the slave is the one with the privilege.

i need to figure out how to ask permission to do something FOR Master that is JUST for Master and not for me.

Is that possible? i mean, are slaves ever the selfless creatures they're supposed to be?

i have an idea. Maybe i can offer to buy the candles.

~~~ + ~~~
Photograph: Martha Graham Dance Troupe.

DDelightful!

~~~ + ~~~
Greeting Card: Paperlink.UK.

NAKED

i just got done looking at Pop-Eater and the 500 shots of Angelina from the "Changeling" premier in New York. i also looked at another gazillion photos on E!, Wire Images, Variety, Celebrity Photos.com, and every other place in the world and IT IS JUST NOT FAIR!

How is it that she puts on minimal eye shadow ... or NONE AT ALL ... and manages to have that smokey eye feline gaze?

i'd say she looks Divine. i'm sure we're all ready to pounce and slam her -- insist she hasn't lost baby-weight, that there are problems at home, that something is wrong with what looks so right. And that's all a matter of envy or contempt due to coveting what we ache to own ourselves.

i mean, look at her! Courageous, knowing she's coming out here to be tarred and feathered. Look at her, all aglow, taking in an occasional secret whisper of faith from Brad. i was engrossed by her confidence alone. i like looking at the subtlety, shot to shot, and realizing that you just simply HAVE to give this woman credit for not getting frazzled. Her composure has me wanting to submit or else hope to be her bestfriend.

And too, i have to tell you that i FEEL for Angelina. And i FEEL for Heather Locklear. Even Brittany Spears. EVEN Madonna (well only sort of).

If i think i'm isolated, think of them. How must it feel to be under public scrutiny day in, day out. Why think about how i feel with no public (or private!) audience at all and only IMAGINARY scrutiny calling at my every move?

This little carb went to market --

Between the carb cravings and the market decline, NOTHING is normal. i thought my disorientation was about feeling shelved and impatient ... waiting while Master gets through a serious work overload ... waiting while intervening life takes a back seat to LIVING life.

Nope. Now i've realized that after pulling myself up and out of some heavy gloom, they're all feeling it just one skip behind me.

Today's quiet was BLARING but it also ignited frenetic dreaming and that conjured up a lot of possibility. i want to see the world. i don't want to stand still. i want to feed my tummy carbs and watch everyone prosper, all while being fit and lean, physically, financially, and emotionally.

The Word of the Day

Ahh-ha! i figured it out. Today's word of the day is UNDER-UTILIZED.

i keep wondering why i'm waking up depressed all the time and why its so hard to shake it and WHY its happening considering that i have such a great life.

Well, now i understand. It isn't loneliness or isolation ... it isn't that at all. Its this shelf! Its the waiting. Its this feeling that i'm wasting away. There is this faint hope all the time in the distance and it keeps receding or turning dismal and THAT is a lousy feeling.

i keep grabbing at ANYTHING -- snapping at everything -- i'm irritable when i'm ignored or left behind and then i'm kicking myself for admitting to it.

Okay, so i'm taking donations. Anyone wishing to use me to my fullest potential DAY IN DAY OUT, please contact Master ha ha ha (yeah and so why is more-than-enough never enough?)

If i'm not spent -- physically, mentally, emotionally -- i haven't done all i can do in a day. i'm not just talking about the dungeon, i'm talking about ANYTHING. i have no time to myself and yet still, i have too much time on my hands. i think i'm growing weeds! i miss my garden of sexiness, my vulnerability rendered pretty, and that only happens when i'm constantly tended to, constantly cut-back, dead-headed to bloom again, deflowered mercilessly, pulled at and clipped and put on display by being taken out of the garden and into the house in close proximity to every admiring passerby.

i guess you could say that utilization = cultivation.

~~~ + ~~~
Photograph of a Dahlia from my garden. --slave2bholed.

T R U S T

Trust starts and ends with me.

Yes, of course i trust in my Master, but this post is not about Master.

i've heard a lot of people tell me that they trust no one. Around the time of my epiphany -- my BDSM epiphany when i discovered that my submissiveness had a name -- i came upon some writing somewhere, maybe even a chat room, whereby a Dom was telling another Dom that the way to collar a slave was to simply establish trust. That once trust is established, the sky is the limit.

i found that arousing. And of course, i agreed. Trust allows you to do things you might otherwise not do. Your guard is down ... and that therein is the reason why so many people probably don't trust -- why get screwed over AGAIN?

So, i've come to really trust myself. my instinct is NEVER wrong. my judgment might be a little off, my prejudices might take over, but in the end, whatever i feel intrinsically, never fails me at all. i have predicted things. i'm not with any extra sensory anything. i have been able to say "i told you so" a million times and it takes every bit of willpower not to wave it around like a crown of glory.

i am so emphatic in my know-how in certain realms that first i repeat myself, then i alienate, but then i ultimately conquer. By the time i conquer, i'm indifferent so conquest takes on a different connotation -- something more akin to closure. i've had people come to find me many years later, only to say, "ya-know -- i just want you to know that you were right". That always has me sleep well that night but toasting victory? Its too far gone for that.

What i should do now is not rely on some belated gift of that sort -- the validation, the recognition, the being proven right after a long haul. i should instead just rely on my pragmatic intuitiveness and never doubt it anymore.

Once trust is established, the sky is the limit and that has nothing to do with pie-in-the-sky notions, the mere hints of which i distrust.

Once trust is established, the sky is the limit and i'm up here in blue infinite skies, the ones i look for while still knowing that the dark ominous ones are still in sight in the near distance, in my contingency plans, in the back of my mind. And still i'm flying up here with my trustworthy self, quite positive that i can rely on the trust i've established and cultivated with experience and savvy and prowess ... and a few too many mistakes of trusting when i shouldn't have.

~~~ + ~~~
Art from "Art & Ghosts".

Try, try again.

i hope i haven't published this photograph before. i really hate repeating myself.

i'm learning.
i'll never stop learning.
Probably a good thing.

So, i stumble and i fall and i fell again at the end of last week.

And i picked myself up again.

But the best part and the part for which i should be eternally grateful is that Master picked me up again, too.

Its pretty amazing that He doesn't get tired of my inability to balance better by now.

But then, i'm repeating myself again .................

~~~ + ~~~
Photograph of yours truly, slave2bholed (2005 or 2006?).

a pain in the glutes

Its now getting creepy.

i was assigned a trainer for my introductory sessions at the new gym and i'm finding that this guy is a bit lecherous. He asked if i minded him calling me honey and i said no but truth is, i do. But why make waves? i just want to get through this thing and then work on my own.

He is nice and all, but something feels itchy. i don't like him constantly touching my abs and thighs and glutes to see if they're tight when i'm holding a position ... i don't like the intensity in which he says things that SEEM to imply hidden meaning. Most of all, i don't like him looking in my eyes while grinning.

Today i dropped the boyfriend ammunition. That's always handy. Its easier to refer to one's boyfriend (my Master) in order to get someone to back down rather than simply say, "please stop coming on to me".

Why is that, i wonder. i saw a funny quote by Julia Louis Dreyfus when her character from a television show says something to the effect of: "i never do what anyone tells me to do on a first date ... i wait until the second date and that's just good manners". my problem has always been that i don't want to hurt anyone's feelings, i don't want to have confrontation in any degree, and in the past, i always felt it good manners to thank someone for dinner even on a first date.

Yesterday, again, the trainer used the word torture -- asked me if i'm "ready for torture". He previously asked if i'm ready "to be punished". HELP!, i'm getting embarrassed for him. Cuteness is NOT becoming on a man. i made the mistake of telling him that i like to feel sore. That i want to work out hard and that drill Sergeants are good for me. God, if only he knew that what he is doing is NOT remotely related to the torture i know (and love) except in the case that it is torture to listen to bad one-liners and innuendo.

At the glute machine, he advised, "you have to press this button to get out of the bondage". This is one time that bondage -- a bondage of overt and uncomfortable flirtation turned repulsive! -- is feeling claustrophobic!

He complimented my figure, my work-out clothes, my disheveled hair that i had no time to assemble, my calves that he says indicate that i wear heels all the time, my nail polish colour, my fragrance, my name, my backpack, my car ... and i hope that today when i bring Master to my gym as a guest, that he has time to compliment Master by LAYING OFF OF mE!!

Because i feel like trying out ENIGMATIC ...

Guess what i'm thinking.














~~~ + ~~~
Manipulated photograph of Lorna Morgan and Chloe.