I read a post by kitti where she says:

“It’s scary because of the recent changes. I’m not sure he knows where our final destination is.”

That got me to thinking about Masters and their ultimate goals.

To be honest, I have no real destination in mind for rayne and I. Obviously, I will keep training her and continue to mold her into the slave I want. However, I have no specific goal in mind; no place I specifically want to be when we’re in our twilight years. There is just no check box labeled “Complete” in my mind.

A part of this is that, as people, we’re constantly changing. In the very beginning of our relationship the thought of having rayne service another man was abhorrent to me. At the time I felt there was no way I’d ever be comfortable with such a thing.

Then very soon after, while we were still initially discovering our sexuality together, an opportunity arose and I found that I wanted to take it. All in all it was a good experience and taught us both a lot. I would’ve never foreseen that had I thought about it just a year earlier.

I am still not the most spontaneous person in the world, but I’m sure rayne can attest to the fact that even in the years she’s known me I’ve changed a lot. I no longer need everything planned out in advance, and I’m able to “go with the flow” much more than I used to.

So what does that have to do with anything? I know there are things right now that I want to work on with rayne regarding her training. I’ll be working on verbal training via command words, for example, but the ultimate and final destination is still murky in my mind, and I’m finding that it sits just fine with me.

I find that it’s easier to concentrate on short and medium term goals, rather than stressing over the long term destination. I do think about the future, of course, but I’m flexible as far as how things turn out. One thing I know… I will be rayne’s Owner, Master and Husband, and rayne will be my property, slave and wife.

Anything in addition to that is just gravy.

Okay, probably not, but I got your attention, huh?

I never got a new outfit for the holiday party.

Master took me shopping.  I’d given myself a stern talking to, and promised myself that I wouldn’t let what I knew to be true affect my confidence.  I look good.  I know I look good.  It’s not my fault the fat girl stores prefer to keep up with fashion, or the “perfect fat” girls, as Lilly put it, and not what’s flattering on a woman shaped as I am.  And while it is partially my fault I’m the size that I am, it’s definitely not my fault I’m not “the perfect fat”.

Truth be told, I should probably go back to learning how to sew and start making my own clothes.  As it stands right now, it is next to impossible to find an entire outfit that doesn’t make me look pregnant or cling to all my rolls or flare out so enormously as to have next to no shape and make me look like I’m wearing a tent.  I’m not really fond of looking like I’m wearing a tent.

Jesus, and here comes that feeling in the pit of my stomach again.  A little bit of anger and a little bit of sadness.  A second of wishing Master would get fired so we could go for regular walks again.  Just eating healthier isn’t doing us any good with our mostly sedentary lifestyle.

I love that there are stores that cater to big women.  Lord knows, there are enough stores that cater to little ones.  But for the love of god, do you think you could consider, just for a second, saying, “Fuck fashion.” and designing clothes that will actually look good on us? Sexy, even!

You know where I’ve seen the best clothes for plus-sized women? Baby Phat. The very same company that has giant golden cats on all their clothes.  Some of their clothes appear to be flattering on women of all shapes and sizes.  I mean, some of it’s pretty disastrous, but that’s true of any designer.  Some big women insist on following trends whether or not they look good on them.  And some trends look good on some big women.  Unfortunately, Baby Phat’s also expensive.  Suck.  Read more…

The time between the epiphany of Part 1 and now was rough and off-balance for me. i struggled with figuring out what i was feeling, so that i could tell him without sounding like some deranged window-licker off its meds. (Heh, me 5 years ago)

i was trying to express very internal emotions of betrayal, isolation, stagnation and frustration. i wanted to scream and cry and throw myself at His feet, demanding that He just read my mind (don’t they learn that at the super secret european dom training manor?) and fix me.  Preferably while i was sleeping, so that i didn’t have to feel a thing. Yeah, that’s gonna happen. So instead i retreated inside, trying to sort out these half-buried, explosive thoughts, while treading the surface on the outside, going through the motions of slavery while my mind was out to lunch. And, true to His form, He stepped back and waited it out. Which drives me absolutely batshit crazy, because it feels as though He’s retreating from me, giving up on me. Damnit, if He wants the body, He’s saddled with the mind! The more i pressed Him to react, to assert His will as i wanted it the more He stood firm and refused to engage me on it. So i dug my heels in deeper and started to buck the reins. And He never let me slip them, but He didn’t tighten them, either.

Finally salvation came to me via kaya’s blogpost “Absolute Power” . It gave me a frame of expression. See, the thing i had been grappling with, unable to fully voice but feeling the cutting edge all too well, was that i was slowly being ground away. He was getting all too familiar with me going that extra mile to please Him, and i was slowly eroding my sanity to hold shit together. His absolute power was cozying up to the corruption line. i knew that if things weren’t adjusted, i would be back on meds to help me keep chemically sane. And i’m wondering how He couldn’t see that coming. Or maybe why He didn’t care.

He had gleefully abandoned the few household chores He had.  i had shouldered them without complaint,  just another grey hair in my ponytail, another wrinkle on my tired face. Hey, i mean, what did He get a slave for? Sure as shit wasn’t to keep doing the catbox Himself, right? What’s another chore on my list when i’m a stay at home slave with three kids under the age of 5? Hell, He’s God in this house, why should He deign to lift a finger? That’s what underlings are for!!

So i finally came to Him and said (paraphrased) “i’m going crazy trying to do everything under this load. If You won’t change anything, i will need meds. i understand You da Boss, but i can only do so much more before i give out. At this moment, i am serving because i have no choice, not because i love to.”

He considered everything, explained to me why somethings couldn’t change, but did arrange to change a few other things so that i could have a little time to myself without the kids.  He’s going to step up on the jobs He had dumped on me.

Now that i’ve come clean, now that i’ve lanced that poisonous abscess of pain,  grief and hopelessness,  i’m feeling more like my old self. i’m not fully comfortable anymore. i’ve seen the edge of the abyss. i listened to the pebbles bounce down the walls. But now i know, that He will come for me when i fall. He will be patient with me when i need to lick my wounds and patch my tattered sanity back together.

And maybe, now that He’s seen what His absolute power can destructively do, He’ll be a bit wiser in its application. i can only hope so.

So Sunday was horrible.  Well, the beginning, anyway.  I was disobedient, and Master said I didn’t appreciate Him, so I got indignant and disrespectful.  Defensive.

I don’t remember what we were talking about.  But we didn’t agree.  I was right, damn it! And so was He.

And suddenly, I shouted, “I’m not going to bow down and change my mind just because you don’t agree with me!”

~blink~

Time stood still and I held my breath.  Did I really just say that out loud? Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck….

Ever had one of these moments? Tell us about it.