Me- looks fine on the outside, all tangled up on the inside.

There’s been quite the flurry of communication in this house as we further explore some of the outside stressors that are taking their toll on our sanity. One of the topics that came up was His continuing interest in swapping with another friendly couple or with a female, preferrably bisexual, but not necessarily required.

That topic, of swapping, always leads to interesting reactions on my part, because it is absolutely loaded with implications, fears, insecurities and nightmares for me. It makes even the most mundane comments from Him make me tremble with suppressed rage or sob quietly in the bathroom.  It’s quite the fucking mental minefield, for sure.

The more direct consequences of the swapping I’ll discuss later on in a different set of posts. This post will be a multi-post series on how an open-bedroom policy has an affect on how I serve Him in the O/p relationship.

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He thinks of me much more than I realize. And He sees a lot more of my emotional turmoil than I give Him credit for.

Last night we were discussing O/p theology while showering. It had spun off of an  entry I was trying to puzzle out for ID, about active ownership, whether it was a phase, a personality flaw or something I was doomed/destined to requite. In fleshing this out, we discussed teh various nuclear meltdowns I suffered over the past year, all tied in one way or another from my perceived abandonment of the O/p by Him. Out of the blue He hit me with this gem that made me stop and reasses Him on a whole new level:

“You freak out because you assume that each time I get lazy or have to withdraw from the O/p I’m never coming back to it.”

I never thought He was interested in discovering the whats and whys  regarding my breakdowns. He’s normally a results-orientated kinda guy, less concerned with why I’m doing something and more concerned that I am doing it and in His parameters.  So when He saw right through me like that, in a manner that I hadn’t even addressed yet, (hell, I hadn’t even fully formed the idea that I was afraid of abandonment until maybe a month ago) totally brought me up short.

Now I find myself wondering what else He’s grokked on me without letting me know. How far ahead of me is He? And a little bit of me wonders if He doesn’t laugh at me when I running around chasing my tail, totally freaked out and clueless as to why, and He knows exactly what my problem is and enjoys watching me lose a year or two of my life panicking over the sky falling in. But an Owner would never do such a thing, would they? *snickers*

Oddly enough, I find this kinda comforting. It’s nice to know He isn’t as oblivious to my inner workings as I initially believed. There was just no reason for Him to let me on that He isn’t clueless. I believe it probably gives Him an edge in keeping me in place when I get uppity.

I haz a warm fuzzy, because He never stops leaving me surprised and at least one step behind.

This Friday, The Man and I fly out to Arizona to stay for the weekend with His mom and step-dad. The day after we arrive, it’s off to Las Vegas for a night, then back to Arizona for another night before flying back home. I’m alternately thrilled and terrified.  He finds this dichotomy amusing.

I’m thrilled because it’s three and a half days away from our children. Our children, who, though I love them so, have driven me stark raving mad more than once recently. I’m thrilled because it will be new experiences for both of us, a chance to relate to each other on a solely O/p basis, parenting and the stressors of living one step from disaster a far distant concern for that short stretch of time. A chance to recharge our batteries and reaffirm why we love each other so much.

I’m terrified because there is so much unknown involved. I’m already getting a squicky feeling in the pit of my stomach thinking about going through security. About strolling down the Strip. About the noise and crowds and dim chaos in the casino His mother is bringing us to. While I am curious about it all, I still would rather bury my head in His shoulder and blink it all away. Unknown situations can bring me, an otherwise fairly confident, strong woman, to my knees begging for it to just stop. Good example: When I was a feshman in high school, I was transferred three-quarters way through the season to a different school due to natural disaster. No one from the new school showed me how to use the totally unfamiliar check-out system for lunch. Consequently, I never ate lunch there. For two months, I never stepped foot in the cafeteria. I was petrified of the idea that I would make a fool of myself trying to learn this new system. I didn’t want people behind me getting irritated with me for taking so long.  Read more…

This weekend is Memorial Day weekend. Most people are gearing up for a weekend at the lake, in the backyard bbq-ing, swigging beers and tossing the football around. Children running around yelling and whooping, the slight scent of coconut wafting off their skin from the sunblock their moms dutifully rubbed on. Women kvetching over paper plates piled high with pot-luck fares like potato salad and baked beans, men surrounding the grill in a re-enactment of man’s primitive circle around the fire. Flags fluttering in the breeze, a tradition done on instinct, because Dad did it, because his Dad did it, for who know how long.

That is not ALL Memorial Day is. Go to your nearest graveyard. See all the flags marching row and row, column and column? They are the main reason for Memorial Day. Those men and women who did what they could to ensure that the bbq and children running free across the yard was available to all. They put themselves in front of us to keep us safe, to keep us free. They elevated the safety of America above their own dreams and sometimes, their own lives.  Read more…

It was hot, even though she was topless and wearing only shorts. She armed sweat off her brow, leaving a smudge of dirt in it’s place. She stretched tall and glanced towards the other end of yard, stealing adoring glimpses of her Owner as He tinkered with their ancient, cantankerous tractor.  Suddenly, weeding the garden didn’t hold much importance in the scheme of things, so she sauntered over to where her Owner lay prone under the tractor. She smiled as she heard half-muttered cursing and snarls drifting up from Him, accompanied by clanks and bangs and even the occasional grunt of pain. He sounded frustrated. Angry. Maybe He needed to cool off too…

Quietly slipping her foot free of her flip-flop, she quickly rested it firmly against His crotch, pressing noticeably, stopping short of pain but leaving very little wiggle room. It was a calculated risk, she knew, to not only interrupt Him but to be aggressive against Him. The sounds of frustrated work stopped immediately; a voice grumbled, low like an idling diesel engine.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing, girl? He snarled menacingly.

“I’d think it rather obvious, Master.” she retorted. “Stepping on You.”

She smiled, but underneath she was anxious. This could either go really really well, or she severely miscalculated His mood, and this could go horribly bad, for her at least. She braced herself, expecting a sudden change in position. She was prepared then, when He quickly brought the foot nearest her out and up, trying to sweep her off her feet. She dodged it and quickly moved to His other side, pressing a lilttle bit harder on His crotch to giver her a better chance of prolonging the outcome of this fight. He groaned and snarled, a strangled moan rushing towards her, and she had to fight against all of her training to not immediately drop to her knees in supplicant apology. To her surprise, He scooted away from her foot, out the underside of the tractor, and suddenly she was looking into His snapping blue eyes over the engine block of the tractor. His face was dirty, smeared with grease and grit. He had a forbidding look to his handsome angled face, a jut of arrogance in His jaw. The electricity snapping in His piercing eyes made her knees weaken once again, but she gritted her jaw and thrust her face out defiantly.

“Are you looking at a beating beyond no other, girl?” He demanded, cold amusement and dangerous desire playing across His features.

“Surely You wouldn’t be able to do such a thing, You must be too tired after getting nowhere on the tractor” she smirked.

“Oh, I think I can find it in me,” He growled.

Before she could even frame a response, He was lifting Himself up and over the tractor’s engine, meaning to squash any defiance in her to a meaningless pulp. She turned and bolted, feeling the rough callused fingers tips of His left hand skate across her bare shoulder as she launched herself away from His leap. She heard the thud of His feet hitting the ground behind her; then the air was filled with her breathing, light and rapid, and her footfalls, beating a quick staccato on the soft grass. Those sounds were quickly overcome by the sound of His breathing, heavier and somehow more alive, and His steps, solid and sure in pursuit of her. She jagged left, throwing a quick panicked glance over her shoulder as she adjusted her balance. He was right there behind her, His eyes alight with the effort of capturing her. She looked forward and scanned the yard, desperate to avoid the eventuality of her defeat. Spying the lilac bushes, dense and full, she dashed behind them, working herself into the thick foliage and ducking. Waiting for His footsteps to pound past, she was at a loss when He never came by. She rose up a bit on her knees, trying to see through the thicket, when a quiet, iron-clad voice whispered next to her: “Looking for me?” She screamed in surprise, and that scream was choked off short as as He wrapped a strong hand around her throat and pulled her back, the other hand nesting deep in her hair. He dragged her out, and released His grip on her throat once she was forced to her knees in front of Him.

“Explain yourself, slut!” He demanded, alternately amused and infuriated with her playful rebellion. She looked up at Him, that face that could melt her heart or cause her to tremble in fear, and smiled. He looked incredulous at this smile as she whispered, her voice raw from the choking, “You needed something to distract you from the tractor, did You not?”

He stood, jaw agape for a moment, then roared with laughter. When it was down to chuckles, He shook her firmly by her hair. “I’ll show you distraction, you disobedient slut. I will be quite distracted, indeed. And I have a feeling that you will be rather…distracted…for the next week.”

Her smile faded slowly as she tried to imagine the next few hours of her life. Perhaps she should have thought this through a little more? There was no more time to reflect as He dragged her by her hair, headed to the garage. She stumbled and skip-crawled along, trying to bite back the pleas for mercy as they crowded behind her lips…

A few things have been sticking in my craw lately, so I’m going to share them all with you, my lovely readers. Have fun.

1. Littles. This shit drives me fucking nuts. If you want to act like a 4 year old in your house/relationship, hey whatever, knock yourself out. I’ll keep my opinions of how stupid you sound and look and act to my Owner and I. But when you go onto public forums that don’t involve “littlespeak or littleacts”, keep that shit to yourself! Don’t be subjecting me, non-consensually, to your stupid-ass role playing. It’s “with”, not “wif”. It’s “doggie”, not “goggie”. If my actual 4-year old son talked like you “littles” talk, he’d be in speech therapy post-haste. If he behaved like you littles behave, he’d be sitting in the corner learning how to interact with the rest of the world properly. I come onto adult forums to discuss adult topics with adults. Do you get the main point in that last sentence? Adult. So if you want to type like a brain-damaged preschooler, why the fuck are you on a sex-themed adult orientated website?! Read more…

I was going to post about orgasm control/denial, but instead, i’ll write about last night and why i am as weird as i am.

Bedtime, and we were headed downstairs to the bedroom. i had to scoop off the clean clothes i had strewn across the bed that morning looking for socks. i was exasperated with my apparent inability to remember to come downstairs during the kids’ naptime and put the clothes away. i start to undress and He announces “I need a sweatshirt”.

i hate his sweatshirts.  For an inanimate object, they have this canny ability to get lost. It doesn’t help that He is incapable of taking them off in the same place regularly. They are tattered and stained and ugh, never in one place long enough to allow me to wash them all at once.

So we have a row about how He’s always running out of sweatshirts, how can He have 4 pairs of clean work jeans and no clean sweatshirts, i’m tired of always having something of His to wash immediately, could He maybe take His sweatshirts off in the same fucking place?! Voices raised, sarcasm flowing. He makes a comment about my inability to put clothes away. i pointed out that if He doesn’t like something, it’s on Him to change it. i need help building a routine, once it’s in, i can follow it.

At one point, it got particularly nasty and i was really peeved. So i yelled at Him. All of a sudden the finger went out, His eyes got that flat hard look and He said “Shut up and stop”. Wonders of wonders, i actually did. He came stalking towards me, stopped a little too close for my comfort, and my smile of appeasement became a fixed snarl of fearful aggression. This didn’t make Him back off like it does on most people, so i retreated a step, bumping into the door and flattening against it.  The argument was over, whether i wanted it to be or not. Read more…

This has nothing to do with the following post, but I thought it would be nice to give you an inside glimpse into my weekend. While typing this intro, three times now my fingers have hovered above the keyboard, my mind ordering the words into coherent sentences, when He has said “I want…” I need…” and “Go get me…”. Each time I would go get said item, settle back into the office chair, wrapping the blanket around my legs, dredging back my concept for today, to hear another command sent my direction, always issued nicely, but with no room for objection.
At least He said “Thank you” the last time, or He would have had a very small torx-head screwdriver sticking out of His ear, and wouldn’t He have looked stupid.

I have seen quite a bit of comments and theories about censorship of a slave’s reading materials, internet usage and friend-to-friend communication. The two most common reasons given are:

1. The Master does not want to have to deal with the slave learning undesirable information or developing a negative/questioning attitude
2. The Master is limiting information to protect an easily swayed or overwhelmed slave from being inundated and confused on a subject

We will start with reason number one. This is the more problematic reason in my opinion. Most often I have seen Masters professing that they limit the information their slave can access to make sure the Masters’ influence is the only influence. I can see how that would be sound reasoning in the beginning of a relationship, with the Master is just making inroads and rearranging the slave’s thought process. But in an established relationship, where the Master claims they are completely in charge and have thoroughly enslaved the slave? If the enslavement is so thorough, how can the Master’s conditioning of the slave be so easily washed away from the mind of the slave by a few web pages? In other words, if he’s such hot shit about being a Master that she is hopelessly enslaved to him, why such worry about what a few web pages or other broads on the big wide web say? Is the hold on the slave’s mind so tenuous that any contrary information could dissolve it? Read more…

In trying to revamp my positive mental process, i’m compiling a few lists for my Owner. Those of you playing the home game will learn a few things about Him!

10 Things i will always remember about N:

1. The way He rubbed my shoulder with His thumb and stroked my hair while i waited to be taken back to the pre-op room for my gallbladder removal surgery. i was so nervous, so scared, i felt miserable. The little acts He did in that packed waiting room brought me back to center and helped me hold it together until they gave me the drugs that sent me off to lala land.
2. When He leaned up against me while i was in labor with our firstborn and cried with me. i was in agony and couldn’t take anymore, and He was so scared, honestly afraid for my life. He shared His fear with me, showed His deep love for me, was vulnerable for me. He cried with me, holding me, and i found a little more strength and stamina to make it past the pain long enough to birth our son.
3. He brought my cat to visit me after His shift ended while i was locked in the loony bin for a week. He made sure to tell me He missed me and that He wasn’t going to leave me while i was away.
4. How He lectured me after i was put on short-term bedrest with our third son. i’d never felt someone loved me and wanted me enough to ensure i took great care of myself.
5. How patient He is with me when He’s trying to teach me to do some kind of manual labor involving vehicles or equipment. The fact that He is so kind and patient with me makes learning the task possible. i’m terrified of large equipment, yet i know how to drive our tractor. All because of Him.
6. How He took the time to hug me and whisper that i looked beautiful the day of our wedding as i was 7 months pregnant and unbelievably swollen because of the brutal heat. i had just wanted to cry and cancel the wedding, feeling like a beached whale, and He brought me close to His chest, so stunning in His tux, telling me that i was so beautiful and He was a lucky man to have met me.
7. The fact that He lets me keep my superstitious NewAge religion, even though He believes that all religions are bunk.
8. His persistence and adamant refusal to let my occasional crazy dismantle our relationship.
9. How obvious it is that He loves our children.
10. His dedication to providing the best He can for His family.

Last one, i promise: Read more…

Things have been going okay here. No sudden meltdowns on my end, no baffling withdrawals on His. i’m still trying to feel around in my head, trying to sort out all the mixed signals i’m getting from my own brain. Emotional eating has resurfaced, but i haven’t been able to identify why. This is hugely frustrating to me. If i can’t even identify any anxiety or resentment, i can’t neutralize it and end the emotional eating.

i know something in my head is off. Everything seems slightly off-kilter now. i used to have a grand ol’ time pointing out cute chicks for Him to ogle. Now, i see Him appraise one and i squelch a sudden urge to drag her by her hair to the parking lot and rearrange her face, then come in and claw my name on His forehead so He can’t forget who He is with.  i’m not generally one for jealously and violent insecurity. Hell, i’ve shared partners in the past without much in the way of issues. So what is it now, that makes me getting all tetchy and anxious when He appreciates other girls? Why can’t i appreciate what i have with Him? Part of me thinks it’s territorial. i’ve struggled long and hard to find comfort and peace at His feet, and i don’t want to have to give it up or even share it with some new plaything. Which is darkly hilarious, given my penchant for threesomes and the fading hope of finding a sister for me. Another part of my rage regarding Him seeing other girls is the fact that i often don’t feel fully nourished or cared for at the moment, a hazard of the job of living with Him. It would infuriate me to be left at home, hungry for Him and lonely beyond belief, thinking of Him charming another girl, touching her like He used to touch me… but even more than the infuriating, i would be crushed. Possibly beyond much repair.

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