Even though slavery is something i sought out, something to i function best in, there are times that i feel less than enthused when i get a good look at how pervasive His grip on my mind has become. There have been times that i am screaming something inside my head while my body is carrying out the action, regardless of my own desires.

One of the most disturbing areas that He’s seeped into are my dreams. One of the worst dreams ever,  surpassing the nightmares of my childhood, was directly related to my place as His slave.

In that dream:

We were O/p, nothing different than how things are now. Only something changed, and He decided that He wanted a newer, younger, sleeker new piece of property to own. He was going to release me. i had outlived my usefulness to Him.  In this dream, He was cold and aloof, very matter-of-fact and absolutely relentless. He tells me of the new future as she is bringing her belongings into the bedroom i shared with Him. He is not swayed by my tears of pain and anguish.

Now this is where i started to feel terrified of where i was going. Instead of telling Him where He could send the first child support checking and decking the bitch on the way out, i fell to my knees and begged Him to keep me, even as the governess or housemaid. i begged for Him to let me slep at His feet. i begged Him to not take the kids from me.

i fucking begged Him to not make me leave my children. This is where my mind screams WTF!!!

In the dream, He agrees to keep me on, but only in the form of governess, and that i may never reveal to the kids that i am their mother.  i was sobbing and my heart ached, but i agreed. i couldn’t bear the thought of being ripped not only from our kids, but also from His side.

When i woke up, the first thing i did was choke back a sob to not wake Him up and curl up tightly against His back, breathing in His sleep-scent and calming myself by matching His breathing pattern.  i calmed back down, but i didn’t fall asleep again.

This dream haunts me for a few reasons. One, it was terrifying. Two, i didn’t respond as i would like to. i didn’t walk, i didn’t call Him a few names and maybe get a punch in. i got down on my knees and pleaded for the chance to stay and serve. Three, the sheer lack of control over what He may bring in the future was pressed into my face until my nose bled.

They say dreams are a path to your subconcious, the unfiltered you. Gawd, i hope not. If that’s so, He’s got His grimy fingers stirring my inner core up and there isn’t much of me left unchanged. Some would say that’s an occasion to throw a party, “Oh look, He’s mastering your mind! You are internalizing His will! Hooray!”

Um, No. Yes, i am happy to become what He wants me to become, but it is also damn right scary. Once you go far enough down this rabbit hole, i don’t think there is ever a way back topside. He’s done enough imprinting on my psyche that there isn’t a pre-Owned tora left. Just varying degrees of owned tora now. What will i be in a few years? What i will be in a few decades?!

That is a sobering thought indeed.

i’m going to dive into this headfirst, and yes, i am well aware that their is not water in the pool. So here goes:

i am a hot fat chick.

Okay, now with that in mind, anyone want to pay for my tummy tuck?

i know that sounds like i’m contradicting myself, bear with me. See, long time and many meds ago, i was fat. 270 lbs on a 5′6″ frame. All the women in my family wear the weight right in front, packed behind the belly-button, and i was no different. i hated myself. i loathed my reflection. i hid my body shamefully in men’s clothing and no-shape sweatshirts.

That was two years after i graduated high school. In high school, i was the opposite. Thin and curvy, i didn’t eat more than a meal a day and smoked regularly, running laps on the school track and biking for hours at a time.

In both times of my life, i was unhealthy, at two ends of the spectrum. i was never happy either. So i gave up.

And got pregnant.

The weight flew off of me when i was pregnant. i had a net gain of -13 lbs after my son was born. He was 8 lbs 6 oz.  i left the house in my pre pregnancy jeans…with a belt to hold them off. And the weight kept falling while i breastfed. i’d lost another 10 lbs before i got pregnant with the second rugrat, weighed 7 lbs less than my pre-pregnancy weight after the birth. Lost more weight while breastfeeding. Made it through the third pregnancy and broke even at the scale.  Read more…

A recent post on FetLife was asking which of the various reasons listed by the poster were applicable to acts of direct, intentional disobedience.  The Master asking the question is one that i really respect and find absolutely fascinating, so i’ve been following the thread for sometime. Of course, in true tora fashion, i answered it too, because if there’s anything i love, it’s listening to myself talk (or type, as it were).

i admitted that there have been times where hey, i’m just not perfect. *shocked gasp* i’m human property, emphasis on human. i make mistakes, i hold myself high in value, i often have thought processes contrary to His goals. Shit happens. i was honest about it, explained that while i do love, adore and live to serve Him, i still have (too much of) a mind of my own and a tongue that gets away from me. Occasionally, knowing He would be pleased is just not quite enough to get me through it.

It’s not like i routinely tell Him “Fuck off and get your own drink” or “How about i rape your ass instead, dickwad!” i respect Him. i honor Him. He is above all others in my world. That is NOT enough to make me magically stop thinking about how i feel, what i want, or how pissed i’ll get when He’s laying on the couch watching Mythbusters while i’m cleaning the kitchen and making him lunch for the next day, and His voice wafts out into the kitchen – “Make me a drink!” Yes, because i am so obviously just farting around in the kitchen, indulging my mini bubble bath fantasies and have nothing better to do.

Heh. Oops.

Anyway. The point of that was to say i am generally an obedient cunt. i do my damnedest to obey, but that doesn’t stop the imperfection that is a human from bleeding through every so often.

Also adding to my problem is that i’m dumb enough to need to keep making sure that the walls and door of my “cage” are secure and can withstand me. If i start to feel like i might actually have a say in the matter, i’ll go running full tilt to the nearest electrified fence and grab that fucker. i have got to know that i’m his slave, i am lower, i do NOT have any guaranteed say in how things are done. This, too, makes me a “horrible” slave. shrug It’s not a case of continuous power struggles. The longer we’ve been doing the O/p thing, the less often i rise up. Oddly enough, even though they are fewer and farther apart, the struggles themselves are more intense, grittier and nastier.

The giving up of one’s self is rarely a pleasant and easy process.

i know that one of His goals in owning me is a lessening of my reactive personality and an emphasis on my subservient (to Him) side. We are relatively new to this O/p thing, we’ve got time.  i’m just along for the ride, lol.

i was disappointed at most of the reactions to the question. The common theme was “What?! i never! Real slaves don’t disobey!! We all lounge about anxiously awaiting to please our masters’ every whim!!1!1″

Gawd, if we have to put an act on to underline our twoo slaviness in a forum of online personas that we will most likely never meet, what the hell? Is there nowhere a slave can open up and admit they fuck up from time to time? i have a hard time believing i am the only slave that occasionally falters!

So, what do you have to add? Are you perfect? Do you have your moments of asshattery? Tell us how you approach the concept of disobedience! Is perfection an attainable goal?Or is my Owner really cursed with owning me, as some people have implied?

(i’ve mentioned the curse of owning me to Him – He laughs and says i’m the best curse He’s come across so far.)

A week or two ago, i was discussing the Consensual – Non-consent (C/NC) aspect of my relationship with a nice enough person at FetLife. Unsurprisingly, the topic had popped up on one of the boards, closely linked with no-limits slavery. i didn’t post there, i know better than that. i would have probably gotten bitchslapped by N for getting too riled up and personally invested in something so trivial as Internet discussion. Fair ’nuff.

For reasons revealed later, a person unknown to me personal messages me, asking if i practice C/NC and stuff.  Cautiously, i ask “Why?” They started out the discussion fairly nice wanting to understand the structure, the intent, trying to grasp why i’d want such a thing, how i could trust a human, an imperfect being, with my very life. It’s hard to describe why being His in all ways makes me fulfilled and calls me to service, but i did my damnedest how i strive to meet His expectations, that it gives me a focus in life that i cannot live happily without. Very quickly, the tone of the discussion devolves into one of criticism. i tried to guide the person back to a respectful tone, but when they made clear that they were trying to convince me that i was bound to die this way, and that i was a horrible person for being so messed up that i needed a guy to smack me around and “rape” me to make me feel right, i informed them that the conversation was over.

There are so many things wrong with the “information” they tried to convince me with, all i could do was sit back and laugh while i shook my head in rueful amusement.

i got one more message from them. They said that i was no better than my elitist bitch friends, that they thought i was smarter than the other people on my friends list and would have seen the error of my ways. That i would end up dead in a ditch some day, used and discarded, my children left motherless, so that i could fulfill my future as human trash.

They closed with wishing that my no-limits-beyond-His C/NC relationship would fail miserably and that i lost everything i had, so i could see how horrible a person i really was when i couldn’t “hide” behind the O/p dynamic. And, i guess to rub salt into my wound, they also assured me that no court would EVER give custody of children to a psychopathic freak like me.

What the fuck?!

You seriously wish someone that much ill because they won’t agree with your little version of truth? A person you never met, never will meet, has enraged you so badly by honoring her oaths that you wish her dead. You wish she loses her children and is left stranded, destitute and mentally destroyed.

How is that the sign of a “normal” person? A bit exaggerated of a response to a nameless entity 2000 miles away, ennit? So how am i the crazy one? Why on earth would i want to agree on anything with you?! Much less alter the entire scope of my relationship with the one Man who has ever tried to fully meet me term to term and commit to showing me He cared? Awfully presumptious of a person to believe they have that much power through a fucking keyboard.

The mind boggles.

i promptly blocked the fucker and went on my merry way. i figure, if the world is made of people like them, i’d rather be the odd freak out anyhow.

With three anklebiters in the house, you can imagine that sex and activities associated with such are in short supply. You would be right. What we lack in quality, we damn sure try to make up in quality, and this weekend was a fine example of such.

Friday night was great. The kids went down without a fight, i got my chores done quickly and early, He was pretty chilled out and in a fairly good mood, given that the financial straits have smoothed out considerably. i’d made a point of dressing nicely for Him over the past couple of days, as it had been years and years a week since we’d last gotten nasty. It had been nearly two weeks since i had been allowed to cum. Let’s just say i was feeling a bit hawt to trot. It was getting to the point that i was having sexual dreams, and if i didn’t get release in awake time, i was going to start waking up to sleep-orgasms. i clued Him in on all of this, teasing and being a bit playful.  And i got exactly what i was after -  hot n sweaty rough sex. Mmmmm.

We’d already done the bedtime routine, i knelt for my bedtime recitation and received the night collar. Crawled up in bed next to Him, and He tells me to start suckin’. Lol, this is foreplay in His house. So i do, and wonders of wonders, He’s pretty easy on me and doesn’t fuck my face too badly. Soon enough, He tells me to climb on top. i’ve never been fond of being on top, and it isn’t for any stupid reasons like i feel too dominant or something. i’m not dumb enough to think that i could win a fight, even if i started on top. No, it’s just plain tiring for me to be bouncing around on Him for extended amounts of time. My thighs tremble, my arms get shaky, because i don’t trust myself not to crush Him with my massive weight.

(He’s taken time to prove to me that i won’t crush Him, actually forcing me to place all my weight on Him. Still. The Man will die if i fully lay on top of Him. i consider it a workout like no other.)

Anyhow, so i climb up and He’s taking His sweet time, having me grind down on Him, do my special hip roll that makes Him go nuts, grabbing and pinching my ass, kneading my tits. i’m biting His shoulder and collarbones, breathing on His neck (that drives Him wild) and making all sorts of sounds that i know switch Him from straight hawt sex to “I will melt her body into mine” mode.

He reaches up and grabs the collar. i falter in my bouncing. The last time He had done something direct like that, i  panicked, thinking He was taking it off and releasing me. i watch Him very closely. He tightens His fist on the back of my collar, then pulls the slack tight. i immediately lock eyes with Him, even as i feel the edges of my vision start to flicker and grow dim. i can hear my heartbeat in my head, thick thuds that space farther apart. My cheeks feel so warm, my head feels like it slowly is filling with cotton. i feel myself resigning to the fact that i am going to give out, that He has stolen my breath.  Read more…