taken by SliceofNYC, edited by Rayne

As if the please would somehow soften the blow of my disrespect and get me out of trouble.  Ha!

Why… Yes! Yes, I am the queen of putting my foot in my mouth.  I mean, I am, after all, a woman, so I’ve gotta be queen of something, right? And since it’ll never be queen of this household, or queen of the world, it might as well be “Her Highness Metatarsals dans Bouche”.

~sighs~

What’s funny is, until I said that, Master was content to argue with me.  Well, I guess content isn’t the correct word.  He had already warned me a time or two that I wasn’t just toeing the line.  I’d leaped a mile out of bounds, and was still running, and He was right behind me gnashing at my heels.

I sort of ignored the finality in His voice when He said, and I’m paraphrasing at best, “I’ve had it.  I am not putting up with your disrespectful bullshit anymore.  Button it up, or you’re gonna be sorry.”

I made a half-assed attempt at reining it in, but when He said something I didn’t agree with, I started spitting my words at Him and clenching my fists.  I did better than I usually do, in that I actually listened to what He had to say, but I didn’t do better than the last time.  The last time, the second He hinted at me being out of line, I shut up.  This time, I stopped talking for a second, but then was right back at Him, lunging at the end of my chain, snarling and growling at Him.  Figuratively, of course.

So when I tried to explain something to Him, and He cut me off again (The reason this bothers me – not that it matters – is because it completely shatters my train of thought.  Every time.  I lose everything I was about to say and can’t even make my point to see if He thinks it’s valid.  And that’s when things stop making sense.  You know… I’m not sure I realized that fully until last night.  Who says no good comes of arguing?), I screamed at Him, “Will you just shut the fuck up and listen to me?” and when I saw the look on His face and realized what had just come out of my mouth, I tripped all over myself to say, “PLEASE??!?” all frantic like.

Time stood still for a moment.  And I honestly thought I was seconds from being knocked through the couch, and then the wall behind it.  But He just said, plainly and firmly, “No.”

And because I can’t just quit while I’m ahead, I replied with a defeated, “Fine.” as if I had any right to be upset with His answer.  As if He wasn’t well within His right, even if I weren’t a slave.  Even if we were equals, He’d be perfectly justified in refusing to listen to me when I’m acting the way I was acting last night.

We’d just returned home, so I was still fully clothed, and He ordered me naked and cuffed.  He gagged me and made me kneel in the middle of the living room while He asked me questions about the argument, the things He expects of me, and the things we agree qualify me as a slave to be sure we were on the same page (I hear ya.  “Who cares if you’re on the same page? His word is law.”  But Master likes to make sure I know what His word is.  And asking me these questions gives Him better insight into where my mindset is and what He needs to be working on.).  He told me for every time I got out of position, I would get twenty lashes with the cane, and He didn’t really care if I built up five-hundred.  And He began asking me yes or no questions, getting a feel for where we stood.  Read more…

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.

Did I tell you I switched shampoos? I can’t remember.

We’ve been using Suave forever.  Normal Suave, Suave Professionals and Suave Daily Clarifying.  It’s cheap.  It smells nice.  It cleans.

But it leaves my hair looking like shit.

While I must admit that Suave Daily Clarifying works better than normal Suave, and Suave Professionals (all the versions but one… I forget which one) works even better than that, my coarse, half-way-between-straight-and-wavy hair just refuses to be tamed by any and all Suave products.

So after bugging Carrie a billion times about what she used before she got all uppity and started using salon brands, I began the process of talking M into believing I needed better shampoo.  And it worked! He let me buy Pantene’s stuff for long hair.  Beautiful Lengths, maybe? Anyway…

So I’ve been using this new shampoo for twenty days.  I wash my hair every other day, so that means, what? Ten washes? I condition every time.  Did with Suave, too.  And here’s the differences I’ve noticed:

• My hair isn’t anywhere near as frizzy.
• It looks much healthier.
• It’s stronger.
• It falls out less.
• My hair is actually half-way between wavy and straight, not half-way between wavy and curly.
• It stays clean longer.
• I don’t have to use anywhere near as much product (shampoo, conditioner, or styling products) as I did when I was using Suave.
• My hair’s no where near as dry as it used to be.

I can actually wear my hair down now without worrying about how poofy and frizzy and gross it looks.  Which is probably at least part of the reason it’s breaking less.  But! That’s still a plus for Pantene, because I’m leaving it down more because it looks better, and it looks better because I’m using Pantene.

Why am I telling you this? Just in case some of my submissive readers are having a hard time convincing their owners that you get what you pay for when it comes to shampoo.  There’s no doubt in my mind that Carrie’s hair is still better than mine cause the silly snot is paying for salon brands.  But I’m on the fast track to good hair, and it’s all thanks to her, so I suppose she’s allowed to be a silly snot.    Read more…

jenpet, for March Question Month, asked:

• If you could live anywhere in the world, (with no worries about income – ya know, the ultimate pipedream), where would you and Melen really like to live?

I want to live in Ireland.  Or the perfect Ireland replica with my own laws.  That would be cool.

M… M says He wants to live on the Lost island minus the time jumps and smoke monsters.  O.o

Dweaver asked:

• What’s your most/least favorite pain toy when it’s used on you?

My most and least favorite are the same thing.  The Delrin Cane.  I’m not really sure what’s wrong with me, but there it is.

• Have you ever done electric play of any kind? If so, what did you think about it? If not, do you want to at some point?

If, by electric play, you mean standing in a puddle whilst unplugging a refrigerator that’s spewing coolant and having “lightning” shoot from the corner of your eye to the back of said fridge, then yes.  I’ve done electric play.  If not, then I guess the answer must be no.  ~ducks~

I’m kinda intrigued and a little scared at the same time.  I mean, that shock I got? While it didn’t really hurt, per se, it was rather weird feeling.  That feeling intentionally? I’m not sure.  The jury’s still out.

• What celeb do you fantasize the most about Melen lending you to, and how does he or she use you in your thoughts?

I dunno.  That’s a serious toss up.  I mean, on the one hand, Greg Grunberg is that “every day Joe” kind of beautiful and I would just die for him to even notice me, much less borrow me from M.  On the other hand, Christian Bale is Ken doll beautiful in that “American Psycho” kinda way (I guess that makes sense since he starred in that movie.) and just picturing his face makes me wet my panties.

And then there’s Kevin Smith.  Ahhh… Kevin Smith.

I’m such a weirdo.  Aren’t girls supposed to be creaming their panties over, like… Tom Cruise or something?

Anyway… I’m not very creative in the use.  Usually I play the trophy girl for a little while, and then I have my face ground into what I really am: a fuck toy.  And boys can do whatever they want with their fuck toys.  Can you imagine what those boys would want to do with theirs? Mmm….

There’s this girl I read occasionally.  I’m not sure if she’s a masochist.  There is no doubt her man’s a sadist.  And I can only read her occasionally.

Her relationship makes me cry.

Not because I think she’s being abused, or because I worry about her, or anything like that.  She’s happy in her relationship, and while she damn well may be being abused according to the standards of people who don’t understand owner/property relationships, she consented to what she’s living through.

Her relationship makes me cry because… oh, what Master wouldn’t do to have a girl like her.  To be able to treat me the way she’s treated and still maintain the husband/wife side of our relationship with hardly a hitch.  And definitely not a hitch that came of Him treating me that way.

While I say, all the time, that I want that, and could withstand it, there’s this tiny niggling of self-doubt.  This part of me that thinks somewhere amongst the neglect, and harshness, and denial, and deprivation, I will lose sight of the love, and devotion, and fulfillment, and desire.

Part of me is petrified.  The tears that I war with every time I visit her page are tears of absolute terror, not tears of sadness, or worry, or anger.  Once in a while, Master gives me the tiniest taste of what she lives every day, and five seconds in, I’m sure my head’s gonna fall off.  Five minutes in, I’m pretty sure I’ve ceased to exist.  I’m not really sure where the pain’s coming from, and unless and until He speaks, I could almost swear I’m alone.  Read more…