Monday, August 15, 2016



Well then...There's been a lot of really cool stuff lately. Not as much kink as we would like, but Master and I are working on building little rituals that work inside our regular day to day, which is phenomenal. Thunder was a really big help this year. Fantastic.

But this...this is kind of a vanilla post from me. See, Iseley was in our neighborhood over the weekend, so we had her over to hang out during the day.

We've been chatting via text fairly regularly for the last few weeks, so I was excited to meet her in person. Master told me she might text me if her GPS misled her, but the text I received was her letting me know she was here.

Impressions...she's adorable! Her voice is delightful, and she seems very comfortable in her skin, and expresses herself with very little reservation, though I think she definitely let her guard down a bit with me. I envy her height, because I am a "short" person who grew up with tall people. Her eyes are very expressive and fast; she caught so many things that many people don't notice, and I loved how free she felt to comment on everything. Her inner joy is catching, and she's wickedly clever and fun.

We spent many fun hours chatting, sharing some of our favorite things, she brought me delicious, delicious ginger snap cookies that she'd made, and we had a blast. I was feeling fairly shy, but we did talk quite a bit, and I smiled a lot.  We teased Master via text about the fact that I'd finished my chores early in the day so that we could do whatever we liked while he was at work. She shared some of her music, and I enjoyed listening to a genre that isn't typical for me, we doodled with sharpies for a while, and generally just enjoyed the day. When our Friday afternoon together had been spent, I was quite sad. But I was very much looking forward to Saturday. She'd promised to cook one of her favorite meals for us and stay for gaming.

The food was fantastic...and gaming was hilariously, delightfully, ridiculous (we barely finished one combat section, because we were laughing, talking and running characters about in a drunken state) but I think my favorite part is that we just laughed and smiled so much.

Being around Iseley was like finding a long-lost best friend...And I'm looking forward to the next chance we get.

Summing up an impression of someone is challenging, but little things I noticed and loved that I have to share:
♥ When she draws, she draws the way I do, with her face inches away from her art.
♥ When she listens to music, her hands move the way Master's a violinist feeling the music and imagining the strings...
♥ She's courageous when meeting people for the first time.
♥ She loves owls.
♥ It's easy to be around her, and appreciate her for who she is, without expectation.


Wednesday, July 27, 2016


Master and I went on our…well…it’s practically a religious experience for us going to a kinky convention, so…Master and I went to a sacred place last weekend. 

It was, as it always is, enlightening, refreshing…and I came away with thoughts that might help me not only battle my negative headspaces, but help both of us continue to bring our roles into all of the rules we live by. A long while ago, we actually started using a daily chore list. I am responsible for doing the thing and marking it off (or writing why it isn’t marked off). Master is responsible for checking my list and acknowledging the done things and talking with me about how or when I can get the not-done-things done. Who would have thought that I would be excited about chores? But I actually often am. I’m wiggly and waggly when I cross things off the list, and when he looks at the list and is pleased/surprised/happy that I actually managed to fulfill these goals, it makes it even better.

So now…now we’re in the process of deciding how to bring small rituals that reinforce our roles into the other things we do. We’re working on making our connections stronger, more stable, more able to withstand the stressful weeks when adulting is just too damn hard.

We also had the chance to meet wonderful people and Master got some serious play on. I don’t know when he actually slept. Or if he slept?

And one more thing. One more epically beautiful thing.

Master and I play hard. We do. But he also calls me a toy snob. Because I’d rather that he use his fists and his feet. Some toys are great, and some I can love sometimes. But practically any time Master uses his fists, his ridgehands, his kicks…I melt. I can last. I brace myself against the flurry of blows, relying on my own martial training to tense my muscles to protect the organs and tissues from harm.

Those flurries of blows, though…they blossom pain in me. And I feel like they explode, and when the pain recedes back into the source, I feel purified. Over and over again, I explode, return, explode, return, and I am more myself after every explosion, I feel as if it is a sacred experience, the  blossom of pain bringing me back into my truest version of myself. I feel able to face the challenges of every day. I feel ready to be creative and make progress with my many projects. I am ready. I am pure. When there’s a toy that we’re using for that burst of pain, it isn’t the same explosion. I don’t recede back into myself with the pain. So if I’m already feeling weak and unlike myself, a toy (a crop, a cane…) is going to leave me feeling weaker than when we started…So I need to be strong, be the truest version before we pull out the toys.

I am learning how I need help picking up my pieces and being myself.

It was sacred.

Tuesday, June 28, 2016

Bliss in 60...

It’s been nearly exactly six months since I posted.


Not gonna lie, I’ve still been struggling. I’ve withdrawn a lot on social media, both vanilla and kink, and only now am feeling like I’m ready to participate at my own speed. 2016 has been a challenge in more ways than one. There’s been my struggle with…well…life in general, our apartment was burned in a fire (no one was hurt, we had minimal losses…as far as disasters go, not the worst thing ever, though still utterly horrible), and Master and I just don’t get the time alone we desperately need. I think this is the worst. There’s an intrinsic need for both of us to have time together dripped with rope and chains; but we don’t have the structure to have it. We see the light at the end of the tunnel, really and true, we know that the structure is growing and changing and it will provide more time for Master to be Master and me to be creature without having to compartmentalize.

But recently, Master and I did have the opportunity to spend about 60 hours utterly alone together. We talked, we laughed, we went out to eat without small people running amok…and there was so much time devoted kink.

We were able to start Friday night – put some dinner in our bellies and talked about all the things we love that we never have the time to do. We piled up a slew of rope and chain downstairs and upstairs, though we wound up playing in the living room more than we did anywhere else. It was cooler, and there was more floor space for…many things. Master used my favorite rope tie on me to start, knocked me over and teased me for falling over, insisted I get up; just so he could knock me over again, I am sure. We had lots of sex. Master put me in the cage, and used the dowel rods to make it worse. He left me chained to a hitching ring he’d hidden in the closet. He kicked me, punched me, slapped me, electrocuted me, fucked me raw, denied me orgasms, overloaded me with the same, and generally treated me like a toy. Until we were both so raw and tired Sunday night, that we knew we had to sleep so that Monday wasn’t utterly miserable for Master at work. (We didn’t do very well, there; I think he was actually asleep about an hour late.)

There have been no marks that have shown, but I can feel the rawness of my flesh rubbing against socks and jeans and shoes and shirts and I’m…I’m impatient for the next round, which looks like will happen at Thunder.

Maybe we should bring Master’s cage and dowel rods along this time. Heheheh...

Wednesday, December 30, 2015

Oil spill

Lately, I haven’t been writing much.

It’s complicated, as is the rest of me. My life is pretty damn wonderful. Our kids are spectacular little munchkins, Master loves me, he provides me the opportunity to be at home with our kids, and in between my jobs and chores and he gives me time to work on my art and spend time with people I want to spend time with. He spoils me. He takes care of me when I’m less able to take care of myself.

While I have every reason in the world to feel content and happy, and I know at the center of me, I am content and happy; the surface is often an oil spill of anger, sorrow and loneliness. The illogical surface turmoil is incredibly problematic; it makes leaving the house painful as much as staying in the house is painful.

Master and I have had some pretty great chances to play, and I don’t feel as lonely when he’s with me. I’m still prone to bursting out with nonsensical anger or falling into a puddle of unwanted tears. This starts the whole mess into a bigger tangle, because there’s no cause that he can fix, and he so desperately does not want me to feel unlike myself.

I’ll be back and writing more again…someday. But for now, I’m doing my best to find my way back to myself.


Thursday, December 24, 2015

On being forced and the aftermath...

Master asked me to write about this... So I'll try to express it in some kind of cohesiveness...

A lot of my own kinks are tied up in being forced to complete a task or endure something Master expects. I touched on it once upon a time in a video (but apparently the host of said video has gone into the nether of the internet). In that post (which was headed "Admitting Wanting") I talked about not wanting to admit that I like (insert kink here). I like it, but I may not want to admit it, or ask for it. So much of what Master and I like, I have a hard time admitting that it revs my engine. In the end, even though I like...rope...for example, I spend a lot of the time complaining about the pinches or the way it is holding my body, but I'll be sorry when the rope comes off. Or Master won't use rope for a long time, and then I'll miss it like crazy, but practically can't honestly say it. Like I'm ashamed of the things that turn me on. *sigh*

So I’m often a ball of discontent sometimes when Master starts playtime. I pout at the ropes. I fuss. I complain. Master trusts my body more than he trusts my mouth. So he’ll look me in the eyes, or check how wet the cunt is…and those things always betray my want. So he lets me whine or gag me (though lately I’ve had some severe jaw issues from a tooth extraction back in September; phantom pain, I guess), and pushes on through, doing exactly whatever it is he wants.

Or I get ornery. Say he's strung me up by my arms (in play space where there’s room for that kind of thing) and then start using me for a target for his punches and devastating kicks; I’ll kick back. He’ll laugh, because I don’t have the reach he does, and I’ll laugh, gasp and cry.

The end result is almost always a pile of girl-goo and a limp creature.

I’m contented, happy, wrung out and riding the emotional high I get from not having “no” as an option.

It leaves me more pliant.

That doesn’t last; eventually I’ll get to that point where I want to make faces and pout at what he wants. And 'round we go.

Friday, December 18, 2015

You Are So Nice...

The other day I went to have some work done on my vehicle. Though I usually prefer to do as much of my own maintenance on my car, the weather made it necessary to take it in. I went to the local Walmart auto center, giving me a chance to do some holiday shopping as well. Where I also prefer to have my slave do most of the shopping errands, I can't very well have her do her own holiday shopping now can I? 

But, I digress, I checked my car into the system with a nice young lady who greeted me when I entered. She asked me the usual service questions; what type of oil, any additional services, etc. She then checked in the garage with her colleagues, who appeared to all be on break. She returned to let me know that it should take about 45 minutes, hopefully less. I never take my car in when I'm pressed for time so I was not concerned about how long it would take. I smiled and let her know that would be fine and off shopping I went. 

I should take this moment to mention that I strive to be quite mannerly in my public interactions, one thing I've always aspired to since I was young. Always the gentleman. 

Monday, December 14, 2015

Silent Too Long...

I find myself being too easily drawn into my own silence. That inner belief that what I have to say often doesn't matter, a self defeating expression of opinion. Opinions get a bad rep. Largely be cause they so often are too easily taken as fact or the way it is. I have an opinion. Hell, I have lots of opinions and I try to keep them honest to themselves. 

They are the expressions of how I see the world and how I carry my self within it. They are as important as the opinions of others, no more, no less. I've had the chance recently to have a couple of friendly debates regarding belief and such. It was refreshing to remind myself that there is always the chance to express your opinions without having to wield them like weapons with which to beat ones opponent down. To listen to the ideas and opinions of others without feeling like they are trying to reprogram oneself.

As a result, I have found my voice again. My desire to share my opinion with all of you. As many of you who have followed us over the years may have noticed, I sometimes go through periods of this silence. I thank you for sticking with us. 

I wanted to take this opportunity to once again publicly express my deep appreciation for my creature. Owned slave and property, artist, mother of two, and more... And yet she always serves with such a smile, no matter what I subject her to. Don't get me wrong, there is a fair amount of whining too. After all, what is a torture without a fair amount of begging and sobbing? And, as I've mentioned before, my slave is the type where the true reward, the pay off, is not necessarily in the action, but being helplessly forced into and through the situation. There is a lot of fun to be had in that.