Finding my place

Though this blog has missed the great portion of the struggles my Master and i have had during our relationship, there will forever be the nights that i am discomforted and Master kindly offers to sit on my head...and a myriad of other moments when Master need enforce His ownership of me because of my poor behavior. Obviously, as this blog has already (in its infancy, i might add), witnessed several infractions.

Bah. i don't want to be the girl who needs to have her Master sit upon her head in the middle of the night because she's flopping like a fish. i don't want to need a week long six rule addition to my daily life to remind me to serve Master better. i don't want to see the evil, evil plastic spoon delivered to me because i was honestly bad, disrespectful or argumentative. (In other scenarios the evil plastic spoon can be quite entertaining.) i don't want my preferred condiment to be off-limits because i couldn't just let it be without arguing with Him about it.

i know that it's in me to behave. To be the adoring girl who rarely wracks up infractions. To be the girl who is the masochist to His Sadist.

But for some reason, despite knowing that i'm capable of behaving, i can't move beyond some of those silly behaviors that bring me across as the topping-from-the-bottom type. Right now, suddenly, i can't let go of my own "absolutes" (the things i think that i can't survive without or with, depending on). i know perfectly well how i am expected to behave, and i know that i can. i've done so on several occasions. Master doesn't have a large list of rules for me to follow, that i must strain to remember, and yet lately, i seem to be falling far behind of where i should be, considering that Master and i have been together for so long.

Why i am His...part one

Master and i were having a conversation the other day, spurred by a blog that i sometimes read about the why of our relationship and what makes 24/7 work for us. i am fascinated by how other people make BDSM relationships work for them, and know that not everyone can make 24/7 work...but i am glad that my Master and i are able to make it work for us...

When we first started dabbling in BDSM, there was a very separate distinction for me. Master was also my friend, lover, boyfriend and then husband, but never at the same time that He was Master – and then sometimes i would be His submissive, slave, toy and pet. For me, the lover couldn't exist when He wanted me to be His slave. i could, on occasion, marry the submissive with the lover, but, the BDSM lifestyle was very separate from what i could envision our lives being on a day-to-day basis. For me, it was just a little time to abandon reality.

It never was for my Master. For Him, He is always Dominant, always the Master and Owner and still the Friend, Lover and Husband.

In the long years of our relationship, i have come to see that i cannot break bits of myself off and leave them behind for a more convenient moment. We are what we are, whether we are Dominant or submissive, the Sadist or the masochist, and the like. All the time. At any given moment, whether i am making an independent decision or not, i still am, by nature, a submissive, who is collared and owned, who has a Master who makes her His slave, pet, toy and masochist.

Though i denied that the slave was part of the wife for a long time, she is. Denying that the worthless pet was part of the treasured lover, that the casual toy was also a beloved friend, was simply delaying the acceptance of who i truly am.

This is not to say that i am a diminutive personality outside of the home. Before i truly accepted that the smart, intelligent person that i am is also a whining, subservient bitch, i felt lost at every turn, every decision i had to make alone made my head spin. Now, though i am quiet and reserved, i am not afraid to voice my opinions, share my thoughts and make decisions. But only since i have accepted the fact that i am happiest when i am in some fashion, constantly under my Master's Domination.

For a time, until i could reconcile the fact that i am what i am, (after a complete rebellion against 24/7) what Master has quietly and gently guided me to, we tried “just in the bedroom” D/s. That was a disaster, because i wanted more when we were home together, not just in our bedroom. But not all the time, because, i still needed time to be His gentle, loving wife. So then we tried, “just when i was wearing His collar”. That was also a disaster, because, i would blur the lines when i wasn't wearing His collar, and then He would be Himself, and it was “too much” for His adoring lover. We also tried, “just when we were home” - another disaster, because i was still denying whole chunks of myself when we weren't at home.

After that debacle, Master essentially issued an ultimatum. Either we were going to fit BDSM into our lives, or we weren't. He was tired of me switching what part of myself He was interacting with at any given moment. It wasn't on and off for Him, and didn't think it was for me either.

i am now happy to say, that i am very much, a slave wife and all of the other things that i am, all of the time, despite my long denial of my true self. i am a slave girl, a toy, a pet, a wife, a lover, a friend, and a very grateful girl because her Master had immense patience on a difficult path, waiting for one very silly girl to accept herself.

Smooth sailing isn't always best

The other day, Master and i found a rare opportunity to spend some quality play time together... While it didn't quite work out as planned, it was a fantastic moment...and despite the...hurdles...of that session, i feel more His adoring girl, more grounded as His property, and definitely more loved...

Master always likes to mix it up...it's never just one kind of play. There's almost always bondage (which i adore), typically some kind of involvement of a crop, whip or evil plastic spoon, some sensation play (clothespins, electricity and the like) and sometimes an over-abundance of sexual torment of some fashion.

Either way, the whole play session typically leads to my need to be...well, let's just put it this way: i'm a bit of a nymphomaniac (but my body betrays me and doesn't always give in to its own needs).

Regardless. The other night, i was bound, teased with warming massage oil and hand sanitizer (interesting stuff that....a cool burn across the flesh), electrocuted, blindfolded and subjected to various bits of sensation play. i was a very happy masochist. i thoroughly enjoy electricity, (though i was terrified of it to begin with) and do fairly well - sometimes handling the maximum setting with quiet little whimpers.

Something was off, though, because as my Master was gagging me with my favorite ball gag (which we got here) i didn't just sink into the sensations of it, but started reacting badly, and tapping Master's leg, which is a habit i picked up at Tae Kwon Do, meaning, "it hurts" (giggle), but during our play, that doesn't mean anything. Despite the fact i was gagged, i could have indicated to Master my need to use our safe words, as my fingers were free to sign (knowing a bit of sign language is a very helpful thing!), but i didn't.

i wigged out: started panicking and twitching, and poor Master couldn't figure out what the heck i was flopping about for. i started focusing too much on one sensation, instead of relaxing into everything that was going on, Master's hands on His girl, the cuffs around my wrists, the rope wound around my torso squishing my ribs just enough to cut my breath a tinsy bit short and the electricity twitching through my legs...i was focusing only on the bite of the electricity, and convinced myself that it burned.

Looking back on the session today, i'm not sure it really hurt as badly as i felt it did at the moment - yes, i probably needed a break from the TENS, but i could have gone about asking for relief in a much better way.

But. Despite that hiccup, and the interrupted cruise through our playtime, i felt extraordinarily close to Master, and my desire to serve Him had spiked. Was it just because i felt that i had "failed" Him with my floppy, temper-tantrum-like reaction to the TENS? Was it because we've experienced frustrations that ceased our play before? Was it because of the pain?

i still can't put my finger on it. But it resulted in my unprompted begging to suck His cock.

Which i have never, ever done before. Up until very recently, i had very little interest in giving oral pleasure to my Master (poor, poor Master). Girls, oh, yes, yes - i thoroughly enjoy eating a pretty cunt just about any day of the week. But never have i been as fond of cocks, even though my Master has an absolutely fantastic one. (Lucky me!!!)

Don't mess with my Ranch...

I have to say that it was a truly interesting evening. I thought long and hard regarding what to write about and after much debate I finally decided to just give it up and forgo tonight's entry. However, my darling slave property decided that she would provide me the perfect topic. W/we had had some discussion regarding diner plans. Should W/we order something? A pizza? Should W/we eat at home, perhaps some split-pea soup?... So I ordered some pizza and a salad for my slave.
After two long waits; one for the pizza and one for the very young delivery driver to return with my slave's salad, W/we finally had dinner.


Now, my slave is like a crack addict when it comes to Ranch Dressing. In my opinion, there are a select number of condiments allowed on nearly everything. Ketchup, mustard, maybe a little relish if you really need some tang. However, Ranch is not on that list. You don't ask for a foot-long hot dog slathered in Ranch dressing! Well, apparently some do, but come on! Any way, my darling slave property will slather everything in Ranch; not just coat, but slather. Chicken, pizza crust, you name it! So it shouldn't be a surprise that salads are no different.


There my slave sat, on the floor as per her current punishment, liberally applying Ranch dressing to her salad. Apparently the bottle was getting a little light as for over three minutes she kept choking the bottle trying to coax out every last drop. The unfortunate bottle kept making a wheezing sound as the last of its life's blood was coughed from its gaping mouth, sounding not unlike a dying asthmatic. Understandably, I wished nothing more than to put it out of its misery.


"Enough," I ordered, "put it down."


Now, I have given my slave grief in the past for this rather disturbing Ranch addiction and it still serves as the source of many friendly jibes and counter-fodder for O/our verbal sparring matches. So it was with a great deal of surprise and a rather unhealthy dose of disappointment for me that my slave threw a temper tantrum on the spot. She went off about how she was now relegated to a dry, tasteless salad and that I had, get this, no right to determine how she should eat!


I let her dig herself a hole for another couple of minutes before I bent her over and gave her ten swats on the ass with the plastic cooking spoon. (On previous posts the spoon has been referred to as the hated little object that hits like a cane, and I assure you that it did this time as well.) Following this my slave was turned back around so she could thank me as she should for punishing her, by kissing my feet. However, she was not done digging just yet. My slave went on to say, rather pointedly, that she has been putting a lot of effort into trying to make sure W/we eat healthy and that by telling her she had had enough Ranch, I was in fact calling her fat. What?! Oh, it gets better... she continued to argue with me! Here is my little slave, already under a week long punishment for disobeying a direct command repeated to her three or more times, and now she was bitching me out for denying her the chance to eat as much Ranch dressing as she wished.


I retorted with how amused I was that I can and will tell her what to eat, what to drink, what to wear, what to say, how to act, how to stand, how to sit, how to suck my cock, et certa. but how dare I tell her how much Ranch to have! I have tried in the past to allow her the choice of what to eat and drink and she was not happy until I decided for her, ordered for her, made her eat and drink what I wanted because I wanted. But Ranch! Oh thats the line in the sand!


I had to laugh. I explained to her that if she felt she needed more, then she could kneel at my feet and beg for more; never is she allowed to tell me that I was wrong to deny her. Also, that anything not required to sustain life is to be considered a privilege, and this includes stand-in condiments. Since her lust for Ranch dressing was what had caused her little pissy fit, then as punishment for her disobedience and severe misbehavior she is subsequently no longer allowed any Ranch, at all, for the rest of the month of April.


You want a line in the sand, bitch? That's mine!...

From the direction which W/we come...

There are a lot of blogs out there, and some of the titles seem, well, “odd” to me, so i thought that i would explain why Master and i chose to call ours “Roles Defining Rules”.

Though i have known Master for most of my life and have belonged to him for nearly ten years, we, just like any other couple, went through a rough patch which brought us to the decision to visit a therapist a few years ago.

Fortunately, i found his advice to be helpful.

Unfortunately the therapist was not kink-friendly and he gave us a considerable amount of grief over it.

The root of most of the troubles Master and i were having in our relationship were traceable to a certain amount of melancholy funk that i had drifted down into, and had no idea how to correct. Never in my life did i consider that what was going on with our relationship was just me being piteous and selfish, but i was, and that was pretty much 90 percent of the problem. Thankfully, with the therapist's help, i was able to learn how to keep myself from descending too far into such moods, and am still learning not to be so selfish, and Master and i are going strong.

One thing that he had said during one of our sessions was that the kink (which, at the time was not quite a full 24/7 lifestyle) was actually damaging and contributed to my descending funks. That screamed “bullshit” to both Master and i. There is nothing right about ignoring desires, much less a significant part of who a person is. However, we knew we needed help, so we stuck with the therapy a little longer.

The therapist went on to say that the rules of life defined our roles. And that when i “allowed” myself to be bound, whipped or allowed my freedoms to be subjugated both Master and i were breaking the roles that we should be living. He said that Master was no longer my “protector, husband, lover and friend” when we partook in such activities, but a contributing source of my melancholy swings.

In absolute truth, that is the complete opposite of what goes on with Master and i. When i loose my focus, when i refuse to submit, to truly just sink into belonging to Master, the melancholy feelings drag me down and down and down until i am an absolute mess. When Master helps me remember that i belong to Him, that i am His to love, to subject to His whims, i am far away from those moods when the world seems to fall apart around me.

Only when i know absolutely, that things are outside of my control, when Master has everything in hand, when i have to trust, am i happiest. Only when He is what He is and i am what i am, are things right with the world and right in my head.

Since we truly gave into living the lives that we wanted to live, our relationship has grown stronger. i have fallen more deeply in love with my Master and the trust and respect that we have for one another is extraordinarily deep. And while a 24/7 lifestyle isn't easy, we found a way to make it work.

In our case, our Roles as who we are Define the Rules of our lives.

We don't allow the rules of life to define our roles.

If we did – i don't think it would work for us.