Screaming into the mattress

May was kind of a rough month. Not because of anything bad, but because Master and i were a bit apathetic about really enforcing our roles. We were doing just enough to say we were doing it, but not much more.

While time is always short for the kinds of scenes we'd like to do, we didn't really put much effort into our playtime being anything other than sex with subtle overtones of BDSM. Which, in and of itself is not a bad thing, but i'll admit, i'm kind of a high-maintenance kind of slave. Not to say that i need lots of time for primping, or that i cost Master a pretty penny, or in the girlie-girl kind of way. But as a slave, i've come to realize that feeling His dominance, either via His sadistic streak or with His boot on my neck, makes me function better.

Granted, i don't need that stuff to mosey on and do what i'm told ─ at least for the most part. But it drives me to do better, reminds me to not be apathetic about what i am.

After a particularly long period of apathy, i think it takes longer for the sadistic message of dominance to really hit my core. So despite the afternoon spent wrapped in sisal rope, i still managed to prove that i wasn't fully under Master's heel.

And i proved it well. Master was, to put it bluntly, fucking pissed at my behavior.

We only have one flogger (for shame, i know, shame), and it is a light thing. There are plenty of falls, but each one is no heavier than the feather of an owl. (Is that a weird, obscure reference or what?) Each fall is just under an inch wide, and they're about two feet long.

i am a masochist, but for some reason, there are some pains that take longer to process, or that are beyond my ability to absorb. Does that make sense?

When Master lays that flogger onto my back with force, instead of letting its own weight do the work, i cannot process the pain. And this time, i wasn't meant to.

While this was punishment for my behavior, i reveled in it, i dwelt in it and i screamed. After every stroke, i screamed, until i thought my voice would vanish. i was sure, as He continued to flog me (for what felt like a lifetime, or at least hours) that my skin, at any moment, would split open.

It didn't.

And when it was over, my back was red, but no bruises appeared on the surface of my back. A few tiny welts remained for a day and vanished.

And yet, though there is now no remnant of the flogging visible, the incident was burned into my mind, and my back is tender to Master's caress.

And i am coming to heel, appreciating the full value of my role.

Sock Wars

During the month of May, before the sisal rope, before Master got us back on track, i was, as i mentioned previously, feeling feisty. So much so, i picked on Master far more than i usually do.

After one lazy afternoon fuck... Wait, there is no such thing as a lazy fuck in this house. In fact, i don't think Master and i have had lazy, luxurious love-making vanilla sex since before we married... But that's all beside the point. Okay, really, after one serious pounding-sheet-clenching-mind-boggling fuck one afternoon, both of us were in need of a quick rinse off, so Master took His socks off, while He lay there basking in "post orgasmic bliss" (something we call "pob") and tossed them at (me) the foot of the bed.

Master wearing socks is in and of itself kind of quirky. For someone who likes to go barefoot in the grass, He almost never goes without socks, even if He isn't planning on going anywhere. Personally, i kind of like being barefoot these days, as often as possible...

But back to the point.

Master essentially handed me a weapon to unleash my feistyness that afternoon... His socks. A good mens' athletic sock with a knot in one end or the other becomes quite the weapon. Before Master knew what hit Him, i was whacking Him with His own socks. i'm sure that He felt rather indignant about being beaten with His own socks, but once i made a crack about knotted socks being akin to a bag of Valencia oranges, He couldn't help but laugh along with me as i was beating Him with His own socks. Until i figured out how to aim with the knotted sock.

At which point, He wrestled away one of His socks and we had a full fledged sock war. Lemme tell you, i was surprised at the difference in sound as the knotted sock made contact with my soft girlie-flesh. And it stung. And it was kind of a thuddy impact, like a heavy flogger.

Yum.

But i couldn't let Him win! Oh, no, i couldn't. i was feeling feisty.

Everything eventually comes to a close, an end of the chapter, cessation of an event... And so the sock wars did end...

Once we were laughing too hard to really continue, and after i'd received a whack or two to the eye, and we popped our knuckles together a few times, and realized that real life beckoned outside the bedroom door, the socks were unknotted and we went about the day...

Vengeance, however, continues. And the start of that was the sisal rope. The story of the best flogging i've had in ages will be next on the list.

Vanishing point...

We didn't really disappear. Though there were days i wondered if we really existed at all. We didn't go anywhere, we didn't abandon our dynamic ─ in fact, we didn't do much of anything. And that kind of apathy tends to consume everything when you aren't looking.

Master and i just kind of did our thing. Moving along through our lives with neither of us putting forward the effort to make our days anything but ordinary. And just being ordinary, even though Master was still my Owner, even though i still was His property, the apathy kind of consumed our efforts there too. He stopped actively manipulating me and i stopped trying to be good. Oh, the rules were in place, still obeyed, but we stopped attempting to move beyond the surface of our relationship and dynamic.

And so, the month of May almost slipped away without becoming memorable.

Master and i both recognized the apathy, in part probably because i was getting, well, feisty and also because Master took the time to watch some of His favorite porn (Device Bondage by Kink!). So, while i was pushing the boundaries, picking at Master to see how much i could really get away with, He was realizing that we hadn't done much of anything and that i was trying to get away with murder.

And time was made, and the untreated sisal rope was brought out of the closet.

i don't know how many people use sisal rope (because every website i've ever run across says "Don't use sisal rope") but for the masochistic streak in me, it is awesome, though i also loathe the little prickles.

Once Master had the sisal rope wrapped around my chest, i remembered why sisal rope is so evil. Everytime you shift, every little movement, a new bit of skin gets prickled with a different set of prickles. So, i lay there, helpless, wrapped in evil-prickly rope, remembering i don't have a choice, and that whatever i do to pick on Master (no matter how apathetic we might be at the moment) has serious rammifications.

i had an afternoon of prickles to remind me exactly how owned i am, and how little i can change in my relationship with Master.

Evidince that there's no permanant vanishing point between Master and i.