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.

#depressionlies

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.

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. 

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. 

Does stress make a noise?

As usual, not enough time for everything. Master and I have managed a few stolen moments. But not many. We're craving kink pretty desperately.
But.
Real. Fucking. Life.
Loves throwing unexpected things in your faces.
So awesome.
We figured with school starting, and Master's new work schedule, things would even out again a bit.
They still might. But there's also extra stuff as Munchkin One broke an arm. I've never had a broken bone, nor has Master (beyond fingers, toes and His collarbone), so this is a completely new thing for all of us. We are working to keep Munchkin One from doing physical activities and encouraging rest, but my goodness, children are not good at keeping an arm elevated above their heart even if they do sit still. Plus there will be (practically) weekly checkups to confirm the bone hasn't shifted out of place inside the cast.
This has killed my anxiety, and since it happened, there hasn't been a day where I haven't felt sick, chewed my cuticles, and wanted to curl up and sleep for the next 2 months.

I need sex and a distraction.

Stop hurting, belly. Go to sleep, Children.

;)

(All in all, good spirits remain. Munchkin One is made of stern stuff.)

Things

I wish I had a kinky story to tell. I'm lusting so hard for something...maybe ropes? Maybe some subtle ouches? I don't know. Maybe soon. Stoopid uterus.

In the meantime, the daily chore list is working really well. Except today. Today got away from me. In part, that's because I was freaked out about getting to an appointment on time, and arrived too dang early. Hopefully I'll be less worried about getting to those things in the future and won't use a whole extra hour I don't need there. Luckily, all that was left really was getting the upstairs vacuumed, and Master will let me just tack that onto tomorrow.

I really wanted to come here and write something...but I don't know what. We don't share much about our kids on here, though one end of me is completely wrapped up in parenting, while the other end is completely wrapped around Master and working hard on doing better and being better property...and then the middle of me is the artist, working hard to accomplish a thing...which I don't really write about here either. My life is ridiculously compartmentalized and sometimes I hate that.

I don't know if anyone who reads here would even be interested in any of my art projects... *sigh* I have my typical traditional style art stuff...and then I have a project I'm working on which I'm hesitating with -- I don't want to publish it under my given name -- but I also am not sure what name I would publish it under.

This is going nowhere and it looks like a <splat> with too many "ands," but I am just going to leave it this way.

FUNctional

I used the title (pun) in my last blog entry. Though that was technically the conclusion, I do have some more thoughts -- continuing to expand on that idea. Those of us who are in any flavor of BDSM relationships come to them with the partners they do because of similar interests, similar kinks, a similar descriptor of fun. If we aren't having fun, then we start heading into those murky waters.

Murky waters can be great places to learn lessons from, but it's a shitty place to live. I didn't do well in those murky waters, and it was my own doing that landed me there. Master keeps asking something to the effect of "What could I have done differently to have prevented the bad feelings you were having about yourself?"

The answer is, nothing. He was feeding me the positive things I needed, but I just kept sweeping them under the rug, rather than appreciating that in my valueless place as his property, I am invaluable to him. He continued to remind me that he loved me and despite (brain malfunction) he's in this for the long haul, whatever it looks like. I was ignoring what we'd already established about why O/p and BDSM turn us on and focusing on (essentially) what FetLife's "K&P" presents as "real" BDSM. Oh, the idiocy! There is no one true way, as many kinky bloggers have already established. So the idea that being absolutely still, absolutely silent, (because that's what ALL good slaves do, doncha know?) while my Sadist goes about his business is what I needed to do was...not for me. But I was the one doing my best to put myself in that box.

See? I finally do. What I was doing in my passive participation (holding up an ideal that was completely not applicable to me) was taking away my fun, and more importantly his fun, because he never told me to be still and silent. He never told me to not be myself, the way he sees his property. He never told me I couldn't reap something positive from the playtime we have. In that passive state I was undoing all the work he'd done to make O/p work for us.

In these realizations and musings...In the little changes we've made in the last week...Though I am as tired as I was the week before Thunder happened...now I'm excited about the potentials for getting into a little kink. The things I'm responsible for are done, I'm not overwhelmed, I'm not going to cry because Master is having to do things that are supposed to be my job (because they are done! I am so pleased and excited about that! Thank you Scott & kaya for your ideas and sharing. Er...and thank Master, too, because that is silly to forget, considering he's the fire under my ass.) My outlook has shifted back to living in a state of functional, and I'm ready for more.

Active Participant (part 2)

In part 1, I wrote about how I had stopped being an active participant in our Owner/property relationship.

Personal responsibility is something I believe in. Seriously: as a free agent (hah) I think making your decisions that manage your life, your well-being are the most important things you can do. People who own their decisions are my heroes. They don't have to always be right, and saying “I fucked up making that decision; I should have done the other thing instead” is praiseworthy.

In my blog entry titled “A new light,” which I posted in June, I mentioned that there were revelations over the last weekend in June that showed me why so much of our little world was not as right as it could be.

Master and I don’t get tons of time to connect. We’re attached parents and the number of people we trust with our little people is tiny, and they are equally busy. Master works, he has friends that sometimes he needs to spend a whole day with. And he doesn’t have the time to fix a broken thing that doesn't look broken. Everything that was wrong was wrong on the inside…hidden. Hidden inside passive participation.

He didn’t know because I didn’t say. I’d practiced passiveness to the extreme, and then was eating the personal responsibility I was not accepting (which is not a sufficient mental wellness food). I was also eating responsibility for things that weren’t my fault (which might as well be classified as a mental wellness poison).

So why wasn’t it as right as we could make it? Because passivity is death for me. I had refused to take my personal responsibility seriously by thinking that being a passive object was good enough.

If I flounder, mentally, physically, it is up to me to tell Master that I need help, before it starts feeding internalized negativity. I need to watch how I’m submitting to Master's wills, wants, and how we’re making use of our limited adult time. My submission can’t be passive. I can’t be passive. It’s why I love physical restraint in play – because restraints are something to fight against without fighting Master. I can take what Master dishes out to me – and I need it – but I can’t be passive. I have to be functional property; not a paperweight.

So, how do I take responsibility for that? How do I work to make sure that the tearing me down is also building me up?

Step one: Step up during playtime. Be active, let my masochist have fun with her pain, rather than cramming all of myself into a stillness that Master isn't forcing. Wiggle. Squirm. Laugh. Scream where appropriate. Gasp when I can't scream.

Step two: Write erotica more often. Let my imagination give forth new ideas, or make memories more vivid.

Step three: If Master asks how I'd like to play I should have some kind of answer. Not necessarily "I want this toy and that toy. Oh, and the other thing." But feeling words, like "I feel kind of animalistic" or words like, masochistic, sensual, and wild...

Step four: Realize that sometimes I am going to have to ask for validation when I need it. Master knows me well and usually gives me validation before I know I need it, but sometimes I might need a little extra. This is an important part of my self-care and self-responsibility.

Step five: Be willing to embrace the parts of my property-ness that aren't all about the fun stuff, because that enforces the whole of it, feeds the value, gives purpose to the roles and rules that we have he has chosen.

Passive Participant (part 1)

So this little world Master and I built ourselves looks pretty…vanilla…from the outside. We came out to some friends and they were floored. Like asked if they were being punk’d. And a week later, they asked if we were really into BDSM…that we weren’t pulling their legs, over and over, until Master showed them his FetLife profile. Master and I live hard, apparently secretively.

When we scene, the best scenes are the ones that are punching, kicking, screaming, crying…acts that are not sanctioned by the United Nations. We play fucking hard, physically. Our next favorites are the psychological…again, acts that are not sanctioned by the United Nations; we play with fear, with real terror. Master and I adore the verbal aspects of degradation too. I (and my cunt) think it’s fucking hot when Master is shaking me by the neck and using filthy words to describe my value. He tears me down hard. Not everyone wants what we want, not everyone builds their kinky relationship the way we have… Not everyone can do it. And there’s no judgement, because this shit is scary (awesome for us, but still scary).

Splitting my energy between our very vanilla appearing family life our adorable, highly chatty children; and Master’s expectations and our play takes a toll. Recently, I’ve been afforded a lot of leeway because of my girlie problems (hello perimenopause), the lack of energy, sleep deprivation and a string of not quite healthy emotional/brain stuff. I’ve needed his help. A lot. He doesn’t want me to feel bad because I need the help, but it would send me into a spiral of (not good) worthless feelings because I needed the help.

The whole thing has compiled (Master’s kindness and goodness, my own thought process problems, my own emotional pitfalls) into me loosing track of why we wanted a kinky relationship. I knew there was a good reason, but I couldn't remember it, and I think I was waiting for Master to fix me or just magically get better. After all, I am in an Owner/property relationship – I don't make the decisions. In that thinking I made myself not into functional property, but a passive object. I expected all the decisions to be made by him, all the fixes to be made by him, the mistakes I made taken out of my hands, all the kinky fun completely his fault or not (until I fucked it up because my [insert body part here] was hurting or seized and I hadn’t told him before).

I was full on engaged in passive participation. Master wanted something, I'd generally do as I was told. Slowly. Or stare at it. And while kids keep stay-at-home parents busy, I was letting the kids keep me busier than I really have to be. When we did get to play, Master would pull something out and start trying to feed his sadist and my masochist, but I didn't engage. I was just a physical object that was there. So Master would try to tear me down, serve up all the things we love about being kinky, and I was taking all that in without seeing the bigger picture. That we do this because we are invaluable to each other. Without taking care of myself. Which totally doesn't make a scene or playtime sexy.

Part of that was just my brain being knackered; the bigger part of that was me suddenly failing to shoulder my share of the responsibility for our relationship.

In part 2, the conclusion, I'll finish this out with personal responsibility in O/p relationships; and it is scheduled to post on Friday.

A new light...

Holy. Ever. Loving. Loopy. Ohmigosh.

Master and I had a fucking amazing weekend. There are some bits that I totally want to write about but can’t. There are some important bits I can.

First on the list: spankings. They have often been a trigger for me. I’ve flipped out, lost my shit, blacked out, caused myself physical harm, and attempted to harm the person spanking me (even love pats could bring forward this violent reaction!). They’ve left me feeling gross and sad. I’ve been living/playing with WIIWD (What It Is We Do) for more than 15 years and an “introductory” sort of fetish has been something beyond my reach. Master’s technique is solid, but my childhood made spanking a landmine. There were a few revelations Saturday that gave me a new perspective about how I approach my masochism and how to handle my triggers. Especially considering that I lap up kicks and punches to the same body area, previously believing that there was something about those impacts that was “significantly different.” Saturday gave me a clue: the expectation of the difference is all in my head … all in the map and memories.

But with these new ideas under my belt (see what I did there? I’m hoping that we can work up to that) Master spanked me for FORTY WHOLE MINUTES on Saturday. I loved it. I was content. It felt nice. It was grounding. I understand why people want to be spanked.

I. Understand. Spankings.

I might even want one as soon as my deep tissue bruises are healed (some).

And (maybe because of those same revelations that let Master wail on my rear for almost a whole hour, or maybe because Master was able to spank me with some rhythm and randomness for more than three swats before I became a crazy ball of bad responses) when the opportunity to play in about 20 square feet with an overhead tie-off presented itself, I was more than ready to participate with Master and engage in a scene … he and I … eye contact, screaming, laughing, shrieking, begging … a scene in which I was free to move, but unable to run away, or truly “hide” behind my flinching limbs while Master made me into a training dummy to practice martial arts on. Heh. It was a scene where anything else in the background never made it into my memory.

Feeling those kicks land with such precision and feeling certain that he’d pulled back, that he’d held back…that the ridge hand was less than a quarter of his strength, landed squarely on one of my functioning pressure points… I spent the scene jumping up and down in circles, laughing, screaming, shrieking, occasionally jumping up and trying to land a kick squarely in his belly with my hobbled feet…Smiling with him while he laughed at me…

I never wanted it to end.

I wanted to stay there forever.

It was catharsis.

It was not crying, painful catharsis. It was connecting catharsis. It was repairing the gaps of time when Master and I have been unable to play deep, heavily and long. It was mending the places where the demands of every day had tried to strip Master of his power. It was feeding the starved masochist inside my soul who had forgotten how to feed herself, how to eat like a ninja.

But forever wasn’t quite possible. Eventually my legs were too done to hold me up for very long. Too many strikes to the nerves on the outer thighs. The bruises are really just beginning to surface 24 hours later. (The first points started showing up after about four hours – now we’re getting to the multi colored stage. Squeee!)

As I write this, the masochist inside my soul is licking her fingers, as if she’s just devoured an entire chocolate cake, greedily, without apology … she’s delighted with the bruises spotting my hide. If Master isn’t touching them, I am.

Also: we were delighted to see familiar faces lit with joy, glad to put faces to names, and grateful to see so many giant smiles. May much happiness dwell in the hearts of our fellow kinksters – for those who were there at the thing I am not naming here, and those who were not.

<3 Reaper & His creature 

Poly Education Volume 1

If you've cruised by Master's profile over on FetLife in the past few months, you might have noticed that willinglittlepet is no longer listed there. Her whys are hers, and I'm going to leave it at this: the parting was amicable, and she's been invited to come by and hang out to watch Doctor Who with us if she ever wants to.

On the whole it was an incredibly great learning experience for me. Here are the things I've learned about myself and what I need when my Master has more-than-one relationship.

First, I am glad that Master and I have such a solid relationship. Poly never would have worked if I didn't feel safe and stable as his long-term partner. As it was, I did learn that equal treatment (or at least explained unequal treatment) was important, because I had moments where I realized that there was a gram or two of envy for something that he would do for her when he would't do the same for me.

Secondly, I learned that while poly-parenting works for some people, it doesn't work for me. Our little munchkins are one of my favorite things about our life together, and I am highly protective of them. I work hard to ensure their needs are met, that we indulge some of their wants, and give them the tools they're going to need as they get older. Master and I have parenting policies and approaches that have shown they work, and a sudden change suggested by poly-partner(s) could be incredibly disruptive (especially for our oldest) and challenging for me. Master and I trust each other's parenting practices; we don’t have that background with anyone else, and I don’t expect that foundation to exist in any future relationships while our kids still need parents. We know that sometimes here on the blog, and in real life, we’ll scathingly mention that they do impact how often we get to indulge in heavy play; but that does not accurately reflect how much we adore them or how much we devote to them.

Thirdly, while Master remains poly (probably by nature, considering genetic history), I no longer hold any desire in me for extra intimate relationships. Master has poked and prodded at this statement, trying to understand the depth and breadth of it. I like friends, friends are great, and I do hope that I can be friends with any future poly-partner(s) Master might find. But I'm not so inclined to have sex with anyone except Master these days. Perhaps the waning libido of perimenopause might be to blame, or the fact that my fear of being touched has reared its head again; but it feels deeper than that – it feels like a truth of my heart. He revs my engine; he understands my strengths, my vulnerabilities and my weaknesses. With him, I feel utterly his, and those moments are so sacred that I can't imagine sharing them with anyone. Maybe I've become semi-asexual outside my relationship with Master. Who knows?

Fourth, I feel pretty comfortable in the knowledge that poly-partner(s) relationships with Master aren't about me. Nothing about them is any of my business unless they want to share; it's none of my business how often they are intimate, when or where. Same goes for uploading and sharing of pictures -- it seems foolish to ask him for advance notice that he's going to be sharing stuff on FetLife -- and the perks of him sharing is I'll get a bit of perving in myself. ;) The only thing that's any of my business is knowing that if they are intimate they are adhering to the agreed upon safe-sex practices.

Lastly; time. Oh how important this fleeting thing can be. I've learned that I'm okay being by myself. It's okay when Master isn't with me all weekend or overnight. It's okay if he needs to spend an hour in a text message conversation, or take calls from his poly-partner(s). But I now know that if I have a hope for some time that will be solely for Master and I, I need to be able to clearly voice that. When I want time to spend with Master that's uninterrupted, it's something I need to make clear to everyone (because they have needs and requests too), and not just hope that I'll get a few hours where he isn't needing to engage in conversations with his poly-partner(s).

(TL;DR) I've learned that I can be okay while Master has other partners, that I can experience a fraction of jealousy and envy if I'm not talking about how I feel or what I need. I've learned that I learned how to communicate better with Master as his property. I've learned that I can still get frustrated and not know what I need to say to express myself to someone else...but that is something I think I can learn how to do.

<3

Well then...

 Hi folks. If you spend any time on the internet at all, you've probably heard about Google's latest.

If you haven't, here's the rundown. Google has decided that "adult blogs" that contain graphic forms of adult conversation or photos will be made private. So if your blogspot, like ours, talks about sex, we're essentially being removed from the internet. I don't know how many "invited" users Google will allow to these soon-to-be-private adult blogs, but obviously, they're cutting accessibility. I think they'd rather delete them all, considering a while ago, they did threaten to delete blogs that had "adult" advertising revenue.

Here's there lovely (new) email about their upcoming censorship policies:

We do have a wordpress version of this blog, but at this point, I have no idea if we'll even put the effort into continuing. We've loved all our readers, our commenters and our lurkers.

If we do continue to blog over there, I'll update here again, and you can always follow me on twitter, though I am intermittent in my activity there. We'll also still be on FetLife (that's a link to Master's profile, so you'll need to be signed in to use it).

(I wanted to title this blog "Shitty play, Google" but that just seems so obvious.)

Thoughts on kinky fiction

Everybody knows that "50 Shades of Gray" is everywhere. Some love it. Some loathe it.

My opinion on it is limited; I have not read it, and I'm not inclined to because I've heard that the editing leaves a lot to be desired. I make loads of mistakes in my writing, but when I read for pleasure, I don't want to be interrupted by excessive spelling, punctuation and tense errors.

I love, love, love erotic fiction though. Reading porn gets my mind running and my body tensed. I spend a lot of free time reading on literotica, some select kinky tumblr's, and browsing through the cheap and free kindle erotica. I've found some gems, some that were okay, some with excellent writing but no genuine plot, and some really horrible ones I've never read more than 10 percent of.

I read all kinds of erotic fiction, usually centered around BDSM and kinky relationships, and I totally love forced consent stories. I have a plethora of reading material between the ones I seek out, and what Master is working on. He has (several) BDSM novellas, and most of them are dubious around consent. In one, the main character was outright kidnapped and subjected to a whole new way of being. It definitely doesn't fall into Safe, Sane and Consensual, nor Risk Aware Consensual Kink. It's still fucking hot. It's fucking fantasy.

I am disappointed that supposedly, 50SOG wades into the whole safeword business, and then deviates away from it with the main character spiraling into stalker behaviors. I think, if an author bothers to enter the whole SSC/RACK/safeword zone, they should stay in it, unless their characters bother to negotiate an end to those suppositions. That's my take on it anyway, your mileage may vary.

Pardon me while I go put my lust in overdrive from reading some story where people would scream "that's abuse!"

Still here...still kinky...still wanting more...

Friday the 13ths are some of my favorite days. I've always felt they were quite lucky, personally.

Yesterday was no exception. When the kiddos were safely tucked into bed, Master and I took our chance. It's been a while since we had any substantial play...a quickie here and there, maybe...but a distinct lack of leather and rope. A distinct lack of (my favorite kind of) pain.

Before Friday the 13th gave up the ghost, Master had me cuffed in leather, stringing paracord between the cuffs, making me one of my favorite things: helpless. I can't really adequately describe how Master had me bound, so you'll just have to pop over to FetLife where he'll be posting some photos like this one. We've really enjoyed lactation play, so we've worked to keep my production going (it's slowed way, way down, but there's milk no little person needs for us to play with), and last night Master crushed the milk from my breasts. It was deliciously painful and yummy, but "made" me need more.

He moved me to his bed, and took me from behind, leather belt crushing my middle, which for some reason makes it nearly impossible for me to orgasm. At least for me. Not sure why exactly, but with a belt crushing my abdomen, I just can't topple over into le petite mort from yummy, yummy sex. I have no idea when the day tipped into Valentines, or how long Master teased me about being unable to orgasm, while intermittently teasing me with the taser, making it cackle next to my ear before shoving it against my thigh, asking if he should use it...

I lay under him, gasping and twitching, and wanting more... And I apparently felt brave, because I asked for more. The Sadist in him was definitely delighted, and in moments, he had bound my breasts tightly with paracord, delivering five hard slaps to the top of each before shoving me back onto my face, forcing me to crush my tormented tits under me. It felt so wonderfully painful, I wanted to cry, but it was too...good. He shoved one of the steel jeweled plugs up my ass, and drove himself back into me...All that pain, and the pressure of him...and I twitched and wanted to be given permission to fall over the edge...

And then he teased me, loosing the belt, and then tightening it right when I wobbled on the precipice of orgasm. The bastard. ;) He went on like that for what seemed like forever.

Eventually, he gave the permission I so desperately wanted to be given (or desperately wanted him to withhold...either way, really)...

We tumbled together on his soaked satin sheets, spent, well out of Friday the 13th and on to the day of sweethearts. My chest was already blossoming into bruises, and Master said that he hoped I enjoyed the "blooming rosy bruises" for Valentines, as they'll be the only flowers I'll get this year.

Today they are glorious mix of purple and pink, with deep dark spots here and there, and I feel every earned little bruise...and I feel in love.

Never enough...but almost.

It's not often that Master and I are able to get time alone together. It worked out in a rather unusual way this time, but it did work out. There was so much running about we had to do on Saturday that by the time we arrived home, all either of us could think of was sleep. Although, Master did have a good laugh at me as I apparently gave myself some first degree burns on the front of my thighs from a campfire we visited.

It was the sleep of the dead, which I needed so badly, as I haven't slept through the night for months and months. Waking was a delight, still curled up next to Master, naked in his arms. With no where to rush off to, we started the day with sex and a shower. When we came downstairs, because Master had a hankering to play Skyrim, he put me in a modified frog tie, which is my absolute favorite, and used the last of the vet-wrap to take away my hands and turn them to paws. There is some bondage which is always a bit of a struggle for me to sink into the pleasure of, but this frog tie is not one of those. The minute one of my legs is trapped and the best I can do is crawl and shuffle about on my knees, lust runs away with me and I am nothing but a creature of need.

Master fucked me, and it slaked the lust, enough. Master played Skyrim, while I lay on the floor, alternatively struggling up to get my knees under me, rolling on my back with my “paws” playfully in the air, and laying on my belly with my trapped legs keeping me from grinding against the floor or dog pillows. We had plans to meet the matinee time so that we could see a movie (“The Hobbit: The Battle of the Five Armies” was our choice, though it is the only one we had a chance to see in theaters.), and as the time slipped by, Master intermittently teasing me and playing Skyrim, I half hoped that Master would loose track of time and leave me in the frog tie... I'm not sure I could have lasted longer than the two hours that I did lay and kneel at Master's feet, fingerless and footless, but I almost wanted him to make me last longer. (And this is the first that Master will know of this, because I was ashamed to ask and looking forward to seeing a movie in the theater.)

We came home from the theater, exuberant and delighted with the completion of the (movie that should have been no more than two parts). While we love the book as is, without the extras, we admire the tasteful choices that Jackson made in transitioning the story to a three part epic. In the mood for fantasy, we began watching the Lord of the Rings series, and Master again bound me and tormented me, namely with foot bondage which is so tastefully painful. Paracord makes an excellent tool for this as it's fine enough to weave in tight places, but has enough tooth to bite where Master wants it to bite. It's an amazing feeling as I become so concerned with grazing my foot against the floor, while it continues to ache because the paracord's bite against my toes and arches, to be so unconcerned with the belt Master looped around my neck. While I gasped for air, or didn't, I was so focused on my feet not impacting the ground while Master fucked me that I rode on crescendo after crescendo of bliss without ever tipping over the edge.

I lost track of the orgasms Master permitted...but if every weekend had hours of bondage and six or eight sexual encounters...I would be a happy, happy creature indeed.

Welcome to 2015

The new year has come. Hard to believe another whole year has passed. 

So many changes, some of them wonderful, some not so much. This week for example, due to Master’s work, I will lose family dinner time. In fact, I’ll be tucking the kids in on my own, and poor Master will probably have to eat microwaved leftovers. Trying to see the silver lining here, though, in that Master won’t be rushing out the door in the morning before my brain comprehends that coffee is a beverage, and that to cook Master’s breakfast, one must turn the stovetop burner on.

I have so much I want to say, but I’m sure most of it those of you who read here wouldn't really care to read… so much real life stuff and angst, stuff that’s so personal, I probably wouldn't write it anyway. My heart is so full of joy from all the good of the year, but it’s also breaking with all the bad of the last year. There’s a lot of the tough stuff that I know is going to trickle into 2015, and the best I can do is hope that we’re (collective “we” which includes those who have free will to keep doing the wrong things, too) doing the right things to make it better, things that’ll repair the damage in my heart.

One extraordinary thing from 2014 was being friends with @padmeamidala; she’s kind and patient and even though she had so much going on herself this year, she was always willing to let me pour my own heart and angst out. Someday, I really hope we can have our coffee  together in person!

I am going to continue to hope that there is so much joy in 2015 my heart will soar again; that I’ll find the inspiration to really seriously take up painting and art again. I lust for the time for serious kink and play, and Master and I are crossing our fingers that we’ll be able to make one of our favorite summer things happen. 

I wish all of you a wonderful 2015; with everything you need and lots of what you want!