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.