Comfortable in my skin...

Yay! The semester is over, and i am on my second full week free from everything placing demands upon my time. Well. Free from everything but Master. Despite getting off to a strange start to summer vacation, things are looking lovely. Master and i are more at home, relaxed and feeling far less stressed and short-tempered. We feel more connected. 

We did get off to a strange start, with a few odd trips that kept me from sinking immediately into my life as Master's property, well, that and we were all sick. 

But, our second week has shaped up loverly! 

still here...more so, in fact

Hey, is it just me or is it cold? Oh, right, it's December. Normally there'd be snow on the ground by now, but with one little weenie dusting of snow thus far, it's easy to forget. It is cold here, though, and i will admit, i am a Colorado native who hates the cold...

Regardless, the Winter Break has begun, and i have been more subject to Master's whims than i have in quite a while. This includes, but is (definitely) not limited to, this whole business of trying anal. (Would that be considered the a.v. card?) i am admittedly, a bit grouchy about the whole business. i've never been at all interested in anal -- after all, my cunt is pretty damn close to perfect (had more than one gyno say so, anyway, and i'm rather fond of it myself), and it functions excellently during sex. But, anal is something that Master has deemed important. And so, i am doing my best to follow along with this plan of His, and trying very hard not to be snarky or angry about it, though at moments i certainly fail. Thus far, i haven't found it particularly enjoyable, remotely pleasurable, or entertaining, but Master has asked me to give it an "honest try" and so i do.

Otherwise, it has been rather nice to be able to spend so much time with Master, snuggling with Him, talking with Him, being used by Him, and in general, being near Him. It's a bit of an adjustment, as Master and the boy had their own little routine and now we're tumbling everything about trying to make sense of it as a family for the month i'll be free of school work. Not free from anything else though! (lol)

i'm sure, that as the time progresses, i'll be back to make more posts, eventually come up with something to say, and in general, be a bit more active on the blog and at FetLife (provided Master permits either), but for now, that's the short and long of it.

If i don't manage one more post before you all get your holiday plans underway... Happy holidays, and by that i mean specifically the holiday you celebrate this season. ;) :P

Balance

There's been a feeling of being out of sorts building up in me for a while now. An uncomfortable feeling with the word "slave" but not with my life or how Master treats me. Because i am loathe to talk about something when i don't understand the whys of it, i haven't said anything to Master before today.

Of course, it did upset Him a bit. We talked about it, He prodded and poked, trying to figure out why. But i still don't know.

That's okay. Because after we had mulled it over, spent some time laying close together, all snuggly and comfortable, Master made one of His extraordinarily quick movements and had me pinned down to the floor by my neck. He asked me if i had a problem with how He treats me, with being property. i gave Him an honest answer: i need it, i want it, i am His property.

So He called me "slave" over and over again, and put pressure on my throat, His big, strong hand clamping down while i tried to squirm away. He didn't let me go, and told me to say it. i fought, still not knowing why i am having such a catch with the word. He squeezed while i wouldn't say it and everything but His piercing eyes became fuzzy, my head felt like it was ten times too big, swollen and tight...

He talked to me, quietly, reminding me that if i had no problems with the way i am treated, with being property, than "slave" isn't any different. And even while i squirmed, trying to get a full breath of air, He spoke, so calmly, so logically.

i said it. And while there's still some undetermined feelings about it, i know i am. i know i enjoy it, need it, crave it. It is what i am.

But i needed His calm, cool, collected force and show of strength to help me find a place to accept myself as His slave. His cruelty balanced so delicately with kindness, His strength and gentleness, His passion countered by logic -- those things are my safe-haven.

Those Twenty

Master last blogged about a punishment that i earned myself. Twenty cane strokes, delivered in order earned, for the type of each of infraction. The hardest part about the punishment was the realization, before He even told me what the punishment would be, was that i had really earned it. It was a case of some of the worst behavior in the last few years.

Master told me that i didn't have to blog about the why of the punishment, but i feel that it is important to how i received the punishment, so i am going to go ahead and share at least the basics of it.

In the simplest terms, i rose above the level of property, of slave. i claimed property, i repeatedly told Master what He should be doing, not in the form of a recommendation, but as an order. i let my exhaustion, stress and frustrations run away with me and take me above my station. Master has been extraordinarily understanding and helpful throughout all the stress and lack of sleep over the past few weeks, but even as i was breaking every rule He had already bent for me, i realized it. And even though i realized it, i kept pushing until i had fractured every aspect of the rules.

i had an evening to ponder the actions, knowing that a punishment would be coming (but not knowing what it would be) and that i earned exactly everything it would be. i was so frustrated, because i know that i can abide by the rules we've agreed on to define our relationship and i was feeling that i wasn't living up to the values i want in our relationship. While i was alone, i considered all of that, and even briefly, considered begging to be released because i wasn't sure i could find a way to come back to be at peace with myself as His property. As i considered that, however, i realized that if i did ask, i would be denying my responsibility, the responsibility to behave that i had already agreed to, already chose. And there would never, ever be a way back to wearing His collar.

When Master and i talked, after i had realized that i must own my mistakes that evening, and after He told me how the twenty cane strokes would break down, i didn't think i could make it through. Fear consumed me until the time and opportunity came.

When it did, Master hobbled me with the wonderfully heavy leather hobble, and the strokes came down. Because i'd earned them, and i knew it, i did my best to take them with as much composure and grace as i could. i swear, i thought that the skin split with every stroke. i thought that i really would forget how to breathe in that searing pain.

And that is how i remember it. Hobbled and bound to the bed, trying to have that elusive grace Master always asks me to demonstrate, terrified that the skin on my ass and thighs was going to split and that i'd forget how to breathe. i barely remember hearing His voice during, though i am sure He talked to me the whole time. i was so trapped in the moment, in the pain, that nothing else from those moments is as clear.

It wasn't just the punishment that brought me back to center, to satisfaction with the choice i made to be His slave... But it burned the realization that i needed to own the responsibility of my behavior, that the choice i made to be property, slave, was one of the best choices i could have made for myself. i find happiness inside this relationship, and i want it as much as i need it, exactly as it is. And that brief consideration of begging for release made me realize that i really have everything i need and most of what i want. Though it was unfortunate, going so far off track allowed me to realize that, and the punishment and extra thinking brought me back to center, to be satisfied with what i have with Master. And reminded me that if i felt something was missing, all i have to do is ask.

It is easier to ask before then to beg forgiveness and correction later.

winter...break!

Recently, Master talked about how hard it is for Him to share me with anything. How He works to be patient when the moment requires Him to be so. Which is something i admire in Him. And fear, too. There is something funny about the expression on a dominant's face when they are waiting...even patiently.

While i'm still not a hundred percent sure that being back in college is the right thing for us (i was deliriously happy when i didn't have to go anywhere), but it's what we're doing now. And Master has been amazing. Helping me find the time to get the work done and yanking me away from it often enough that i don't loose sight of the fact that He always comes first. (Oh, yes, we could go round and round about our kiddo being first, but i think i've done a good job balancing our son's needs with Master's wants.)

The hardest part about not being a stay at home type anymore is that i so badly just want to focus on nothing for a while, but Master tempers that, too. If i'm not getting something accomplished and i have due dates coming up, He's standing there prodding me to work. If i'm stressing about due dates and He realizes i'm winding myself up for no reason, He yanks me away from it.

Yes, we find some time for each other between His work, my college and our precocious child. Not as much as we'd like, but someday, that will change. He finds just enough time to remind me that everything i do is something He allows me to do, and that i'm not doing it for myself...but for Him.

Thankfully, my semester ends this Friday, leaving me over a month of time to catch up on chores, and spend ridiculous amounts of time sleeping in or not sleeping at all. And by not sleeping at all, i mean my Master probably won't be either.

WhooHoo!

A Note on Families

Recent events bring to light a thought that has long troubled my mind. What part does family play in this life we choose to lead? Becoming a slave or even a Master does not absolve oneself from ones lineage. Those inescapable ties that while loose and conforming can ensnare one so completely with the slightest of effort. A true jealousy to any proclaimed rope Master.

Yes, it is this bond of family that I speak of now and that indeed has once again impressed itself so wholly upon my property that her heart grows heavy with worry and concern. It is curious to see the years of training and conditioning flutter so insignificantly next to the weight of that concern. Despite the nature of the troubles, of which I'll not utter here, suffice it to say that it is an issue that I'm sure is no stranger to the whole world of families.

The issue I wish to discuss here is the very notion of family and how that bond effects a Master/slave relationship. As we are all very aware, a slave is no less human than the next person, with the same wants, needs, desires. Much like a nun accepting the habit, they simply choose a different way of living, swearing their love and allegiance to something or someone else. And as I mentioned above, accepting the collar does not make one less someone's son or daughter. So how do we deal with this? Do some simply run away from family, ignoring their calls and living their own life as their Master's see fit? Do they pretend that their lives are no different from anyone else, keeping their darker desires secret and hidden from family? Do they come out, hoping for the love and understanding of their families?

I'm sure all are ways that people choose to deal with the issue of family. I myself have no strong attachments to family and no claim to fatherly or motherly intrusion. I find my interest in family to be a close one, involving only my slave and my child as the family I concern myself with. This works for me in a way that I am sure it would not for others. As indeed it does not work well for my slave who is by her nature deeply invested in her family. What if they find out and are disapproving? Would they ostracize their daughter? Certainly we have all heard of that happening to someone at some point. Would they demand a separation, pending upon divorce? Certainly they wouldn't be able to legally insist, but again those ties to family run so bloody deep. Could you handle it if your mother thought you a monster?

I have also put a lot of thought into this question when it comes to the notion of adding a second slave to the dynamic. How would their family impact our relationship or my ownership? What level of family interested should I look for in a slave? Is it at all feasible that I might get a knock on my door from a disgruntled father looking to drag his twenty something little girl back home kicking and screaming? Even more disturbing, should I one day find the father of my slave patting my back complimenting me on my whipping technique demonstrated on his daughter's ass?

How do you handle this? How does it work for you? I admit a great deal of interest in how others deal with the question of family. Are they any couples out there that come from lifestyle families? How about multiple slave households, how does family play a part? Please share...

Thoughts on a Long Night...

It seems befitting of me to mention certain aspects of this life we have chosen for ourselves. I have a long held love for seeing fear upon the face of a beautiful woman. Indeed, if I had my choice between a sweet and heart felt smile gracing the lips of a tender woman and the wide eyed, raised eyebrows of mortal fear, I would choose the latter. Terror seems more fitting for a slave girl than contented happiness, on occasion at any rate.

Imagine that look of abject terror as, while bound and completely at her Master's mercy, she watches helpless as her Master approaches her. In his hands he wields an implement, be it an electric prod or a cutting cane. Her eyes widen, fixed on the implement. Little squeaks, pleading noises, escape from behind her gag. Perhaps she struggles against her bonds, but to no avail. As a slave, as property, she knows that it is not for her to decide her own fate. If her Master wishes it, said implement will indeed be used upon her. And what a curious and wondrous thing, that a slave could find genuine happiness in the grip of such fear. That she could find contentment facing such frightful uncertainty.

Another note of my personal view is the nature of slaves to be objects, toys; possessions. I know that there is a great wide world of differing opinions within our community and I am of the school of persons who believe that a slave is property, wholly and completely. As an object, it is beyond them to decide for themselves. In the case of my slave, my permission must be sought for any and all activities, i.e. using the restroom, eating, drinking (apart from water or milk for hydration and health issues), using any piece of furniture, etc.

All this must now be well known to our dear readers, as this subject is the focus of many of our posts. However, recently I have put much thought into the extent of this view. Our now average daily lives, consisting of college classes for the slave, child rearing, and work for me, have given us little opportunity to dabble as it were in the arts of torture, objectification, bondage and such. Leaving only the refuge of our average days to utilize my slave in the ways that I will.

The focus for her submission as of late has been directed more toward service; laundry, dishes, house cleaning, meals, etc. It has been a delicate balancing act, given the complexity of our combined schedules. I order her to keep constant contact, texting or calling regularly to update me as to her situation while at school or fulfilling some chore. I order her food when we dine out, giving little regard for her desires prior nor her enjoyment following lest such things please me.

I delight in reminding her often that I allow her less regard than I would for a pet dog. I am equally delighted in the effect that such reminders have upon her. Just the other day for example, we were sitting down to some delivered dinner and my pet gave me the imploring eye of a beast desiring a bite of my food. I smiled and after several moments of leaving her hanging upon my answer, I offered her a bite. Instead she requested only the scraps left within the container. So delighted was I that I finished my meal and placed the opened box upon the floor, snapping my fingers and pointing at the box so that she might partake in the scraps from my meal. It is excessively pleasing to me that it was by her own suggestion that such a degrading action fell upon her. And she was so eager in its execution, she fell upon her knees and fed upon the scraps immediately upon my order.

Her desire for the hated plastic spoon that has sadly disappeared from my assortment of tantalizing tools also informs me of her deep seeded needs and desires. Sadly it yet eludes me, undiscovered and still hidden. Also her increased abilities and enjoyment of cock sucking, how she will come to me offering to suck me off. With the addition of regular pineapple, she has even come to enjoy and to some extent crave the taste of my cum. My recent post about tit fucking mentioned how my sweet slave mistook my intentions and offered the notion of fucking her tits.

It pleases me greatly to see that my slave's heart and mind is so focused upon her submission and that she willingly and eagerly serves my whims, whether they have been directly expressed or not. Such is the life of a slave, and a slave she most definitely is...

Collared. Permanently.

For some time now, years to be certain, I have desired to lock around the neck of my sweet sex servant a permanent collar. A symbol of her objectification and slavery, of course, but one that I personally feel that every slave should wear. A collar that cannot be removed by their own hand or at their own will. Though I would prefer a heavy metal band, locked with a complex lock, resources and need have presented me with a challenge.

The collar needed to be both obvious and subtle. It needed to be secure, firm, the embodiment of my ownership over her. However it also needed to be delicate enough to avoid amateur detection and scrutiny. We have a choke chain, a throwback to the very early days of her slavery. It is strong, has some weight, but thin enough to be accepted as a piece of neigh inconspicuous jewelery.

It took some work, but I cut through the links holding the rings and fixed them together around my girl's neck. It is tight enough to ensure that it will not slip off, but loose enough to allow other collars to be used during play, for example my favorite thick metal collar.

Thus affixed, my slave is at long last now a permanently collared girl. It is such a pleasure to know that as she sits in her classes, surrounded by her classmates and instructors, she does so as a marked piece of property. A slave amongst the free people, hidden in plain sight. So delicious...

Anger

It has been an interesting week. A week of contemplation. And it's been kind of hard.

Because of the drastic changes in our schedules (okay, so it's going on four weeks, but, i don't think we've fully adjusted yet) Master and i have had much less time than we would like to play together, to fully embrace our dynamic, our roles.

And while i'm still progressing in other areas, like domestic service, i feel like i'm moving backwards in other areas. i've crashed emotionally when we've had the chance to play during the day. And not in a good, "we played hard" kind of way.

Master chained me to the bed, face down, and i realized that the chains were not even lengths. And that frustrated me. Then Master put a noose around my neck (using a martial arts belt) and that made me panic. When He moved the chians so my arms were out to the side instead of to the top of the bed, i started feeling it.

Anger, boiling up out of my core. Red hot, violent anger. It was purposeless anger. But anger that completely colored the event. And it had nowhere to go. When Master started tapping my ass firmly with a small wooden dowel, all that anger became focused. Even though i love my Master with all of my heart, with every fiber of my being, for a moment, i hated Him.

It was a passing moment. It always is, when that anger comes rising up out of me. And when we push through it, when i'm allowed to fume to myself, all that purposeless anger gets burned away, and the love and adoration that i have for my Master seems brighter and stronger.

And here is where i am torn. i am property, and generally speaking, Master does not expect His property to have vehement reactions to His will. So how do i move beyond those? i am His property, but i think, i feel...no matter how hard i try not to.

In general, i am not an angry person. There are things that make me angry, yes, but i don't dwell in anger. But when it rears its ugly head, and for a moment, takes me from the place i want to be, i almost don't know what to do. When it's been burned away by Master's fierce love, i think i am better for it.

But i wish the anger never focused upon Him.

Considerations of a Second slave...

It surprises me some times the tenacious ferocity with which I will pursue MORE. I am constantly desiring more and more. More skill with musical instruments, more ability with computers, more skill with drawing, more porn to download. More and more and more. More time to do all of this in and more money to be able to support it would be great. But it seems that no one can have both, one or the other seems it. Either you spend all your time working for money with no time to enjoy it, or you have all the time in the world and no money to make anything happen with. This latter category is the one I find my self in at this moment (thank you very fucking much financial geniuses, whom I might add kept their jobs. Assholes).


It should therefore come to no surprise that this unyielding desire for more and more would apply to the owning of a second slave. Sadly, with our infant son (whom I adore) we have had so little time to live our lives the way that I wish, so little time for play or even the little things that really make this life of ours survive. Also, thanks to a nasty little stomach bug that's been hanging out at my house uninvited, we've had even less time and opportunity. Some days I feel as if I am a moment away from pulling my hair out from frustrations and stresses that will not seem to ebb, and yet here I am desiring so badly a second slave to lock my collar onto. WHY? I mean I fully understand why I would want one, why anyone would. But why do I crave this so adamantly now? I barely have time for the sweet slave love of my life as it is.


I do not wish a second slave because I am unhappy with my slave wife. I do not wish to replace her in any way. I do not desire a separate life, away from my current slave girl, on the contrary I wish them both to be good friends, or like sisters. I would like to have my second girl integrated as completely as possible into our lives. But what kind of life would that make for my son. How would we pull it off around family who visit quite regularly.


I've had two different experiences with taking a second sub. The first was a total disaster born out of youthful exuberance and ignorance (and more than just a little my passion for redheads). The second experience was better, and only really failed due to that lack of time issue and a few unrelated things. I've played with some pretty fun people and teased a great deal more. Even if I could find a good candidate out here were we live, would I do it right? Taking my time to get to know her, her situation, her like and dislikes, the potential pitfalls? Or would I just as eagerly slap a collar on the first little piece of hotness that was willing to call me Sir, like a starving man grabs the first semi edible thing that he sees, despite whether it is poisonous or not? I imagine the former of course, but I crave it so I am not 100% sure.


It is not always a bad thing, wanting more. Wanting more time with your family, more chances to say the things that matter, more appreciation for the work that you do or the effort that you give day in and day out. Sometimes, though, more can be just that. More. Nothing more or less than more (that's a fun little saying). Like the man said, "be careful of what you wish for, you just might get it".


There are so many considerations as well. What is her family life like? Does she come from an abusive background and is just looking for what is familiar or is she close to her parents and I can expect a knock at my door at any moment. What about her friends, her interests, her schedule, what kind of experience does she have if any. Would I want a complete novice or someone who is well versed? What age, 19 and naive or 30 and skilled? What compatibility would there be between us? What kind of involvement would I wish her to have; daily interactions, live-in? What relationship would I want her to have with my son?


My slave and I have discussed this and she has brought up the point that so few of those types of relationships last because it is very difficult to have more than one primary in a relationship, and who would want to be a secondary, considered a secondary, treated like a secondary in a relationship? I have read from some people for whom this works, and works well, but for so many it doesn't.


There is so much to think about and so many things that have to be just right for it to work and yet despite all of these things, I so badly desire having two slaves at my feet, locked in my collars, marked as mine. Such a puzzlement...

Some Protocols of a slave...

I've been thinking recently about the protocols that I have for my slave and the fact that I don't believe I've mentioned more than a handful here. Given that this Blog is about Roles Defining Rules, it would only be fair to mention a few.

she has been by collared property for a decade now and in that time many of the rules I've established have changed. Our dynamic is ever changing (hence the blog's name) and it is that flexibility, I believe, that allows us to overcome the challenges and obstacles that come our way. However there are three rules, a creed, that endure. My slave has mentioned them previously: Obey, Serve, and Please. Sort of our Trinity Principle.

Being an owned slave, she has no rights. she is property and I regularly remind her of this. I enforce my ownership over specific parts of her to keep her mindful of her place. For instance; her breath belongs to me and I'll deny her air at a whim and her lovely and creative brain belongs to me, the thoughts and opinions she has are mine to twist and shape as I wish.

One of my rules is that she must beg my permission before engaging in any activity. For example, my permission must be given before she will be allowed to eat, sleep, use the restroom, crawl into my bed, leave my presence (and she must back out of the room once she is allowed to leave and crawl on hands and knees upon returning), use any piece of furniture (save for the chair at her computer - long story), and so on.

I control her speech through a number of protocols that I enforce strongly: she must be respectful, she must use pleasing tones, she is never allowed to argue, she is never allowed to say "no" lest it be to answer a direct question, and there are a number of words that she is not allowed to use period. For example the word "yeah" has been stricken from her vocabulary and carries the penalty of five push-ups for every slip. I swear, my slave will have shoulders and arms like Arnie if she does not stop using it soon. I can deny her speech entirely and leave her yipping, whimpering and panting to express herself, and I might add that it is a great deal of fun for me.

I control her body through a number of exercises and protocols to keep her fit, flexible, and ready. Yoga, belly dancing, martial arts, all of which help to focus her mind and center her body. (Admittedly, due to the winter and our child, this has fallen to the wayside more than I would like to see, but with spring coming I'll be enforcing this more strictly.) I also control her body through a number of positions that she is expected to know and execute correctly. For example, "dog" places her upon all fours, back arched, head and ass up. "Stand" places her on her feet, shoulder width apart, hands clasped at the small of her back, eyes straight forward. These are just a few examples of her current repertoire and I intend to expand this to include a greater number of positions in the near future.

I control features of her body by deciding what she will wear, her hair style and color, shaving, hygiene, etc. I don't use this to the extent I would like due to the area in which we reside, that is to say a rather repressed community. I am looking for a collar that I like that would be acceptable in public and I have seen several that might do the trick. We have also been designing a symbol that I will have tattooed upon her, marking her as my property. Given that we are in our tenth year, I would like to settle upon one that we can have placed upon her for our anniversary. This is more difficult than it may sound as I am a very critical person and the idea of a permanent mark that will forever symbolize my ownership places a great deal of importance on getting just the right symbol. I like the idea of a bar code, specifically the one attached to her SLRN, however this has become somewhat cliche these days.

At home, she is expected to be naked and collared at all times. However, with our child this has been pushed to after hours when she is to strip down and bring me her collar. (Even after all these years it is still such a giddy joy for me to have her naked and at my feet.) When retrieving anything for me she is to crawl to me with the object in her teeth like a dog (provided it is small and light of course, could you imagine anyone dragging say a chair or a full tool box in their teeth? Then again...) and kneel at my feet awaiting my recognition to offer it to my outstretched hand.

As for sex, I suppose it would go without saying that I control her very strictly here. I make her beg to be fucked like a little whore, wagging her ass in the air and whimpering. she is to beg for every orgasm and await permission before she may slip over that edge into the shuddering throws of ecstasy (what a fun game to give her a time limit of say fifteen minutes before I'll allow her to). I control her orgasms so completely that I will regularly force her to cum on command throughout the day, while driving, focusing on a project, speaking on the phone, etc. So much fun. In addition, I regularly take her at a moment's notice during the day, inspecting her each time to ensure that she is wet and ready like a good slave should be.

I assign her writing assignments, art projects, blog topics; all to keep her mind focused upon her slavery, her place. I control her online activities (though allow her a large amount of autonomy given it is her only real outlet out here) including whom she may befriend on Fetlife, groups she may join, etc.

Well, there you are, a somewhat general listing of the rules, protocols, expectations, and controls that I have for my sweet little slave. As we continue to grow together, face new and interesting challenges, and further explore her enslavement these rules will no doubt change and grow with us. Thats the benefit of Roles Defining Rules...

Sex slave...

Despite the complexities and utter enjoyment of bondage, imprisonment, involved torture scenes, protracted torments, role playing and the like; it is sometimes easy for me to forget simple pleasures of the basic reality of a sex slave. That is, for her to be available and ready for sex at any moment, any time of day or night. Take today for example...


Upon returning home from a normal cluster-fuck day at work I found my dutiful slave hard at work navigating the treacherous minefield of tax forms, sparring me from the tormenting crap like a good slave girl should;) I gave her a kiss on the neck, a pat on the head, and told her to follow me into the bedroom. With a quick order to strip and present her ass, she was naked and on all fours on the bed in an instant. My probing finger found her wet, warm, and inviting. So, without further adieu, I sank my hard cock deep into the cunt I own and proceeded to fuck three or four screaming, panting, moaning and groaning orgasms out of my little slave before cumming all over her up turned ass.


I think that it says a great deal about the time and training that has gone into a slave girl when she can go from attempting taxes to a panting slut in the space of a single command. Indeed for any woman to be ready, willing, wet, and horny at a moment's notice, eager to be used for her Master's pleasure is, in my mind, something of a pinnacle event and a primary goal of the mental and sexual conditioning of any sex slave. Needless to say, I am very proud of my sex slave...

Choice less...

The focus for my slave's training as of late has been on the choice less nature of being a slave. How the lack of any personal will is less accurate in relation to a consensual slave than the knowledge that she does not get a choice in the actions that are dictated to her. Very few of us are looking for a doormat. Strong willed, opinionated subjects make for far more interesting slaves. The difference is in accepting that, thought willful and opinionated, they have absolutely no choice in their obedience and submission to their Masters. A perfect example of this and a training tool that I used just this evening follows:


My slave approached me and requested my permission to use the restroom to pee. With a rather evil smile on my face, I told her that she could indeed pee, but she would need to get a cup from the kitchen. She retrieved the last of the plastic cups we use for company and returned to the front room where I was waiting for her. I could tell that she had a pretty good idea what I wanted from her and also that I knew just how much she had a problem with it. My pet asked if she could use the bathtub, but I instead told her to squat down on the tile floor that serves as our tiny little foyer.


Blushing, but trying very hard to be obedient, she pulled down her pants, squatted right in front of our front door, and pissed in the cup. I could see her struggling with the embarrassment and humiliation that I was subjecting her to, particularly when a small stream began to run down her leg to her pants. When she was finished, the real anger began to show. My slave quickly expressed how upset it made her to pee on herself like that, ruining one of the last clean pairs of pants, and how she had told me that it was not going work well to begin with.


Now, at this point I knelt her down at my feet and explained to her that she didn't have a choice in the matter. Whether or not she enjoyed or particularly liked the task I had assigned to her, she had no choice but to do it. Further, that the only thing at all she had any control over was how she went about doing it. It was up to her whether or not she was going to complete whatever task with the humility, poise, and composure that I expect from my slave, or whether she was going to pitch a fit and make things much worse for herself. I went on to explain that the small humiliation she had just suffered was nothing at all and that it could always be worse. I asked her whether or not I had made her smell it, to which she snapped yes! I asked her again, did I make her place the cup under her nose and take a deep breath? No, she said, her head down.


I then made her go retrieve the cup full of her acrid piss. When she returned to her knees at my feet I told her to put the cup under her nose and breath it in. With tears in her eyes, she obeyed. The cup slowly found its place just under her nose and she took a long slow breath. I reminded her again that she had no choice in the matter and that if I wanted her to drink it, she would one way or another. Poise, composure, grace, humility, gratitude; these are the things I expect from my slave. I then ordered her to taste her piss.


Despite the anger and fear in her eyes hiding behind the falling tears, my little slave did as she was told. Slowly the cup reached her lips and without much hesitation she took a sip. Impressively, my little slut held her piss in her mouth for over ten seconds before finally spitting it back into the cup, gagging. More tears escaped her angry eyes as I smiled into her glare. I corrected her posture so that her head was not tilted downward in such a scowl and asked her what she had learned. "slave has no choice, Master," she said. Good, she is finally learning. I told her that it could still be worse and I could very easily watch her drink the whole cup down. I ordered her to compose herself and be grateful for the attention and that I hadn't yet ordered her to drink the rest. Slowly it sunk in and my slave did regain her composure.


I pulled her close and stroked her hair, telling her that she had no right to make judgments about things. I was not interested in her disgust, only her obedience. I added that if I were willing to do something, like taste her piss, then she most certainly could not refrain. I explained that there are even some hardcore health nuts that actually drink their own piss as part of an extreme health regiment, that they recommend it. Finally, much to her relief, I ordered her to dump and toss the cup, wash her mouth out, and return to me so that we could eat our dinner.


Following the meal and a little play in the front room, we retreated into the bedroom. Having been naughty and used a word forbidden to her a number of times in the previous days, I had her lie across the bed in anticipation of a paddling. Already forgetting that things could always be worse, I asked if she was ready and she snapped that she wasn't. Here I am, about to beat her ass for one misbehavior anyway, and she's getting mouthy. I asked her why she wasn't ready and she told me that she figured that I was about to use the nastiest of the paddles we have. A real heavy duty little number with a metal inlay, about two inches wide, and made from rubber. A truly masochistic friend of my slave who had previously bragged that she had taken a hog bat across the ass a couple of times and didn't even flinch, once begged me to stop beating her ass after just three hits from this little baddie. It leaves impressive marks, guaranteed.


At any rate, holding the "nice" paddle in hand, I informed her that I was now going to use the evil paddle since she had bitched about it. My slave squealed and begged for me not to use that one and I reminded her again that she should be grateful and not bitch about things as they could most definitely get worse for her. Settling, she apologized for her remarks and begged to be punished. I informed her that I would be doubling the punishment and ordered her to count. After ten swats, I told her the punishment for the word use was over. Now I was about to begin the punishment for her behavior. The next ten strokes I put more power into, making her jump and squirm and cry with each hit. When she complained I was making it harder on the second set I reminded her that this was the "nice" paddle, as she called it, and that I could still get the other one. My pet chose to finish out the remainder of the punishment with the nice paddle. When finished, I asked her if she had learned her lesson and what it meant. My slave said that she understood that she was to display poise, grace, and composure, she was suppose to be grateful, and most importantly that she didn't have any choice in the matter. I instructed her to kiss the "nice" paddle in gratitude and she obeyed quickly and eagerly.


Such a good girl I have, and such poignant lessons. Gratitude, humility, poise, composure; even in the face of things she does not like, even those its fair to say she hates. She has no choice, at all, ever. She can only effect how she submits and obeys and she should always remember, it could be so, so much worse...

Pay the whore...

An interesting time has come upon us. I have, for nearly the breadth of my ownership over my lovely little slave, considered her to be a whore for private use. Time and time again I have brought this out in her, delighting in her begging to be fucked and to taste my cum. I see it in her desperate looks and grinding hips. I hear it in the panting breaths and her dog like whimpering.


However, the time has come for my little whore to be paid. Or more appropriately, to have her earn her keep. She is no longer the little office pet, the strong willed and opinionated woman who returns home to heel at my feet and wear my collar. Now she is the little house slave, whiling away the long hours until my unfortunately lengthy return. Now she finds herself restricted to an allowance; and one that, for the most part, she must earn. I have never before taken the pleasure of stuffing a handful of bills into her well used mouth, and I have to ask myself why I have waited this long. Her cock sucking skills have definitely improved over the last year and I find that tying her performance to her pay has greatly helped her desire to take my cock.


For now, the privilege of being fucked and used like the little slut she is, is not conditional upon her pay. I would hate to pay her for something that she can't get enough of as I would go broke in no time. Also, I feel that that particular privilege should remain entirely at my discretion, it helps keep my little cunt in line.


However, the things that she seems to struggle with the most are perfect places to impose this particular condition. My slave wants to be paid, then she has to offer her ass to the harshest paddle, or lick my cum from the tiled floor, or piss in a cup or bowl and wait to see whether or not I make her drink, or offer her asshole for use. Hmmmmm, my dulcet little slut slave may never look at payday the same way again. ;) In the mean time, I will continue to make my whore "work hard for the money":D...

Metal

Master has a fetish for metal. Handcuffs, leg irons, chains... He loves it. The color of it, the chill of it, the permanence of it.

For me, i prefer the softer things - leather, rope (yes, Master, i know i gripe about it), duct tape, saran wrap... To me, these things feel more like an embrace, being held in Master's ownership.

To me, metal is cold, uncaring, unloving, inescapable. It is something that i loathe first and love last. Cuffs and leg irons bite into me, making me edgy, uncomfortable and sometimes afraid. Metal scares me before it can excite me.

And, while we've used handcuffs, leg irons and chains (including a choke chain collar) in our play, i had never felt cold, unyielding metal around my neck. The choke chain has always had some give to it, and being chained (like my little icon at the start of each of my entries) always left me some movement.

Things change.

A box arrived in the mail yesterday, and i had sneaking suspicions about what exactly Master had ordered. In truth, i wasn't sure how i would handle it, if my suspicions were confirmed. When Master finally got home and opened the box, it was indeed as i had suspected and at first opportunity, Master locked that steel collar around my neck. (By the way, we both adore Autumn's sub-shop.)

Metal is cold. Unyielding. Unforgiving. Cruel. Inescapable. Heavy.

In part, i think the reason Master has such a fetish for metal is because it becomes so inescapable.

At first, all i could think of was the weight of it, and while that never went away, i was also reminded of how much my position as His slave is like that collar. This is something that doesn't go away just because it's uncomfortable, or too much. Because of the time that Master and i have invested in our Master/slave relationship, we (together) have made it something that i cannot leave. i cannot escape. i don't want to escape.

But it's heavy, rough, unyielding, inescapable.

Regardless of whether or not He locks that collar around His property's neck, i am His, and the weight of that, the cold, inescapable nature that is now present in our scenes, in our day-to-day lives, is always with me.

And the collar being locked around my neck -- i can't say i was comforted by its cold grip, that i handled the inescapable nature of it with perfect grace -- but as much as i prefer the leather collar Master uses on me, i did enjoy the physical reminder that i cannot escape.

After all, i helped Master build the cage of my life.