A whole new year...

I woke this morning, snuggled up warm and close to my sleeping Master and thought to myself, 1-1-11, the first day of 2011.  I don't have a whole lot of New Years Resolutions... just the old ones from last year that need a fresh shot of energy.  (1) cut down the bad fat (2) keep walking and bike riding (3) Quit bitching about what is wrong with my Master and celebrate the fact I have him and that for every wrong thing, there are ten right things.  I did pretty good last year, but #1 sort of got compromised this holiday season and #2 just fell apart in the face of one of the nastiest rainiest years on record.  #3 has been much, much better... but there is still room for improvement.   

New years eve was pretty much the same as always.  Nada, nothing, bleh, boring, disappointing.  I know if I had pushed, and begged, and whined and... and... I could probably have gotten him to go out.  A new acquaintance and potential friend had done the cajoling and gotten her Master to agree to take her out to a NYE party at a bar that kinky people hang out at.  She was trying and trying to talk me into joining them.  But the idea of live music, loud partying people and all that did not seem very interesting.  My hearing is bad, I can't hear or talk in places like that.  Master does not drink or dance.  I had this image of sitting there, watching other people's lips move and not knowing what they were saying.

I had this half formed thought of staying home, putting on the crotchless fishnet body stocking and drinking a whole bottle of champagne?  Doing something, anything out of character, memorable... But in the end, I just fell asleep on the couch in baggy sweats around 9:30.  Master was already asleep in his chair by then.  He woke me up at 11:58, gave me a hug, a kiss and a "Happy New Year" and sent my sleepy ass directly to bed.

And now, now looking at the evening, perhaps it would have been better if I had been braver.  I think I would have regretted a noisy, tiring night out less than I regret this lack of motivation and sense that my life is passing me by.

Meh... forget that...

It is past, there is no changing it now.

...so speaking of cheese...

Two more days until time to go back to work... and you know, I am better when  I am working.  I don't do unstructured time all that well... I tend to become even less motivated.  The only thing that improves when I sit around for hours on end is I do write more.  Everything else goes all to hell.  The house isn't any cleaner, the dinners not more imaginative... somehow the getting up and dressed, talking with other people, solving problems and meeting challenges gets my blood flowing, energizes me and ultimately makes me a happier, better person.

There has to be a name for that kind of masochist... someone that gets off on working the "dirty job".

...and speaking of cheese...

The storm of angry that came when Master so thoroughly mind fucked me Thursday night, took nearly twenty-four hours to fade away.  Nearly a whole day of clenched teeth and narrowed eyes.  A whole night and day of seething, boiling, simmering... every time he would look at me I could feel the muscles in my body tighten and prepare for some other assault calculated to irritate and provoke. 

And each time he would sense that sea of bitter acid lava bubbling inside me, he would stir it up again.  Taunting, teasing, poking and stirring it... and laughing with infuriating sadistic delight as I would lose it and lash out, calling him names, trying to argue with sharp and angry words that he was just a monster, an awful mean mind fucking monster, the kind of monster that tickles children til the cry and pinches kittens to see them hiss and try to scratch.  I would call him a fucker and then threaten that if he kept poking me he could end up laughing all the way to the hospital. And of course he would just laugh some more and poke at me again.

It is his favorite game.  But it is dangerous.  It tears away at my trust.  It breeds disrespect.  It not only makes me angry, it makes me sad and afraid.  And to give Master credit, he does not want sad or afraid.  He just likes to play rough.  He will push and needle and laugh, and when through the tears and rage, he can provoke a hysterical giggle he will argue... "see you are laughing too" and refuse to accept that even if I am laughing, I am hurting too.  It was a pattern we played out over and over and over before I asked him to be my Master and committed to obedience and acceptance.

Finally on Friday, I said to him, through the tears and laughter.  "All you have to do is say 'Stop'."

He paused and said ruefully, "I had forgotten that."

So it finally stopped.  And looking back, I know I started it.  I got pissed when he hurt me too hard and too fast when he got home on Thursday.  And he reacted to my tantrum with old stuff rather than remembering to just say 'Stop'.  I know that if I give into temper, it triggers his mental and emotional sadism.  I also know if I am calm, accepting and in control of my temper, he hardly ever takes it too far.

So there it is, that is what is different this year than a year ago.  I would not have remembered that simple fact, because he is my Master, he can just say 'Stop'.

....Oh and speaking of cheese.

Happy New Years    

Bad back and a new collar.

Another dark, wet, cold weekend. Friday afternoon was our work Christmas party and I had permission from Master to be late. I had baked that recipe of coconut ginger cookies. (I will put up the recipe on Thursday when StrivingForPeace has her cookie recipe exchange.) The cookies were good, but not really right for a go to the bar and drink beer snack. (Darn that lady that asked us to bring cookies... nobody else did... pffft...)

But the bad thing was late Friday afternoon, I started getting this ache and twinges in my lower back. Ick... the last time I had lower back issues was the day about two years ago when Master very decisively and physically demonstrating to me, that we had descended down this rabbit hole far enough that there was not climbing back out .

The party was okay, but I don't function well in crowds and I did not stay long. By the time I got home, my back was threatening to go into spasms. Master got home almost the same time I did and while it was still early. I don't know if it was the party or the pain in my back I was tired and fell asleep early. And when I woke up in the morning I was in serious pain.

We had a funny morning. Master was sending me all kinds of mixed messages. Let's go grocery shopping early... Lets go "take a shower". (Master speak for take an hour having sex under running water.) Shower sex is not a quicky and is almost inevitably followed by a nap. A suggestion completely at odds with the "early shopping" plan. Now I am easy to command, but nigh on impossible to stop once I get started on said command. Once I had that grocery list in my hand, I was giving him a "you have got to be fucking crazy" reaction when the shower topic entered the scene. I am the type to have a serious meltdown if I see a "detour" sign.

For my "you have got to be fucking crazy" reaction, I got another physical demonstration that I was not in charge around here. I got shown this in no uncertain terms. We arrived at the grocery store far from early. And my back was totally bitching me out for my stubborn, frantic struggle against those strong, no nonsense hands as they bent me over the edge of the bed and alternately spanked and held me down as he fucked some sense into my stubborn head.

Suffice to say, Master was just a bit smug as we walked around the grocery store and I was far more emotionally and mentally flexible, even if my back was the exact opposite.

***

Cool thing though, my collar came yesterday. It was funny, I was wildly excited and was tearing at the paper and guess what, son number one and Livie walked in the front door. Poop... I had forgotten I had said I would baby sit. Everything got put away.

Later Master asked me why and I looked at him with this "I just wish you could realize how important this is to me." pained expression and murmured, "I want it to be just you and me. I want to kneel at your feet when you to put it around my neck and tighten the screw."

We ended up babysitting until late but before bedtime I got my moment, on my knees at his feet. I am not sure if Master puts the same kind of symbolic meaning into having me wear a collar as I do. But he did take a certain "technical" interest in the design and gave it his official approval as to fit and appearance.

At first I was a little unsure as to the fit. But the circle is round, so it does feel a little wide on the sides but the front to back dimension is perfect and it does not rest on my collar bones. If I had gotten a smaller size, it would press on my adam's apple. I slept in it and never once was bothered by it. (Unfortunately I was bothered endlessly by not being able to find a position that did not make my back hurt.) And already this morning it feels like I have worn it all my life.



It is shiny and strong. It feels exactly right, rigid and inflexible, like my Master's hands around my throat.

...And now I better get up off my ass before my back freezes in this position. The only real solution is to keep moving.

Gravy?

Lol... so soon after the last gravy drama, when I put it to Master to decide what he wanted for dinner he said "Baked Chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy... ZOMG... he didn't say it. He didn't say "gravy".

We were in the car and I teased him a little. I said... "But you hate my gravy."

Refusing to be baited, he nodded solemnly as he drove. "Yes, you are right. Your gravy sucks."

"Then I might as well just buy a jar again."

His voice was calm, "If you buy a jar of gravy, you better check to make sure it will fit."

I did not ask exactly where he was threatening to put it. He seemed satisfied that I gave him a shocked, speculative look and then deftly changed the subject.

We had a nice quiet Veteran's Day staying home together. We went out to breakfast and shopped around in a couple Good Will/Salvation armies. Then bought a couple things I needed for dinner (no jar of gravy... I am not that brave).

The gravy turned out good. Even Master said so.

Balancing Acts

Balancing acts

One finds one balancing on the razor’s edge… Master likes a challenge… Master likes a lively give and take. If one argues back or is a bit bratty… if one pulls away at first when he reaches for a handful of flesh… if one feigns rage and pique and calls him names… if one fights back and must be vanquished… Master joins such games with a fervor and enthusiasm. He loves the battle and savors that victory. It emphasizes the ownership; it adds a zing and a rush to the game. It makes him feel like fricken Khan the barbarian or something. Testosterone… go figure.

Anyway, this one naturally is a bit feisty, naturally has a bit of fight in her… this one must feel vanquished so we are a good match… up to a point.

The trouble is this one can easily get a little too enthusiastic in ones “mock resistance”. One has a very impulsive and quick sharp wit… and one is built like a brick shit house and if one forgets that it is “token” one could easily injure Master. One can easily be a rough and tough bitch at times. If the game goes on too long, the play too rough, one loses perspective, one gets infected with rebellion. It tends to pervade her every action and it begins to poison her thinking. And she takes it too far… and then Master is no longer amused… at all… and one realizes she lost her balance and is falling off the far side of that razors edge. One can very quickly find oneself in deep, deep shit… and one is no longer laughing, one is squealing, crying, pleading that “I was just playing… I thought we were playing… I am sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry…” as she is being taught one more time that it is possible to go too far, to get beyond that point.

The other day one had such an experience. One had been “playing the game” with Master all day. Endless little struggles and laughter, verbal sword fights… snotty comebacks… big brave ‘you don’t scare me’ taunts, wrastling, titty grabs, smacked butts and pussy pokes… It was all good. Then during a lull, one of those sweet moments of peace between bouts, he walked by he reached out and touched me. Just a gentle touch, an acknowledgement of my presence, a gesture of affection; he can’t not touch me as he passes by. It is automatic and unconscious and natural. But this time, due to the cosmic balance, the low humidity, or just his naturally electric personality, he was intensely charged with ions… positive or negative? I have no idea, but long story short, I was attuned to the opposite charge and he discharged a mighty surge of static electricity. Oddly, my toe is either immune to the sensation or perhaps it was just cosmic justice, but I felt nothing, but I heard it… a loud snap. And he leapt back, yowled then began to laugh sadistically.

Obviously the game was on… and I retorted that I had felt nothing, that it was nothing, nothing at all… but it was obvious that he had felt it all… I went so far as to suggest that not only did he feel it but from his giddy case of giggles that perhaps he enjoyed it… perhaps he was the masochist, not me. I even offered to give him an opportunity to try it out.

Suddenly he was not laughing. Obviously my Master does not appreciate the inference that he might be masochistic. Sensing that the tone of the game may have changed one ducked, and focused back onto the computer in her lap. But alas, it was too late to lay low.

Master was gone for a second and for that second I though perhaps I had gotten away with those words but then he was back, a big handful of zip ties in his paws. The foot rest was kicked out on my chair, and he yanked my feet out onto either side and looped a zip tie onto each big toe and began to cinch my feet together underneath the recliner’s foot rest. I studiously stared at my computer, determined to ignore him. I was still infected with the game, still determined to “win,” and to prove that I could take whatever he had to dish out.

And, really zip ties? Those silly things… I could break them in half it I really fought. But fighting like that, fighting the ties, that is not the kind of resistance I enjoy. I like to feel my bonds, but I hate it if I can break them or escape. So I did not fight. I just sat there as he tightened them, my legs twisting and complaining, my big toes starting to feel like they were getting cut off. It was terrible, the sides of the foot rest cut into my calves, my muscles threatened to cramp, my toes were screaming… and I refused to take my eyes off the computer screen. There was no place of comfort… no tensing or loosening of my muscles could find a bearable position. I am sure my face was a mask of stubborn agony, but I refused to look up and meet his eyes.

I don’t know how long I sat there, dealing with a new balancing act. Trying to find a place in the middle, a place where the pain in my toes equaled the pain in my legs, straining to hold still, fighting the urge to beg him to stop. Finally when a tear slipped lose from my eye, he asked his voice soft, “Had enough?”

And I nodded, suddenly profoundly sad… sad that I have to balance, sad that is it sometimes so fucking easy to screw up… sad that I had done something that had angered my Master. Sad that he loves the resistance but that the resistance tears away at my wish to be good, wish to be obedient… sure it is fun to be snotty… sure I love to be vanquished… but I love the safety of his approval more.

For many days after that, I did not play. When he reached for me, I would relax, offer up the flesh he reached for, pressed it cooperatively into his grasp, willed him to hurt me and welcomed the pain. And he sensed the change, repeatedly questioning if I was sad, angry, depressed I just would smile, shake my head, and murmur, “no, I am fine.”

It was hard to put into words, my intention of replanting the seeds of obedience, to weed out the unwelcome rebellion that had taken root in my heart. And still, when the impulse to pull away rises up, I resist the urge to fight and instead offer up myself to him, whole, happy and oh so sweetly obedient.