Wrestling a bitch into submission

It was a wonderful warm afternoon.  I had that irrepressible sense of giddiness that always accompanies the arrival home from my last day off work before a nice long vacation.  When Master told me to get my walking shoes on I welcomed the idea of stretching out my legs. 

But he did not take us on any of our known and sweetly familiar routes.  He was in the mood for a bit of adventure.  So I found myself wandering in unfamiliar environs.  The trail he chose narrowed from a wide sidewalk to a narrow dirt path winding through blackberry thickets.  Sadly, I am a creature of habit… and when I do something new I plan it out, research it exhaustively.  To passively follow along, not knowing where the trail may lead, to explore??? It triggers all my insecurities and control issues.  I was questioning, suggesting, resisting… but to my credit, I followed along, legs and body obeying even if the mind and mouth weren’t.

Eventually the trail widened and reentered into more cultivated environs.  We found a place where strange metal towers, the kind that high voltage wires hang from were built, just standing, without the wires… perhaps for trainees to practice upon.  They stood there in a clearing, tall, angular, hard but in some ways airy, weightless and full of possibilities.  To be tied, suspended dozens of feet above the ground… spot lights and spectators… or left alone in the darkness… Of course Master always practical and pragmatic, said there is in all likelihood security cameras and grouchy security guards… oh, well… poof goes the fantasy.

We eventually found our way back to the car and drove home.  On the way I did a mental inventory of the contents of the refrigerator, seeking out inspiration in the odds and ends in the vegetable drawer.  Celery, there is always celery, and bell peppers and mushrooms… half a bunch of parsley that should be used soon or it will just end up in the compost.  Oh… and a nice bit of broccoli.  And a couple cups of left over rice.  Yes… that is it… I will sauté the veggies and mix in the rice… I have done that before.  But I have never added broccoli… that sounded like a new touch that I wanted to try but the recipe would require it to be diced… not broken into florets.  I wondered if Master would object.  He grouches at the oddest times.  The last time I tried to “chop up” broccoli, he ranted for nearly twenty minutes about me somehow abusing vegetables.

I think I rolled my eyes at the memory and shot him a “look”.  And he was instantly all over me.  “WHAT???” 

“nothing”… small voice, averted eyes.  I mean how can you explain that it was a moment of irritation caused by the anticipation of some possible future unreasonable rigidity on his part???

“…just thinking about dinner.” 

But the giddiness, the leftovers of the disorientation from being taken places I was not comfortable in and the strange imagined dissatisfaction I was anticipating all mixed together and I was tense, reactive… already busy with assembling the ingredients and tools… so when he reached for me, I shrank back and dodged away.

That resistance… that bit of fight… it always is like gasoline on a fire.  He leapt.  He grabbed.  And my nebulous mood ignited into full blown rebellion.  I struggled to escape.  I raged.  “Don’t bother me!  I am cooking!  You want to eat????”

And perfectly predictably… he went on full attack and the harder he tried to wrestle me into submission… the more I fought and just as I was about to gain some advantage, he sank his teeth into my ear… not the lobe but the top, gristley part… yark… but I was instantly still, perfectly still, it hurt and he hissed through his clenched teeth something about me being difficult and somehow those words and the warm heavy breath behind them tickled.  Tickled worse than anything ever before in my life… and… I… could… not… move.  I trembled.  I laughed, nervous, panicked pent up giggles that only made it hurt and tickle worse and worse and worse.  I screamed and then I begged. 

“I am sorry.”

“I will be good.”

“I will never do it again.”

“Pulllleasssse stop, I will do anything…!!!!!”

“Please, please, pleeeeeaaaaaasssssse…. Maaaasssster!!!!”

When he finally relented and let me go I sank to the floor.

He stared down at me and grinned a slow satisfied grin.  He commented to me, to himself, to the universe in general, “That works good.  I will have to remember that.”

And from somewhere in the squirrely depths of my brain a random memory about the way to wrestle a pig into submission is to leap upon them and bite them in the ear bubbled to the surface.  I don't know how good it would work for a pig, but it seemed to work for me.

The rice turned out delicious… the broccoli (chopped !) was a perfect addition. 

Quack...

In honor of Kelly's reminder that I am just a duck and to let the stress of work to flow off my back... 

Fortunately there have been more and more windows of sunlight between rain storms so Master and I are getting out and walking more and more.  And being sort of springlike... the first crocuses are peeking out here and there.... (apologies to all of you still buried under snow) we are seeing dozens and dozens flocks of Canadian Geese.  And I am reminded of a curious scientific fact... and I took the time to impart this little tidbit of wisdom to Master...

So as another flock of honking and quacking and shouting geese speed across the sky, the ones in the front yelling, "Follow me!  Follow me!  Follow me!"  And the rest honking back, "We are!  We are!  We are!"  And a few stragglers hurrying to take their place at the end of the ragged V squalling, "Wait for us!  Wait for us!"  Master and I pause and look up.

I point and ask, "You see the V?"

Master nods, shading his eyes.

I ask further, "You notice how one side of the V is always longer than the other?"

He nods again.

"I learned on the science channel why they do that."

Master looks at me, interested now.  He loves little scientific facts.

I point at the rapidly disappearing flock and impart this little known fact with a serious expression.

"There are more geese on one side."

Confessions

What to say... about another weekend. 

It was a a typical Friday.  An indulgence in fast food followed by a rapid surrender to sleep.  I tried to suggest we change it up... go to a movie... but apparently a 7:25 showing was "too late".  It kind of is disheartening to realize that a 7:25 movie is too late.  A sinking feeling of life not passing by, but already missed tended to make the Wendy's fries turn to mush in my mouth.  But I know that I am not allowed expectations... and I do know that we wake up early and Master works hard all day and a want for a movie on a work day is not likely to be met.

Upside... better news... the Saturday morning it was bright and clear and beautiful.  That is one of the magical things about living here in the Pacific Northwest... the staggering beauty when the sun finally peeks out from behind the clouds.  You can't help but notice it, appreciate it.  Master and I took an extra long walk, meandering through the neighborhoods, looking at houses and the sparkles of the raindrops that still hung from every branch and strand of grass.  It is a jewel encrusted world.  We walked further and further... crossing streets and neighborhoods not seen since last summers cycle rides.  At one point Master seemed to realize that he the walk had gotten longer than he had planned and he abruptly turned us around.  Mr.  Predictable dragging us back to more familiar paths, the usual agenda... next item... shower sex.  And I have to admit the thought of it did not excite me at all.  It just made me tired.  And not quite tongue in cheek, veiling a long hidden bit dissatisfaction, I muttered under my breath.  "We can just go for an extra long walk instead of sex."

The walk halted and he swung me around and stared into my face.  "What?"

Not wanting to admit the truth that lately sex has become a bit of a chore... too predictable... too hard to become aroused... the orgasms too much work for the results... I don't mind being used.  In fact I kinda like the dynamic of being used as a masturbatory device.  Him taking with no expectations that I am supposed to have an orgasm.  It is that elusive arousal and stubborn orgasm that I am becoming increasingly avoidant of pursuing.  It is too much to admit, too much to talk about.  I refuse to meet his eyes and  paste on a fake smile and mumble, "Just being silly."

But he wasn't buying it, not one bit.  "Walking is not a substitute for sex.  Walking makes sex better."

My eyes meet his briefly, pained and just a little resentful and slide away. 

His hand is in my hair, tipping my face back and he is looking at me.  "Doesn't it?"

Wordlessly I shake my head, a tiny silent negative that makes the pull of his grip sting and hurt.  "Not really."

He lets go of me and looks at me.  I look around at the amazing sparkling world and admit, "Don't feel like having sex."

He laughs and gives me a hug and laughs again.  "Pretty girl, it is okay to have some days you don't feel like having sex."

I shoot him another pained look.  "More like some weeks."  Even this is a bit of a lie... it has been longer than that. 

He takes my hand and we keep walking.  He asks me about it.  I talk about how the predictability that works for him, works against me.  That I need some level of novelty and unpredictability.  Then he asks me about what else I think would help... and I talk about wanting more control... not so much as more pain as him being directive.  And then talked about how in nearly every story I write I end up in the bathroom with the Dom, Master, Abductor, Alien having some level of control over the bathroom use.  That lately all my fantasies involve bondage, sensory deprivation, teasing and denial and anal... lots and lots of anal.  Guys lined up around the room waiting their turn kind of lots of anal.  I talk about how writing erotica, reading erotica and watching porn help trigger my libido.  I don't talk about how suppressing my libido for a week at a time, waiting for my 20 minutes of shower sex on Saturday morning does not help... that banked fires tend to go out. 

So when we got home, he turned on the computer and got some porn running... but as usual, he is the only one allowed to select the clip... but he is a little more receptive to my statements about what is working for me and what left me unimpressed.  The bondage stuff was interesting, the mechanical fucking machines intriguing... but in the end I asked for more sex and less mechanics... naked bodies doing it... I realized I like the sound of the women... but the guys... not so much... so picky... sexual responsiveness so tricky.  My hand is between my legs, rubbing teasing, trying to catch it and hold it, keep it there and not lose it. 

It irritates me that it is such a complicated deal.  I just want an automatic on switch.

But it does work... I do feel the tension and arousal and I naturally move in closer to him.  We watch for a while longer.  Then he gets up and I start to follow... and he snarls at me.  "What are you doing?"

I stutter and hesitate.  Confused... "Aren't we getting into the shower?"  Master speak for... "Time to have sex please????"  The fires within rapidly flickering and threatening to go out.

He points me back to the porn.  "I am going to take a poop."  Pop... the fire just imploded.  How fucking romantic... what wonderful fucking timing.  I turn on the porn... watch naked men with improbably large and hard penises anally fucking this girl who keeps staring at the camera as if she is trying to convince us this is real... trying and failing.  I watch and touch myself.  And the porn works... I sit there, teasing myself, edging closer and closer to the orgasm and stopping myself over and over.  Then improbably, I pull my hand away and to my chagrin... I do not stop... the orgasm is small and infuriating.  And I am still very aroused.  Perhaps more so afterward.  I keep touching myself now... trying to get back to where I was before... close but I can tell that ship has sailed.  Since menopause... orgasms come singly.

He calls me to the shower.  You know... tooth brushing is not foreplay.  And neither is spanking.  But it does seem to work for him.  He can see I am tense, even angry... and he questions me again.  I mutter that his timing was not the best.  He raises a brow and shrugs.  And then strangely... announces we are NOT going to have sex.  That we are just going to shower.  I admit that I orgasmed while he was pooping.. that I had been touching myself and taking myself up to the edge and stopping and then it sort of just happened.  He did not seem to mind.  He made some kind of comment about finding that an interesting piece of information.

But he lied about the no sex.. he soon had me bent over and was fucking my ass in much the same way the guys on the porn had been doing before.  I wondered if my expression was anything like the girl's.  Probably not.  Master makes very sparing use of lubricant and it has been months since we have wandered down (up?) this particular path.  And every time I managed to get used to a particular angle, depth or tempo... he switched it up.  I think my face was pretty squinched up and the squawks were mostly those of outrage rather than appreciation.

It is strange how the concept of anal is so exciting and the reality is so fucking painful.  And it is even more strange that as soon as he is done... I want it again.  As we were drying off I said that he had lied.  He laughed and said, "Yes, yes I did."  Then he made some comment about denial. 

I was even more aroused and begged to be allowed to go down and visit my new friend.  (Master speak for the shiny new Hitachi).  Master came down and held me and kissed me and with the mechanical assist I was able to orgasm a second time which is sort a big deal. 



 

"O S M R puppies, C M P N?"

So one of the things I did last weekend was go to this "Easy Advanced Body Work" class that was for kinky people only. It was very cool and the (I want to say "girl" but that would be showing my age) lady that taught the class was really great. Easy techniques to relax and work muscle groups. (I have been shopping for a reasonably priced massage table ever since.)

She is an acupuncturist and some other eastern type treatment specialist with her own practice here... so when my back continued to get worse instead of better and Master said I had to go to the chiropractor I begged to try out this instead. So I go permission to go to her instead. On Monday I went in and got punctured and then manipulated. And I feel better, all better.

While she is active in the community, her practice is primarily with vanilla people, it was wonderful to go somewhere where I did not have to filter the "Master" word out of my vocabulary and have someone who knew what a collar was and took the time to compliment me on it.

If you live locally and want a referral...

***

Last night I was in a not too uncommon prickly mood. Perfectly comfortable to do my own thing, to crank out an "adequate" meal. But Master could sense I was a little snappy, a little irritable and was all over it, deliberately poking at me just to watch my hackles rise up and giggle maniacally when I would swallow it down over and over. He was having a mind fuckers super fun night.

He kept poking me. (Literally poking, jabbing a finger into me.) And every time I would say, "Yes, Master, is there anything I can do for you?" He would grin and giggle a little evil cackle. Finally I was just barking "WHAT?!!"

He gave me this wordless narrow eyed glare when I told him what his meal options were. But when I asked him what he would rather have, he just stared some more, clearly enjoying the squirmy feelings I was having. He finally grudgingly settled for the hamburger steak, rice and salad... and as I placed the meal down in front of him, I said... "If there is a meal you would like to have tomorrow, now would be a good time to tell me what you would want so I could make sure to have the ingredients ready." Bastard just gave me another evil wordless grin and shook his head and began to eat.

The poking commenced again after dinner, and I gave up on all pretense, just ignoring him the best I could, avoiding his eyes and clenching my teeth, resisting the urge to rip his head off.

Finally he ordered me up off the couch and dragged (drug?) (I never know which one of those is correct, neither sounds quite right.) ...made me go to the Mall for a forced march up, down, back, forth, up, down, back, forth for about an hour.

At one point he paused and stared at the empty store front that had been the pet store for as long as he could remember and I pointed down the long hallway... "They moved down that way." As we continued marching he asked if one nail salon was where I got my nails done and I pointed another direction, "No, they are down that way."

We found the puppies and paused and stared at them longingly. It has been a long time since we had a dog and we both miss it, even though we are both realistic enough to know that with no kids and both of us working full time that a dog would be pretty lonely all day. But we still stare at puppies with a kind of wistful "awwwww" thing. We were only a little way from the nail salon and I pointed down there and idly commented, "That is the place I get my nails done."

So we proceed, and Master pauses in front of the nail place and stares at me accusingly. "You said the puppies were down here." Um... duh... didn't you see the puppies we were staring at, talking about, going awwwww, dude... what the fuck???? I point back toward the pet store. "No that is the pet store, this is the nail store."

Growl... "You pointed over here and said..."

"No I didn't."

oops.

(Never, never, never argue. Mind fuckers love to argue. Crap, crap, crap.)

So there is this poem...

A B C D puppies.
O L M R not puppies.
O S M R puppies.
C M P N?

So rather than argue, I grin and point pack toward the pet store, and say... "O S M R puppies, C M P N?"

And no matter what Master said to prove I had was wrong about what I may or may not have said, I refused to say anything other than, "O S M R puppies, C M P N?" for the rest of the forced march through the Mall.

Days filled with a thousand little things.

It seems like my days are filled with little things...

And yesterday was filled with a thousand little things. Work was long, challenging, hilarious... it started with a terrible rush of adrenaline. I had taken the billfold out of my purse and somehow forgotten to put it back on Friday. So when I got home Friday night I discovered my lapse. Master was pretty irritated but I really didn't need anything in it over the weekend and I knew exactly where it was so I wasn't too worried.

...not too worried until I got to work Monday morning and I walked into work and it was not where I knew I had put it. ARRRGHHHH!!!!! But it was just a helpful coworker who saw it out and 'helpfully' locked it up for me. But it was an adrenaline rush.

Then the kids at work were extra crazy... I mean really extra crazy. I spent about a half hour trying to convince a kid he was not the hulk... finally settled for telling the 'hulk' that I did not care if he was the 'hulk' but he had to stop knocking over the furniture. Helped serve lunch to some out of control autistic kids that kept throwing their food... and last but not least... I had the privilege of monitoring a kid in seclusion dancing around naked singing "Ninety-nine bottles of Beer". ...cough ...cough.

I bought groceries on the way home (didn't get that done on the weekend because I didn't have my billfold... remember?)... got home... finally really tired. Master took one look at me and ordered me to take a rest.

After a thirty minute nap, I made a quick dinner... hamburger gravy over boiled red potatoes, cauliflower, and salad. I made the gravey with turkey burger and when Master noticed the difference he gave me this look like I had pooped in his favorite chair and I was just tired and dopey enough from my nap I snapped at him... "What?... what... at least I cooked!"

Got a bit of a correction for that. Just a sharp grab of the back of my neck, a sharp pinch and a growled word... "willful bitch".

I glared back... and sweetly asked, "Would you like me to make you something else?"

He just pushed me away and growled "willful" again.

After dinner he said, "What do you have on your feet?"

I just held up my ratty old sheepskin slippers and gave him a "um... duh..." look. He glared at me and I sweetly said again... "What would you like me to have on my feet?"

Now you have to get this... Master rarely ever orders me to do things... he will do something like that... like ask what I have on my feet and expect me to extrapolate that means he wants me to put on my walking shoes. The fact he decided we needed to go for a walk had everything to do with my snotty attitude. Walking is an exercise in obedience.

I knew that... but like I said... snotty... tired and snotty enough to repeat... oh so sweetly, "What would you like me to have on my feet, Master?"

And he finally growled, "Get on your walking shoes, bitch." And with that clear order, clear expectation... I jumped right up. I might have been having and attitude, but that does not mean I don't hop to if he orders me to do something.

The walk was once again a lesson in obedience. I could feel my rebellion boiling around inside me. Just the way he was holding my hand felt wrong, prickly, sweaty, plain uncomfortable... and I kept trying to rearrange my fingers to find a place that felt right. And he would not let me... in fact once he figured out that I was having trouble with it he deliberately squeezed harder, twisting and hurting my fingers. That man has iron strong hands and in my state I felt like my fingers were breaking.

It took about a mile before I could relax... relax and just walk. I could finally let go and just enjoy the warmth and strength of his hand holding mine. It was dark, the sky above our head clear, but a light spring rain was falling. There must have been a cloud up there somewhere. Each tiny drop was a sparkle of coolness as it touched my skin, warm and sweaty from exertion. It felt wonderful.

When we got home I finished my taxes... always a foray into unfamiliar territory. I am not strong with numbers and legal speak and it always makes me anxious. But it is finished at least for this year. It is a good feeling.

Then we watched a video, a couple of episodes of Master's favorite show, "House of Cards" a BBC series that I bought him for his birthday.

Then I brushed my teeth, a nightly act of personal hygiene that he requires. He has stood over me and watched to make sure that each individual tooth gets cleaned to his standards. (Giggles... he is stricter about my mouth than he is about the kitchen.)

Then as is our nightly ritual, I knelt at his feet and asked, "Where would you like me to sleep tonight Master?". He wrapped his arms and legs around me and commented that he should use me for a foot rest. I giggle and moved to my hands and knees and he rest his feet on my back. He asked if I could do that for four hours. I honestly answered that I think that four hours would be beyond my ability. And he agreed... he told me to sleep in his bed... he always tells me to sleep in his bed, but I am required to ask.

I slept soundly. And I was still half asleep when I stumbled upstairs in the morning at 5 a.m. for my morning shower. I think I must have had my eyes still closed as I brushed the tangles from my hair. Master was there, his voice soft, warm, loving, "Is my pet still sleepy? Here let me help." And then he pinched the fuck out of my nipple.

Woke me right up.

Ready for another day filled with a thousand things.

Thursday already?

As usual my spring break is going by at light speed. And as usual, the things on my to do list are not getting done. I did make a nice big pan of enchiladas for dinner last night and Master was as usual appreciative. But for some reason the dinner did not sit well and I had the worst case of belly ache and burps.

I usually am happy when Master tells me to get my ass off the couch and put on my walking shoes but last night I tried every one of my whiny complainy pissy moany tricks to avoid going for a walk. Thank god that Master did not fall for it even for a second. So we went for a walk, belly ache and burps all the way. I mean... for real.. I was burping like a semi-truck jake-braking all the way. So lady like... brrrrrrpppppppp burrrpppp burp. Master just kept a death grip on my hand and dragged me along ignoring me and my emissions. He did grill me about the stomach pain, declaring that I was "clogged"... He made a vague threat to hog tie me and force feed me Metamucil... gag... shudder. I protested that I have been "going" just fine... in fact describing in detail the ...um... results of that going, declaring that I just had gas... and burrrrrrpppppped again in demonstration. But after a mile I have to admit things sort of worked themselves out and I was feeling much better. Thank you Master.

In fact walking with Master is one of my favorite things, holding his hand, following his lead, not knowing exactly where or how far and knowing it does not matter because if he chose to walk all night it would be my duty to keep up right beside him. We talk about everything and nothing. It is an almost nightly ritual now that the winter rains have turned to spring showers.

I must confess I did not always love the walks. I struggled with the fact he could arbitrarily decide when, order me to put on my shoes and "force" me to walk. I fought him like crazy. There is nothing quite as humiliating as having your Master pick up a stick of the street and use it on you right there. But if you ever watched "The Dog Whisperer" on the National Geographic channel, you will know that Master has modeled a great deal of his training on Cesar Milan's dog training theory. (Not that Cesar ever beat his dogs.) But under the guise of exercise is the reality of surrendering to his will, when we go fast, when we go slow, where we turn, when we come home... all those are out of my hand. In fact I have actually closed my eyes and walked block after block with nothing but his hand guiding me.