Not much...

The fact that I have not posted in a while has been nagging and nagging at me. But it seems like not a lot has been standing out from the chaos.

This weekend was kind of a bust... Master did not deliberately wake me when he woke up and got out of bed, but those little invisible bonds are well forged and I did my usual roll over into the warm place he left behind and stretched and snuggled it luxuriously and then slipped from the bed and did all my morning things... peed, made the bed, straightened up a little in his room and gathered my yesterday clothing and wandered up stairs. He was nowhere to be seen, in the bathroom or out smoking, but the coffee was about halfway done making.

I went to my room and got dressed and it was only about when I was pulling on my slippers that I noticed that it was 2 fucking thirty in the morning. FUCCCKKKK!!!!! Fail, total fail. I was up. My head and body said "morning"... grrrr... Master wandered in and gave me a double take. Apologized for waking me up. Then the fucker went back to sleep. I ended up taking two naps during the day and getting nothing done. I did not even make his breakfast.

No spankings beyond a swat here and there, no bondage, the weekly sex has been routine, predictable and satisfying if somewhat uninspiring. He has been fighting a cold and hasn't been very energetic.

The weather has been gray and wet and the shorter days have sapped even more of my energy.

Yesterday at work I made a stupid mistake, a big kid, autistic with severe self harm behavior patterns was violently banging his head on the floor and I moved to put my hand on him... to stop him before the skin on his forehead splits open once again and he lunged up and grabbed me and head butted me right in the face. It HURT. BAD. I am totally pissed at myself. I should not have tried to do that alone. I knew he does that sometimes. I should have been more careful. Now my nose is swollen and has a bruise right on the top. It hurts like a fucker.

Master has been sympathetic. Though he keeps telling me that I am damaged goods now. But the irritation at making a such a noob mistake and the pain have combined to make me even less ambitious.

And I have ton of stuff to do. My parents are coming to visit next week and I have long list of things to get done before they get here.

I have not been writing much. But I am almost done with a rewrite and edit of my last novel. Then I think I will go back to the "The Vanishing." I have some good ideas for where I want to go with that. If I can remember all the delicious stuff I think about as I drive to work.

So there it is... blah... uninspired... tired... sleepy... with a big sore nose. (It was big before... I hate to think how much bigger it looks now.)

Isn't this Beautiful?

At the beginning of this school year, I was stressed and tense and bitchy and... and...

I decided I needed to remember that I cannot fix everything, that I do not have any control over things. I decided I had to let the stress run off my back like the water off a duck's back. I decided I am a duck. For many days I went about saying "quack". It was silly but it did help. I wasn't above leaving a "quack" here and there on other people's blogs.

Then Kelly found this lovely pin and after a little negotiating with Master about revealing my address to an internet friend, she sent it to me... because it was perfect.



I found the perfect frame and put a little left over black suede left over from my leather working stuff in it pinned the broach to the leather. It is just beautiful.



Thank you Kelly

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.

Fish kisses

"Fish kisses."

His voice was chiding, dissatisfied. He had me pinned against the wall, his hands enmeshed in mine, my lips under his. I was soft, willing, open... not an ounce of feist or angst or even mock resistance, just gentle compliance and my complete attention to his demands.

I stiffened and pulled back. "Fish kisses????" I laughed and tried to struggle and escape and his hands tightened on me, trapping me. "What do you want? Do you want this?" I fought harder, wailed and struggled, threw all my strength against him. I turned my head sharply away and he laughed with sudden delight as he forced me back, slamming me against the wall.

It is funny, how kisses go. Many mornings I leave packing my lunch and all those little things, turning off lights and coffee makers, combing hair and brushing teeth to the last minute and I am distracted and hurried. I have no time for long lingering good byes. When he reaches for me I frown and pull away, refusing to be delayed by his sudden inopportune advances. But lately I have done better, lately I have it all done long before he is ready to leave. I am packed and combed and ready to go, waiting patiently by the door for my goodbye and permission to leave. And when he grabs me and slams me to the wall and forces his mouth down upon mine, I am nothing but his... compliant, patient, cooperative... and apparently no fun at all.

He let me go and I tip my head and repeat. "Fish kisses????" And I ask with fire in my eyes, "Or maybe like this?" And I grab his ears and am all the aggressor. He is the one being forced back against the wall. His mouth is the one being taken. It was a kiss like I like. A kiss like I am not allowed to have. All tongue and teeth and lips, wet, violent and hot...

I am not allowed to kiss him deeply, not too rough, not too passionate. My tongue is not allowed to touch his lips. For many years I was not allowed to kiss him with my tongue at all. Closed lips were all I was allowed. It was humiliating.

And today as I took what I was not allowed, he was quick to put me in my place. He had my nipple in a vicious pinch within nanoseconds. I was writhing and yelping for mercy. (That fucker has the most evil skills. He can pinch harder than any clamp.) I was quickly reminded that I am not allowed to take such liberties.

Thirty days of.... Help!

On FetLife I am currently participating in a "Thirty days of Kink" writing, thinking, exercise thingy.

The idea is that for each day of the month of November the group moderator posts a question (about kinkiness) and you think about it and answer it. It is kind of fun, but the questions don't often resonate with me and my particular situation.

What does "kink" actually mean to you?

In defining your role within kink, what was your greatest influence?

If given the opportunity... would you live your greatest fantasy? Or let it stay a fantasy?

Me and Master are not particularly sexually kinky. I do not see the Master/slave... Owner/pet thing as particularly sexual (though I tend to eroticize boring or onerous chores to make them more fun... i.e pretend I am chained to the lawn mower, that there is a big mean sadist with a big stick watching and flogging me around the lawn... no such reality... unfortunately). Anyway... back to the original thought. Master and I are not particularly sexually kinky.

But the premise of the group, the idea of the writing/thinking exercise where you examine your attitude, what got you here, how it is now, where do you think you are heading... that is interesting.

I think I want to make up my own questions, Thirty Days of Servitude???

But that means I will need to come up with more topical questions... ones that relate to living it, 24/7... relate to power exchange and mindset and acceptance and struggle to accept. I am going to need some help, so this month as I flounder through the thirty days of kink, and family and Thanksgiving and rain and darkness, I am going to note down ideas for my "Thirty days..." Please feel free to make suggestions, I will need all the help I can get.

Once we get the questions hammered out, we can start... anyone that wants to play along is welcome to join in... either on their own blog or here.

Good Gravy

It had been a lazy, slow, uninspired weekend and one of the results was that I did not write a menu, did not buy all the fixins for making any kind of planned meals. Yes, there was the usual steaks and pork chops in the freezer, the proverbial bag of taters in the cupboard, we weren't gonna starve, but without a battle plan, the idea of making dinner gets increasingly anxiety provoking as I am driving home.

So on Monday, it had been another cold, windy, wet and dark day and I needed something warm, filling and comforting and I decided I wanted meatloaf and mashed potatoes with gravy. So I swung by the local Safeway to grab the few things I did not have. Primarily the meat and the gravy mix. Now, I am normally not the kind of person to use premade anything, but meatloaf is a tricky thing. There ain't no drippins, nothing to use to make the tasty base of gravy so I tend grab a package of Lipton beef and onion soup and use that with some beef broth to make gravy.

But, typical for any last minute plan and very typical for my dysfunctional relationship with the local Safeway... the place on the shelf that holds the Lipton soup was empty, zip, blank, nada... shit. Right next, just two steps down I see shiny jars of "GRAVY". I glare at them, I can already hear Master's criticism of many of my attempts at homemade gravy. And the seductive, (lazy) voice in my head is whispering... "Somebody made this gravy and thought it was sooo good they bottled it and are trying to sell it. How bad can it be?" I should have not listened to that little voice.

The meatloaf was good, the mashed taters were awesome... the gravy was horrid. Master bitched me out... as usual. I get stubborn. I remember all the times my homemade gravy got analyzed and found lacking (conveniently 'forgetting' the dozens of times he mmm'd and snarfed up the good gravy). I pout and whine that he never likes my gravy anyway so I might as well just buy the crappy kind. (This is totally inaccurate. I have a bad habit of forgetting compliments and carefully archiving away each and every criticism.) He got really mad. And I got snarky.

We spent the evening giving each other the piss eye. All over gravy.

In the end he made me come into the kitchen and "helped" me clean up. (Translate help into micromanage and pinch and spank and harp and bitch). I remember one time grabbing two clean plastic butter tubs and trying to stuff them under my bra. I mean I was needing some protective equipment. It didn't help much. But by the time we were done, we were both laughing. I mean it was just gravy after all.

Weekend, weekstart...

Well not a single Trick-or-Treater, even with the Jack-0-Lanterns on the front porch and the light on. It is funny, walk over about three blocks and the neighborhood is crawling with little monsters, but here on our little quiet dead end road, not one. Oh well, now I just have to resist the urge to eat the candy Master bought.

I did not see Livie's costume, but I am sure that there will be lots of pictures. She was a vulcanologist. Yes, my grand daughter the science nerd. She stayed Saturday night here with Grampa and me while Dad and Mom went to a Halloween party. We watched "How to Train Your Dragon" and carved pumpkins. We had a fun time. She would not let me throw away the seeds. I am not crazy about pumpkin seeds and yet I sat there on the floor with her and picked out every single one with her.

I am still struggling with lack of motivation. It is like walking through knee deep mud. Not particularly depressed, not irritable, not sad, not even very uncomfortable. I am not plagued with that "I want something, but nothing is quite right" restlessness that characterizes my normal depression. Just slow, sleepy, uninspired... blahness. Master does not seem much better. We are just sitting around and doing as little as possible between naps.

The only thing that stands out is before the Saturday morning sex, he had predictably decided we were going to go for a walk. Then after looking out at the dark gray, cold, constant drizzle he changed the directive and said we were going directly to the shower. I looked internally and seeing nothing there but that same blah, dull lack of motivation begged for him to shock me, to wake me up, to hurt me first. My voice was plaintive, "Hurt me, bite me... wake me up."

He pushed me down, pinning me face down to the bed and began to nip at me, little annoying nips that I could barely feel, nips the tickle more than hurt and I writhed under him, complaining that I hate those kind of silly little bites, that he needs to sink his teeth into me, "reaaaaallly bite me!" But he ignored me, slipping lower to nibble on my most ticklish places and I was lost in a storm of infuriated giggles.

Later that day, I was sitting at the table working on household bills and he leaned down and bit me, another annoying little nip, picking up a tiny bit of skin. I twisted and complained that he was doing it wrong again. "You need to get more of me into your mouth. Bite me with your whole mouth." And he did.

OH MY FUCKING GAWD...

That woke me up. I LIKED that. I practically came. He was a little taken back by the intensity of my response and looking at the imprint of his teeth on my skin, commented that he did not like that. But I must say, that nearly a dozen times on Saturday and then again on Sunday, he tried it again. Pulling my hair to one side and firmly taking that whole corner where my neck meets my shoulder into his mouth and slowly, experimentally clamping down, rewarded each time with a my instant response. I freeze, go absolutely stature still and then groan low.

It makes every hair on my body stand on end. Cascades of shivers run over my whole skin. For minutes, even hours later I can still feel where his teeth touched me. Just writing this makes my panties warm.

And now it is a dark, wet, cold Monday morning, with a week of work stretching out in front of me. Just writing that is a serious buzz kill. Maybe I can get Master to bite me good-bye before work today.