Porn?

So what is it about me and porn?  At first glance, my first impression is critical, it is so superficial... so patently fake... politically I begin to wonder if the actors are adequately compensated, well treated, safe???  And I think I feel a certain amount of ethical guilt, like I am participating in some system that can and does exploit the participants... both male and female. 

But I must confess to taking a second look and a third and, well, you get it... I look.  I look because it works for me... works better than foreplay.  If I watch 10-15 mins of the right porn before Master and I get down to it, orgasm is easy and sometimes even multiple... and without it... not so easy... and never multiple. 

Reading or writing erotica can light the flame... but the right video can set the woods on fire. 

What is the right video?  Like I tell Master over and over... (because he insists on control and he chooses the porn)... bondage... implied nonconsent or power imbalance...  and anal sex, lots of anal sex... and interestingly... the sound must be on.  Oddly... when Master looks at porn he never turns on the sound.  Another demonstration of the male human being a visual organism.  And for me... at least half of it is sound. 

So even with the misgivings... with proper supervision I am allowed, even compelled to watch porn.   

Fifty Shades of Fluff...

So in the news... E. L. James... "Fifty Shades of Grey" and the other two fifty books... Caught my eye... supposedly the hottest new best seller... very graphic... rumored to have ignited libidos across America... reputed to have "saved some marriages???"  And hints at BDSM??? Okay... can't pass that up. 

Downloaded the digital version to my Kindle app.  Writing nothing to rave about but easy to read... and in my opinion the craft should never over shadow the story... starts out like any fluffy romance novel.  Premises hard to believe... Anastasia (why oh why are the female protagonists given such extravagant names) is still a virgin as she is about to graduate from college.  Seems oblivious about this fact being somewhat unusual.  (In fact, Anastasia seems pretty damn oblivious about a lot of stuff.  Like birth control...)  Christian Grey is handsome beyond description and rich... super billionaire rich... super, super, super billionaire rich... hard to believe for someone not yet thirty.

At first meeting there is instant and knee melting (not to mention loins) attraction.   

But I must say that James does manage to communicate sexual tension very well... and it is a page turner. 

Christian Grey instantly turns into some kind of stalker and instead of being creeped out... Anastasia cannot help but get swept off her feet.  Well what girl could turn down a helicopter trip for a first date.

But this Christian Grey guy seems to have some secrets, and some seriously quirky things going on... oh my what is wrong with him...

Turns out he is seriously into D/s... Secret dungeon in his penthouse and everything.  (Oh, no's).

And he insists she sign a contract agreeing to be his submissive before he even touches her.  (Classic off the internet contract... soft limits... hard limits... safe words...  Pulease...).

So there she is, contract in hand... getting tours of kink dungeons... and a VIRGIN... and she does not run screaming from the building.  Well, to tell you the truth... he is a billionaire and very handsome... and of course she has already fallen in love at first sight...

And of course when she confesses her complete lack of experience he cannot resist touching... without contract or commitments... And once again I must admit... that E. L. James lady can write a sex scene.  Worked for me... just enough emotion mixed in with sensation, not too graphic... (I am starting to appreciate the fine art of euphamism.)

The rest of the book is about this evolving love story... Anastasia must find out what made him like this... what horrible things happened to him that made him broken and how can she fix him.  And Christian had some seriously bad things happen... childhood neglect and torture... teenage sexual victimazation by a cougar that was seriously into D/s and taught him everything she knew. 

The love story is fairly predicable... if the timeline is seriously accelerated.  The sex is frequent and just graphic enough to get my motor running. 

Anastasia has no problems with bondage or kinky sex... (such a dirty girl) though learns she cannot ever be a "heavy bottom" (though James never uses that kind of verbage)... What Anastasia cannot do is accept the heavy control issues Christian has outside the bedroom.  And it is her goal to 'fix' him with her love.

I think my biggest complaint is the assumption that there is something wrong with him... something that must be fixed.  And the rediculousness of how insanely rich or handsome or beautiful everyone has to be. 

Would I recommend it?  Sure... great wank fodder.  Story is classic romance... the kinkiness is pretty bland kinky... vanilla with a few sprinkles... that Christian guy is not all that bent, take my word for it.

Would it save a marriage?  I doubt it... but I must confess being a lot more snuggly while I read it.   

Voluntary or Coerced?

"M'ere!"

That monosyllabic bark that can be thrown at me at any time... interrupt me... trip me up...

There are many times that I love to hear it and charge over and leap into his lap with such enthusiasm that it scares him, makes him throw up his hands and cross his legs in some instictive move to prevent injury... but so often it is when I am headed elsewhere, my hands and head filled with a 'to do' list... my focus anywhere but on him.  (And I swear he has radar for those moments.)  And today was one of those moments and, as usual, there is always this briefest moment of hesitation... where every fibre of my being wants to to tell him "NO! Damn it!!! Can't you see I am busy????"  And I know my expression said all that and more... frustration, irritation...  and of course, eventually, capitualation...

And as I reluctantly crawled into his lap I asked...

"Do you like it better when I snuggle you volunarily or because I have to?"

And he thought about it... and thought about it... and thought about it... because each holds its own particular rewards... the sweetness of affection freely given or the heady concoction of power and control... the satisfaction of being obeyed... even when it is the last thing I want to do...

He, of course and as usual, did not answer my question.

A good day...

Teacher planning day... or "teacher plotting day" as I am fond of saying... a day with most everyone there but no kids.  A time to relax and get those odds and ends of jobs done that you haven't had a chance to get around to. 

We had a bar-be-cue and the weather was wonderful.  We all ended up dragging chairs out onto the back playground and eating and talking and laughing and eating and enjoying the sunshine and eating.  I made a huge bowl of cole slaw, the guys cooked brauts, hambergs and chicken, everyone else chipped in this and that... it was awesome.

I managed to have a convo with my boss about the one coworker that has been so hostile.  (Who incidentally has been "sick" the last couple of days.  And here I was thinking he was an inconsiderate SOB and then he goes and does this sweet thing for me.)  I put it out there that all I wanted was a mediated conversation, that if he had a real legitimate complaint, I was open to hearing if I had fucked up, or was fucking up... and I was more that willing to own my own shit and take some responsibility... but I guess he is not willing to sit down and talk... just willing to snarl, backstab, barge into a room, say something rude and leave before I can even say "stop, what the fuck is your problem dude???".  But at least he was gone and I managed to reconnect with the other members of the team and realize that they do not feel the same way. 

Oh... and I don't cuss at work... it just is fun to say it this way, here, where I can let my hair down.

And... I got home early. 

The only down side was all that food knocked me out.  And Master and I fell asleep in front of the TV... and he swears he was saying "sweetie... sweetie... sweetie..." in a honey soft voice, but all I remember is being ripped from deep, deep sleep by what seemed like being yelled at.  I know I was yammering in terror.  I pouted and whined that he had scared me.  He laughed and laughed.  I swear that man gets off on scaring me.  Total mind fucker.

Another day in the life...

Delurking...

It is sad when you become your own lurker...

I do miss you guys too... but there is so little that happens to disturb the still surface of my existence.  It feels odd to tell over and over again about the same things... the same rituals... the same fuck... the same spank... the same chores...  and this is not the place to brag up my grand babies... (though they are freakin' awesome).

I have pretty much dropped out of the lifestyle.  I don't read Fetlife anymore.  I don't even write BDSM style fiction... I have sort of stopped reading about other people's lives... it makes me want to gnaw at the bars of my cage.
I could write reams about my job... the heart break of broken children, the deep deep burn that comes from interpersonal conflict with coworkers... hateful people that will go out of their way to insult you, sabotage your work, assholes that take a difficult job and make it impossible.  And you know... I love my job... or perhaps should say... loved my job.  And lately... lately it is so hard to walk in those doors and face a new day and wonder what nasty thing will happen today. 

And lately... lately... I feel comforable in my submission to my Master, if it is not the dramatic whips and chains kind of thing I always fantasized about... I have finally learned that my Master cannot... will not ever be the fantasy master of my dreams and if I tried to somehow control that... well... it would not be submission at all would it?  So instead of whips and chains, it is knowing his wishes and accepting them... and accepting him as he is... how to fry the egg perfectly, how to make the salad exactly right, how to keep my mouth shut and when to speak up... and it works for us... works so well that I have little or nothing to complain about.

And spring is here and summer is just around the corner... and summer means facing the agony and frustration that is spending time with my parents and wondering what I can do about the inevitable day of loss or when I must step in and take away the last shreds of their independence.  The upside of summer is that I do have it off... and I will have more time to serve my Master and to write... and perhaps... perhaps... blog.

Love you 

Rituals

Rituals...  I got to thinking about how it is rituals... all rituals.  HE (the caps are intentional, even tho on this new laptop it is a bitch to type without an error every five taps... but that is another story.)... anyway, lately HE has very much been into rituals. 

From morning wake ups to bedtime tuck ins... the order of things... the manner of things... all are becoming increasingly rigid.  One can look at the clock and calendar and see exactly where one is and what to expect.  Even this... this out of order tap, tap, tap of the fingers on the new (and recalcitrant) keyboard has elicited an immediate and intrusive... "What are you doing????" (You could infer that I have not been writing as much lately... and you would be correct.) 

HE not only expects me to greet him on my knees every night when he arrives home from work... HE DEMANDS it.  A brief hesitation to adjust the clothing before going down to the floor will result in a sharp bark of "get your ass down there, now!!!".  And to think it was my idea... and that HE still mocks me when I am there... telling me how silly I am... woe to the tardy bitch that is not there promptly... so that he may walk around me, regarding me... and take advantage of my vulnerable position to tickle, grope, spank.

Last night... Friday night... every Friday night I am tasked with the making the decision as to which place to go out to eat... (Yeah, I know... pillow princess... but once again... it is HIS pillow and HIS decision to make me live in this guilded cage... but again that is another story.)  So this Friday I decided to be adventurous and suggested we try this new hamburger place... supposedly according to reviews and lists and polls... Five Guys Hamburgers are the "best"... so what the hell.. lets be brave.  Suffice to say, I was unimpressed... but HE... HE was livid... HE growled out a "Oh, HUH UH" at the door... but ignored my whimpered... "We can go somewhere else."  Choosing instead to sit and glare at me with this accusatory, "oh you stupid bitch" expression on his face the whole time we were there.  I should know better.  I should know that he would prefer to eat at the same place every Friday and pretend it was my decision.

He was right... the food was barely edible... the ambiance was horrid... dirty, loud, cold, crowded, expensive... at best an experience to file away under... "well, we know we won't ever go back there".  And in the car I managed to mend fences by enthusiastically agreeing with all his critisims... tho I think that the best was... "That place is an illustration of exactly what is wrong with America."  Greasy, portions too large... and people idly throwning peanut shells, french fries and god knows what else onto the floor to be walked upon by the throng.  The only thing I could say positive is the actual hamberger patty was good... but I must add, I have never eaten a worse hamburger bun anywhere... even counting school hot lunch programs. 

So this Friday ritual will retreat into the familiar and the predictable for a while... if not forever.      

Confinement

I don't know how many story fragments I have started like this....

The box looked disturbingly like a coffin, barely wider than her shoulders and long enough to lie down in.  She stared at it with measuring eyes.  Once she was in she would not be able to roll over, hell… she would not be able to move at all. 

It was well made, smooth sanded wood, stained and finished to a deep gleaming black.  Heavy brass hinges on one side, and equally heavy latches on the other only added to the sense that is was a coffin.  She had no idea where he had gotten it. 

“You ready?”

“Now?”

“Yeah, now, it’s Friday… we got the whole weekend.”

The whole weekend… just the words made her stomach lurch.  She swallowed and nodded uncertainly.  “What if I can’t?”

“Can’t what?”

“Do it… you know… stay in.  What if I want out?”

“You won’t be able to get out… at least not until I decide.  You knew that was the deal.  You agreed to this.  You knew this was the next step, being boxed.”

Her voice was over loud, more than a little panicked, “I know… I did… I guess I am scared.”

He looked at her, his eyes narrowing, thoughtful.  “I think that you should be afraid.  If you weren’t afraid this would be a little weird.  It is about facing your fear.”  He paused and reached for her, pulling her close, staring deep into her eyes. “…facing your fear and trusting me.  You trust me don’t you?” 

She swallowed hard, trying not to blink to shy away from the intensity of his gaze.  Nervously she nodded, but before she could speak he leaned down and opened the lid, revealing a padded interior.  The lining was black, and contoured to fit a body …a body just like hers.  She looked up at him, all words forgotten.  His eyes were proud, “I had it custom fitted for you.”

It was upholstered with soft black fabric.  It looked soft.  Oddly she felt a strange impulse to touch it, and glancing at him as she tentatively leaned down and touched it.  It was soft… on the surface but the padding was firm, yielding only gradually to the firmest of pressure.  Her voice was soft, introspective, “For me?”

“Yes… I know your measurements and it’s that new space age foam, the stuff they make those new expensive mattresses out of.  They made it a little tight but it is supposed to mold around you… hold you tight.”

“How will I breathe?”

He pointed at the heavy lid, “See, here, over your face there is a mesh.  There is a little fan built into the box but even if the electricity went out there would be enough air to breath.”

“Would you be able to hear me?”

“Of course.”

Her voice trembled with the next question, “How long?”

“If I told you, then you would know.  It is the not knowing… that is the test.”

...stories about boxes and blindfolds... ear plugs and restraints... fantasies of confinement.

and...

and...

and...

I stop and think... in may ways I am confined.  Trapped in a small box of my own making.  Bound by routine and convention.  In my slow tranformation to fit his expectations... my world has constricted down and down and down. 

Master's preference is the predictable, the controllable... he has little patience for novelty... anything new is met with suspicion, analysis and almost universally found unsatisfactory.  So I am surrounded by sameness.  And I has slowly sunk down... my imagination starved and shrunken... it is all two eggs and hashbrowns, sitting in the same chairs, watching the same television shows... the exercise of repeated perfection of the same two steps of the same dance... performed to the same notes of music. 

So I am bound... boxed... confined... and surprisingly... not particularly unhappy about it.  Time passes in my little box... very little surprising or disturbing manages to leak in.  Small changes loom large... things so trivial they seem ludicrous... a willingness to try a new brand of hashbrowns... directing me to drive once... a different shirt. 

I suspect if something or someone lifted the lid to my box, I would be the first to reach up and pull it shut again.  After all it has grown familiar and oddly comforting.