Anal, Masochism, and Communication

I’ve discussed my reluctance with masochism previously, but in talking with Intriguing about my most recent brush up with N’s “I don’t care if you don’t want it, you’re getting it” philosophy, I’ve realized that my version of masochism is horribly clear as mud, and I’m damned lucky N’s been around me long enough to understand that when I say no, I’m needing a yes, but asking for the no/yes combo nullifies the no.

I’m not real fond of anal sex, which is why it makes my cunt gush fountains. In the shower last night, N told me to grab the oil bottle. I slumped…there’s only one reason He tells me to grab that bottle, and it’s not a good one. I tried my little girl lost look and said “It’s pretty late…I’m tired. We should go to bed.” He shook His head and pointed at the bottle. “But I’m sore and the water will get cold!” I wheedled. He just pointed again, His face hardening. I huffed a sigh and reluctantly grabbed the bottle, pouring a little into my hand and warming Him up with a hand-job. I tried to use a few of my usual tricks to maybe get Him to want a happy ending with that instead, but He cut me off at the pass and told me to knock it off.

Eventually He’d had enough of my slippery jerking and told me to turn around. The oil was cold as it ran down the crack of my ass, and I complained. He laughed and said that I always say its cold, but He doesn’t quite believe me, and He’ll need more data before He thinks about it.

He pressed Himself into me, and I tried to relax, really. I tried to ignore that I was cold, tired, tense, and wet. It hurt as He forced His way in, and I spent a while working through the pain. Part of it was that the lube wasn’t spreading far enough, but instead of asking for more, I relished the pain. I didn’t want to be the one who needed more lube. I wanted to suffer as long as He was happy; I wanted to hurt as He was feeling pleasure. So He continued to ride my ass as I rode the pain, knowing that my cunt was twitching and dripping, unable to smother my moans and whines as He thrust deeper and deeper.

“Play with your cunt,” He growled in my ear. I whimpered a little, knowing that He loves to feel me getting off with His cock buried deep in my ass. I hate the indignity, the shame, the wanton hussiness it brings out in me. It’s up there in my top ten humiliation activities, which is why He finds it so attractive, I’m sure. Even though I was trying to ignore the heat radiating from my pussy, my hand was sliding down to nestle between my nether-lips, and it wasn’t long before I was begging Him to let me cum. I could feel His breath across the water on my neck, and suddenly the cold of His breath, the pain of His fucking, the knife’s edge of orgasm I was on…it was all too much. I needed the permission, or my clit was just going to explode and fall off…

“Yes!” He growled as He lunged forward, spearing me to the wall and making me cry out as the rush of the orgasm met the sharp sting of His thrust. It was a volatile combination that made my knees melt and my vision blur in the explosion of pleasure and pain.

I stood, head against the wall, breathing heavily as His cum dripped down my leg, mingling with my own juices before washing away in the shower spray. I couldn’t find my breath, or my thoughts, or words to thank Him for ignoring my wants in favor of His own. How could I say thank You for ignoring me? Thank You for not listening to me? Thank You for giving me what I can’t ask for?

I just looked up at Him and smiled weakly. “Thank You,” I muttered.

“Thank you.” He said with a grin.

I know that owning a reluctant masochist has to be hell sometimes, especially if you love them. Sometimes sorting out the “I don’t wanna” from the “I do want to, but can’t say it flat-out” gets to be a bitch. But I’m thankful that not only does N speak my language, He’s willing to put Himself before me. That fulfills me way more than indulging me ever will.

Thank You.

Well Wasn’t That a Big Oops

I’m sure most of you know that I have been struggling with what I thought was a lingering cold, that had ramped right off the tail end of the stomach flu near the middle of December.

I’m also sure that most of you have heard “nurses make the worst patients”.

I’m proof of that saying. Fuck.

I figured I had a lingering cold. It was a deep hacking cough that made me retch from time to time, but Delsym and Mucinex enabled me to keep on chugging. Sure, I was exhausted, but that was just because I wasn’t sleeping so well at night. Sure, I was getting slower and slower going up the stairs, or rushing from one class to the next, but hey, maybe that was because I was *tired*. Yeah, I was hocking up yellow junk, but I recently read a report indicating that even with the presence of green and/or yellow phlegm, antibiotics don’t really do shit. So I talked myself out of the possibility of bronchitis, didn’t tell N that I was having a hard time making it up the stairs in the morning, hid how much Delsym I was taking, never mentioned the exhaustion, and withdrew from a large part of the world because I felt limited. I stopped going to the gym when my heart rate soared to 160 bpm just 5 minutes into a light warmup. I stopped wanting to go out when I realized people looked at me like I had tuberculosis when I was out shopping and had a coughing fit. No lie…I had people in class move when I couldn’t stop coughing.

The most embarrassing, and probably the clincher, was when I started having stress incontinence problems when I coughed. That’s right bitches, nothing says sexy at 30 like having to wear Poise out in public.

I’m not sure how many of my readers realize this, but I don’t have medical insurance. The policy offered through N’s work to cover us both would eat up nearly a quarter of His take-home pay per month. I’m kinda winging it, treating myself for what I can and praying for the rest. I just need to make it though the next two to three years, and then I can secure a job that offers me my own, slightly more affordable policy.

Knowing that I don’t have insurance really makes me find ways to squirm out of seeing a doctor. Eventually I couldn’t squirm out of it anymore, and I took advantage of my school’s free-one-visit-to-the-local-clinic program and headed out to the doc.The visit is free, any lab work, pharmaceuticals or therapies are out of pocket

The conclusion was: Asthamtic Bronchitis. The fatigue and exhaustion were a combination of lower oxygen saturation, bad sleep from congestion and coughing, an infection and the inflammatory response. The phlegm was stuck in the lungs because my airways were too inflamed to let it all out. I was an idiot for letting it go on so long. I was given a scrip for prednisone to end the inflammation, albuterol inhaler for ease of breathing/coughing, and an antibiotic to stop anything breeding in the dregs of my stiff lungs.

The cost of the medication alone made me feel like a complete and utter dipshit.

What does this have to do with O/p? Well, quite frankly, it illustrates how I failed to uphold my end of the transparency deal. I didn’t tell N when I was really hitting rock bottom. I kept lying to myself, because if I lied to myself, not only does it not seem so bad, but I get the added bonus of not lying to Him. In my efforts to keep what I viewed as annoying BS out of His life so He didn’t have to worry about it, I let myself fall far apart and needed twice as much work to fix. I took it upon myself to filter information, which is never supposed to be my responsibility.

I don’t know if He trusts me now not to lie about my health. I don’t deserve the trust, but who knows?

So that’s what I have been busy doing. Recovering and feeling like the fool.

Popular Theme: Limits

Limits seem to be a fun topic on FL and around the various blogs right now, so I figured I’d be lazy and snag the topic for myself.

I’ve said in the past that I’m a no limit slave, but enough pedantic semantic-loving assholes came along and bitched so I amend that to a longer, less handy version: I have the limits my Owner gives me. He draws the lines in the sand, and He alone is allowed to decide if any of them ever need to be crossed.

Is this really the best saying for talking about an uncrossable limit?

Side rant: I don’t get why everyone uses the phrase “Drawing a line in the sand”. Isn’t there something a little more permanent we could draw that line through? Like, say, wet concrete?

I can already hear legions of web-idiots angrily asking their screens if I’d sacrifice my children on a barbecue or lop off my foot or rob a bank. Really, shut the hell up. How inane do you get? For the Christians among you, your damned God himself demanded a kiddie-bbq, for one of the dumbest reasons ever: show me you’d do anything for me. As for my foot: Well, I can honestly say that N would be very pissed if I had only one foot because He lopped it off on a whim; it would seriously impede my usefulness to Him. Rob a bank? I don’t think that will ever be a request. How would I serve Him from the lockup? Besides: it would leave Him alone with the kids. 😀

N runs on situational logic and limits. Something He’d never do in a normal situation might be called for due to an extreme situation or circumstance. He won’t give me very many “never”s. He doesn’t say “I’ll never have you cut off your foot” because He’d have to renege on that if I developed a condition that required medically-necessary amputation. Nearly everything is grey area to Him. His moral code requires Him to balance the pros and cons of a situation before making a decision on what the best route would be. I’m sure many people find this distasteful; they’re wrapped up in their own rigid moral codes and can’t imagine that a person who has such a fluid sense of “rightness” could be a good person. I’d suggest that if you can’t see that there are different circumstances to nearly every situation and you blindly insist on apply the same situation to every question, I’d be worried that I’d get swept into your dogmatic approach to life without ever being seen for the unique being I am.

I would place a lot less limits on myself than He does. I don’t mind. It’s a bit comforting knowing that He takes a more cautious approach to my health and safety than I would. And it’s a learning experience for me, because I didn’t grow up knowing how to set and respect boundaries. It gives me useful skills and helps me feel cared for and loved. If you care for and treasure something, you don’t just use it willy-nilly and let it burn out/up. You set limits as to how it can be used, and how it is cared for, and then use it within your own guidelines.

Well, that and N doesn’t feel like doing shit He doesn’t like, so those are His soft limits.

The laughable thing is I don’t have them written down anywhere, and neither does He. It wasn’t some elaborate discussion or fancy sheet(s) of paper. It’s tried-and-tested life experience, they wax and wane, and thankfully I am okay with that. 🙂


Fear (no loathing) in Las Vegas (06-02-2010)

This Friday, The Man and I fly out to Arizona to stay for the weekend with His mom and step-dad. The day after we arrive, it’s off to Las Vegas for a night, then back to Arizona for another night before flying back home. I’m alternately thrilled and terrified.  He finds this dichotomy amusing.

I’m thrilled because it’s three and a half days away from our children. Our children, who, though I love them so, have driven me stark raving mad more than once recently. I’m thrilled because it will be new experiences for both of us, a chance to relate to each other on a solely O/p basis, parenting and the stressors of living one step from disaster a far distant concern for that short stretch of time. A chance to recharge our batteries and reaffirm why we love each other so much.

I’m terrified because there is so much unknown involved. I’m already getting a squicky feeling in the pit of my stomach thinking about going through security. About strolling down the Strip. About the noise and crowds and dim chaos in the casino His mother is bringing us to. While I am curious about it all, I still would rather bury my head in His shoulder and blink it all away. Unknown situations can bring me, an otherwise fairly confident, strong woman, to my knees begging for it to just stop. Good example: When I was a freshman in high school, I was transferred three-quarters way through the season to a different school due to natural disaster. No one from the new school showed me how to use the totally unfamiliar check-out system for lunch. Consequently, I never ate lunch there. For two months, I never stepped foot in the cafeteria. I was petrified of the idea that I would make a fool of myself trying to learn this new system. I didn’t want people behind me getting irritated with me for taking so long. 

I didn’t want to look stupid and be annoying.

With that in mind, you can understand why my mind comes to a screeching halt when I try to imagine going through security without Him. Trying to navigate the Strip without His comforting presence. Even just imagining finding my way around the different gates and sections of the airports leaves me a little shaky and mildly nauseous. Some would say that this was indicative of an anxiety issue, that I would need to see someone to help with this mental self-bondage. Do I think so? Not really. It doesn’t affect my day-to-day life. When I am overwhelmed or panicking, one step away from bolting or bawling, He’ll be right there, and I can look into His eyes and feel the panic release it’s grip. Is this co-dependent? Many people would say yes. I would disagree. How many people need their spouses with when confronting someone or getting possible bad news? Mutual support, I believe the popular term is. So why would be any different for me to need Him with me when navigating new experiences?

It also makes His life a lot easier when I get anxious about being out and about for an extended length of time, and well, He certainly doesn’t have to worry about me sneaking off to go gambling anytime soon!

In some ways, I wish I could go down the Strip with Him while collared and leashed, the other end firmly gripped in His hand, to have such a tangible sign of His presence and control over me. As it is I will probably have my hand firmly planted in His trailing along Him like a shadow, screening out most of the outside world and focusing on His commands, His moods, Him. I’ll lean against Him like an overgrown cat when feeling overwhelmed, and purr under His soothing caresses.

I love The Man, because if it weren’t for Him, I’d have voted to stay in Arizona, lounging by the pool and staying within my safe, if somewhat stifling boundaries. Yes, He’ll push me farther than I think I can go. Yes, I’ll most likely feel like I am one step from total melt-down at some point that night. Yet, when looking back at it, I’ll know that I grew a little, submitted more, and furthered myself as His slave.

Has anyone ever considered that in becoming more dependent on an Owner, the property is forced to grow?

Appeasement and aggression (05-12-2010)

I was going to post about orgasm control/denial, but instead, i’ll write about last night and why i am as weird as i am.

Bedtime, and we were headed downstairs to the bedroom. i had to scoop off the clean clothes i had strewn across the bed that morning looking for socks. i was exasperated with my apparent inability to remember to come downstairs during the kids’ naptime and put the clothes away. i start to undress and He announces “I need a sweatshirt”.

i hate his sweatshirts.  For an inanimate object, they have this canny ability to get lost. It doesn’t help that He is incapable of taking them off in the same place regularly. They are tattered and stained and ugh, never in one place long enough to allow me to wash them all at once.

So we have a row about how He’s always running out of sweatshirts, how can He have 4 pairs of clean work jeans and no clean sweatshirts, i’m tired of always having something of His to wash immediately, could He maybe take His sweatshirts off in the same fucking place?! Voices raised, sarcasm flowing. He makes a comment about my inability to put clothes away. i pointed out that if He doesn’t like something, it’s on Him to change it. i need help building a routine, once it’s in, i can follow it.

At one point, it got particularly nasty and i was really peeved. So i yelled at Him. All of a sudden the finger went out, His eyes got that flat hard look and He said “Shut up and stop”. Wonders of wonders, i actually did. He came stalking towards me, stopped a little too close for my comfort, and my smile of appeasement became a fixed snarl of fearful aggression. This didn’t make Him back off like it does on most people, so i retreated a step, bumping into the door and flattening against it.  The argument was over, whether i wanted it to be or not.

i undressed and grabbed the collar, knelt in front of Him. He gave me the nod to say my bedtime creed. i started, the snarl still on my face, the words hissing through my plastic smile. He made me stop. Demanded to know why i was still hung up on this. i accused Him of not caring about how much work He creates. How He doesn’t care about the effort i have to dredge up to get some of the shit done around here, He just wants perfection at whatever cost. He shrugged and said that He did care, but not as much as i think He should and that’s my issue. To get over it. Issue closed. So i swallowed it down (Thy will be done, thy will be done, thy will be done!) and said my creed, then crawled into bed. i was prepared to not talk before sleep. Instead He rambles on about various topics, and i could feel the tension draining from me as His voice drones on. When He rambles like that, it’s a sign that whatever was bothering Him isn’t there anymore.

It was a sign of forgiveness.

This was a perfect example, to me, of the things i need to still work on. i need to accept His criticism without getting so defensive. i need to learn when to just STFU and take it. Most of all, i need to get to the bottom of my appeasement smile and rip that bitch out by the roots.

Appeasement smile:  When i am in an emotionally charged argument with someone, or in a position where i feel threatened, either emotionally or physically, i involuntarily smile, even as i’m angry and yelling and making aggressive movements. It’s something i learned way too long ago as a child, a smile to deflect or diffuse the negative things directed to me. An unconscious form of appeasing the threat, often a smile used to show my non-threat status, a human way of rolling over and showing the belly. Unfortunately, as an adult, it has the opposite effect. When in a fight with someone now, people interpret my smile as a form of aggression or contempt, that i find whatever we are arguing about as amusing or trivial, which really just adds more gunpowder to the keg. N used to find it disrespectful, but as time has gone on, He knows that i’m not even aware i’m doing it. He still hates it, but knows that i’m not trying to piss Him off with it. Kind of like the person that jumps when someone tries to touch their face after being slapped around a lot previously…they aren’t trying to be distrustful, it’s a learned reaction that takes time to unlearn.

i’m just tired of trying to unlearn it.

Censorship vs Laziness (05-08-2010)

This has nothing to do with the following post, but I thought it would be nice to give you an inside glimpse into my weekend. While typing this intro, three times now my fingers have hovered above the keyboard, my mind ordering the words into coherent sentences, when He has said “I want…” I need…” and “Go get me…”. Each time I would go get said item, settle back into the office chair, wrapping the blanket around my legs, dredging back my concept for today, to hear another command sent my direction, always issued nicely, but with no room for objection.
At least He said “Thank you” the last time, or He would have had a very small torx-head screwdriver sticking out of His ear, and wouldn’t He have looked stupid. 😀

I have seen quite a bit of comments and theories about censorship of a slave’s reading materials, internet usage and friend-to-friend communication. The two most common reasons given are:

  1. The Master does not want to have to deal with the slave learning undesirable information or developing a negative/questioning attitude
  2. The Master is limiting information to protect an easily swayed or overwhelmed slave from being inundated and confused on a subject

We will start with reason number one. This is the more problematic reason in my opinion. Most often I have seen Masters professing that they limit the information their slave can access to make sure the Masters’ influence is the only influence. I can see how that would be sound reasoning in the beginning of a relationship, with the Master is just making inroads and rearranging the slave’s thought process. But in an established relationship, where the Master claims they are completely in charge and have thoroughly enslaved the slave? If the enslavement is so thorough, how can the Master’s conditioning of the slave be so easily washed away from the mind of the slave by a few web pages? In other words, if he’s such hot shit about being a Master that she is hopelessly enslaved to him, why such worry about what a few web pages or other broads on the big wide web say? Is the hold on the slave’s mind so tenuous that any contrary information could dissolve it?

That’s why I tend to view Masters who offer this as their reasoning as too lazy or unskilled to effect lasting change in their slave’s mindset. Given that they are so vigilant in guarding against any differing viewpoints lest it erase all their hard (or not so hard) work, I wonder if they wouldn’t be better served by focusing the effort in getting a firm grip on the cerebral matter and worrying less about what goes through the ears.

On to reason number two. This one is much more grey-area. There are people who are just naturally more gullible, more prone to being persuaded. Anyone with a slick manner and silver tongue can swing their mindset around whichever way they fancy. These slaves, most of them can recognize this tendency and acknowledge it as a double-edged sword. With that self-awareness in mind, I wonder if the Master couldn’t use the unusually strong power of persuasiveness to reinforce that His word is the only word to be believed and followed. I understand the limitations of Masters and can totally accept that slaves with the tendencies of gullibility do need an extra layer of defense to keep them from believing the wrong people and ideas. I believe it is a balancing act, between keeping the slave and the relationship healthy, vs making every effort to instill a system in the slave’s mind that devalues others’ contributions in comparison to her Master’s, unless he indicates otherwise.

I realize that many people will have voluble vocal complaints about my suggestions to tinker and readjust, sometimes even demolish and rebuild parts of their slave’s personality. That’s fine.  I still stand by my ideas. In a long-term O/p and some M/s relationships, some amount of conditioning, brain-washing, re-aligning is happening from the Master to the slave. Bitch all you want, there it is.

I’m not addressing the reason behind door number three: Because he wants to. What is there to address? Whims are often not very logical anyhow, and who I am to critique another kinkster’s fun?

What do you think?

Oh, You noticed that?(06-10-2010)

He thinks of me much more than I realize. And He sees a lot more of my emotional turmoil than I give Him credit for.

Last night we were discussing O/p theology while showering. It had spun off of an  entry I was trying to puzzle out for Insatiable Desire,  about active ownership, whether it was a phase, a personality flaw or something I was doomed/destined to repeat. In fleshing this out, we discussed the various nuclear meltdowns I suffered over the past year, all tied in one way or another from my perceived abandonment of the O/p by Him. Out of the blue He hit me with this gem that made me stop and reasses Him on a whole new level:

“You freak out because you assume that each time I get lazy or have to withdraw from the O/p I’m never coming back to it.”

I never thought He was interested in discovering the whats and whys  regarding my breakdowns. He’s normally a results-orientated kinda guy, less concerned with why I’m doing something and more concerned that I am doing it and in His parameters.  So when He saw right through me like that, in a manner that I hadn’t even addressed yet, (hell, I hadn’t even fully formed the idea that I was afraid of abandonment until maybe a month ago) totally brought me up short.

Now I find myself wondering what else He’s grokked on me without letting me know. How far ahead of me is He? And a little bit of me wonders if He doesn’t laugh at me when I running around chasing my tail, totally freaked out and clueless as to why, and He knows exactly what my problem is and enjoys watching me lose a year or two of my life panicking over the sky falling in. But an Owner would never do such a thing, would they? *snickers*

Oddly enough, I find this kinda comforting. It’s nice to know He isn’t as oblivious to my inner workings as I initially believed. There was just no reason for Him to let me on that He isn’t clueless. I believe it probably gives Him an edge in keeping me in place when I get uppity.

I haz a warm fuzzy, because He never stops leaving me surprised and at least one step behind.