Seven Years

As some of you know, N and I celebrated seven years of marital bliss on this past Monday. We’ve known each other for fifteen years, have been a couple for thirteen, and we have shared so many good times together we feel timeless and powerful, tenacious and enduring.

I didn’t post this earlier because I didn’t know what to say that didn’t sound all sappy and mushy and puppy-lovey.
And now, I just don’t care if I sound all that and then some. I love my Owner, He’s my best friend, my Lover, and I can’t imagine life without Him. He is the Sun to my Moon, the yin to my yang, the ketchup to my curly fries. The lemonade to my iced tea.
I love You, N.

Seven years have come and gone

Singing our own heartfelt song

The path is worn, the line is drawn

Another seven at the dawn.

For N – Lyrics That Make Me Think of You

Games, changes and fears
When will they go from here
When will they stop
I believe that fate has brought us here
And we should be together
But we’re not
I play it off but I’m dreamin of you
I’ll keep it cool but I’m fiendin.
I try to say goodbye and I choke
I try to walk away and I stumble
Though I try to hide it it’s clear
My world crumbles when you are not near
Goodbye and I choke
I try to walk away and I stumble
Though I try to hide it, it’s clear
My world crumbles when you are not near

I may appear to be free
But I’m just a prisoner of your love
I may seem alright and smile when you leave
But my smiles are just a front
I play it off but I’m dreamin of you

I’ll keep my cool but I’m fiendin
I try to say goodbye and I choke
I try to walk away and I stumble
Though I try to hide it it’s clear
My world crumbles when you are not near

Here is my confession
May I be your possession
Boy I need your touch
Your love kisses and such
With all my might I try
But this I can’t deny
I play it off but im dreamin of you
I’ll keep my cool but I’m fiendin
I try to say good bye and I choke
I try to walk away and I stumble
Though I try to hide it it’s clear
My world crumbles when you are not near

-“I Try” by Macy Gray


Ignoring the bit in the beginning about not being together, this is me. This is my slavery. My world really does start crumbling when You leave, and it’s the faith that You will be back that keeps the breath in my lungs and the light in my heart. I am a prisoner of love,  Your possession, and I can’t think of a happier way to be.

Eye hart Ewe, Yobo.


Nothing Says Love Like Mouth Rape

He asked me if my ass was up for action. I explained the current situation and shrugged, so He declined the ass and went for the mouth.

“Bury your face and use your tongue to get me hard. You should be able to breathe around my dick.” He ordered.

I make slobbery noises and random giggles

“So not happening, there is no way I can breathe around that thing,” I laughed.

He looked down at His cock and said “I had hoped to not be this hard.”


And they say women won’t make up their minds?!

The rest of the activity involved me being used as a human Fleshlight, screaming in my mind that my throat is broken, demanding my stomach not revolt because it would hurt too much to have the vomit go over my abraded throat, and feeling my upper lip get plumper than Angelina Jolie’s.

At one point He said “Give me a few good long blows” so I blew my breath down His shaft really hard a few times. He asked me just how long I wanted to be stuck doing this. I just giggled, which might have explained the mouth abuse later on…bemused look

Eventually He just fucked my mouth in long savage strokes for a bit, then shoved my face all the way down and flexed quickly into my throat as I fought like fuck to pull back before I aspirated my puke. I finally won and slumped down, retching and gagging, making high whooping sounds and sniffling back the tears and snot. It was like the voice of God when He said “Finish me off now.”

I winced as He thrust the last few times into my mouth, His cum trying to dribble out of the new crack in my lip. I stared at the floor, blinking back tears and swallowing hard to calm my queasiness. He said I could go up and get a drink if I wanted, and oh did I.

And like the idiot I am, I took a nice big swig of cranberry-apple juice. I thought cum hurt on a roughed up gullet? It’s nothing compared to cranberry juice.

So here I lay in bed, my lips tingling, cracked and sore, my throat throbbing and rough, wondering if my voice will be back to normal tomorrow.

And loving being His slave.

Spare the rod, Spoil the slave?

I have seen it often postulated here and there (read: FetLife) that a D/O/M that cherishes, protects and nurtures his slave is often too lax, too weak, not a real D/O/M. That if the D/O/M takes the time to reassure the slave how precious she is, that she is more than just another possession like the car, he will spoil her, make her soft and petulant, he will create his own pillow princess.

I used to think that too. It’s the cool thing, I guess, in many of the groups I haunt. Real mastery is being an Asshole all the time, brusquely crushing off the tears, fears and shame he creates, scoffing at the concept of love and adoration, maintaining a cold aloof presence, being a god merely tolerating the human foibles of the slave.

Whatta crocka shit. Fer Realz.

Given the last tectonic shift in the relationship between N and I, He’s been more open with how much I mean to Him. He’s caressed my hair unexpectedly, planted soft kisses on my forehead, crushed me to His chest and told me in a rumbly voice that I mean more than anything to Him. At first I was taken aback, and truthfully, I distrusted it. I thought it was a ploy to lull me back to apathy. The ol’ “Tell her she’s the best and she’ll finally stfu” that my ex always pulled.

Nope. Turns out, He means it.

And I soaked that shit up like the desert after a hard downpour. My heart blossomed like the agave after the rain. I knew going in that He wasn’t the kind of man to be sending flowers every month and declaring undying love every night. And while I don’t exact exhibit lovey-dovey behavior myself, I didn’t realize just how much I missed the occasional sweet touch/word/thought mixed amongst the pinches, names and actions.

I forgot what it was like to hear someone tell me how much they needed and loved me.

I’m a greedy bitch. I blame the Taurus in me, it makes me prone to gluttony and over-indulgence. So as long as He is willing to be a font of love and devotion, I’ll shower in it. I will dance in it, delight in it, and save it away for dry times again.

Anyway, to the premise of the post: Many D/O/Ms on FetLife would be falling over themselves to caution N that He’s spoiling me, that a slave should never know that her D/O/M needs her, loves her, cherishes her. They say it would ruin their mystique, lower themselves in her eyes, make them vulnerable to the slave. She’d never fear them anymore.

I find it a bit hard to swallow. I know full well N loves me deeply, cares for me passionately. This doesn’t make me adore Him less, fear Him less, it doesn’t devalue Him in my mind.

It actually make me strive harder to be found pleasing, to serve Him, to be at the top of my game. I have to be found worthy of such an Owner, to deserve the honor of serving and being owned by Him. Anything else would not be good enough for such a Man who found the time and bother to own me!

I think it is easier for me to being completely devoted to Him, to adore Him, to worship Him, if I know that He loves me and cares for me, appreciates the struggles and pain I go through to make myself what He wants from me.

It’s a blancing act, and I think we have found it. Good example:

Last night N wrapped me in some tight rope bondage and facedfucked me in various restricted positions before propping me up on my knees and directing me by my ponytail. I gagged, I drooled, I cried, I slumped and stiffened and panted. At one point He pulled my mouth off of His cock and I heaved, hard. It was obvious I had thrown up a little in my mouth and I swallowed rapidly to force it all back down. As soon as I had it back under some control I willingly opened my mouth and forced His cock back down my throat.

He yanked my head back hard and I flinched, expecting a slap or some harsh action.

Instead he planted a quick kiss on my forehead and murmured “Good girl, for going back down deep after that.” I think I was glowing bright enough to light the room. I wanted nothing more than to make Him happy and pleased with me.

Then He shoved my face back into His crotch until I gagged again.

True love, I’m tellin’ ya.

The Softer Side

Sunday we painted the utility room and kitchen. This involved the very clumsy tora on top of a step ladder painting all the edges (it is called cutting in, I guess).  I was doing pretty good until I moved the foot of my ladder a little too close to the hole in the floor where the dryer vent normally would be. I wobbled on the ladder a little too much and BAM!! I was on the floor, still trying to figure out what had just happened.

The foot of the ladder had lurched into the vent hole, and I went flying backwards off the ladder. I hit the dryer with my ribs and head on the way down, I twisted my left ankle in the side of the ladder, and the other shin was bruised hitting the other side of the ladder. I clawed for purchase during my fall and managed to pull the cat food bowl on top of myself as well. My paint cup left a large puddle of cream-colored paint in the floor next to me, and somehow my ponytail tip had been dipped in said cream-colored paint.

N had been painting the kitchen when I fell, and He hollered out “Are you okay in there?”

“I don’t know yet.” I grumped. “Ask me in five minutes when I figure out what just happened.”

It took me a while to gather my wits, so He came wandering in, confused as to why I hadn’t come out or starting bitching. To His eternal credit, He didn’t laugh when confronted with the image of me sitting with my legs tangled in the ladder, in a puddle of paint, cat food all over me, stuck in the corner. He helped me get out from the ladder’s death grip, gave me the stuff to clean up the paint and let me lick my wounds (figuratively!) from the safety of the desk. After I had soothed my wounded pride I went back to painting, but with a sprained ankle. He was nice enough to do all the stuff that required a ladder. 😀

Monday I had my top right wisdom tooth pulled out. The oral surgeon was kind enough to allow for IV sedation, so I was out for the actual extraction. My dad gave me a ride home, and I stumbled in, looking like Charlie Sheen after a bender (without the anger). N steered me down the stairs to our bedroom and I crawled under the blankets immediately and slept the rest of the stupor off. He finished painting, cleaned the floors in the rooms, put the knickknacks and appliances back, made the kids lunch, worked on the new washer/dryer stand and check on me. I crawled upstairs sometime after lunch and laid on the couch, staring at the tv when not drifting into a druggie-trance. He helped me take my pain meds and did the dishes for me. I got up to start supper and got everything three-quarters of the way done, but after that I had to lay back down again because I was dizzy and started to get a migraine. He finished supper, fed the kids, cleaned them up, and put them to bed, while I laid on the couch and drifted in and out again. After that He went back outside to work on His woodworking projects again. I started to feel really unpleasant, so I crawled back down the stairs and fell asleep clutching my collar. He came in and covered me up, making sure I felt okay before going to bed.

Everyone seems to think that O/p is all about the Owner being remote, cold, barking orders and getting blowjobs (or the equivalent for female Owners). Especially with regards to N, who can seem a bit aloof to those that don’t know Him. I felt so cared for, so princess-y, so secure in that He will take care of me when I am ill and not hate me for it, not feel put upon, not resent the sudden dependence on Him for my usual role.

I love You, for taking care of me and doing it with a smile on Your face.