dismay

My Sir has decided to end our contract - at least for the time being. I won't be able to write much today about this, as I'm only now beginning to have it sink in. I've spent the last week that he took to make his decision trying to show him through my actions that this is not the course I want for us. But of course in the end, these things are his decision, not mine. I had become convinced he was having a change of heart, though.

I disobeyed him. It's been this one area - or at least as far as I'm aware this is the primary area and reason, although it's possible and now that I think of it likely that there are other things he just hasn't shared with me. But my thinking about this and my possible solutions really involved more control, less use and implementation of my own will - at least to begin with. We have a long distance relationship, and although we are in nearly constant contact each day, there are times we go for longer periods without contact. I thought that at first, more of a strict and formalized, ritualized relationship would help me maintain the headspace I need. I don't have his glances, touches, words, constant small adjustments and corrections along my way to keep me centered. Instead I veer off the road entirely it seems, periodically. It's not sudden, it's definitely a drift of sorts, but its so internal there's no way he'd be aware of it. I think now that I have identified ways I could correct this, make him aware, but I guess it's too little too late.

So for now, I'm in a state of limbo. He's taking the month to think more, then may reconsider by the new year. I'm trying to look at it as being "under consideration" but it's difficult to not feel somehow rejected, failed, flawed.

I can do things without permission now, without informing him or asking. I may not call him Master or Daddy any longer. He uses my name now, and its like being stabbed when he does it. My heart feels both empty and heavy at once, although he is still very much a presence in my life, knowing I've disappointed him so much that he's pushing me out this way just hurts.

Real Time

I visited my Master recently for our first extended visit - more than a couple of days - ever. I was able to spend an entire week with him, sleep next to him, wake up with him. I'd fantasized about cooking for him, but the heat made that unreasonable - we ate out instead, or one night he cooked for me.

What I noticed is that the dazed state I'm frequently in when around him finally had a chance to dissolve. It felt so natural and easy - like when you move into air the perfect temperature so much so that you are unaware of needing a coat, or of being thirsty or too hot, you forget about the air.

Time with my Sir goes by so fast. I sleep deeply next to him, closing my eyes and not knowing any further time until morning. I'm not usually a person who sleeps well next to someone else. Granted we weren't touching much in the night because of the heat, but there were no sounds that woke me in the night, no sense of being in a strange place.

Waking up, I felt at home. Respectful of his space, and yet as if I belonged. He had to do some work, and so had left me for a short time there on my own. In another departure from my usual nature, or my past nature, I had no urge at all to explore or look at things trying to learn about him. I know my Sir. My being there as his guest, wanted and welcome, was security enough that I didn't need to pore over his books and photos looking for insight into his personality. Its just notable to me, that most of my worst habits that I have come from being unsure or insecure and once those fears are eradicated, the parts of myself, the insecure and clingy behaviors that I dislike the most disappear.

There was never a time at the end of any day when I wished for my own place to go home to, wished for space from him, distance. Nor did I ever sense he felt that way either. We just seemed to be so in tune together, when to eat, when to sleep, how long to walk, when to play or have sex. Or maybe he's just an excellent host. Even with my ex husband, though, I never felt that same feeling, just that being comfortable and in the right place, without a desire to be off by myself. I'm very comfortable being around my Sir. Which makes sense, as I carry thoughts of him nearly constantly with me.

I hadn't been certain what to expect from him, though. I thought he might have made me more servile - and while he did have me pick up napkins and bus our table when we ate out once at a sandwich shop, at his home there was not so much of that - only around setting the table, normal things I would likely have done to help anyway in a vanilla relationship.

Saying "Sir" is more difficult than writing it. Hearing it come out of my mouth when I'm not being played with or fucked is strange. I probably didn't use it enough. I wasn't punished.

I imagine day to day life would be different. I wouldn't be a guest, there would be more responsibility for me to do household things which wasn't the case in his home this time. I'd learn how to fold laundry the way he wants it, he wouldn't tell me to not worry about things that I started to do for him - dishes, changing the wash from the washer to the dryer, helping cook.

My Master's sex drive is surprisingly high. That was a surprise, a pleasant one, but as I've never spent so much time with him, so many nights, something I hadn't been certain of.

I looked at this more as a time to spend together and bond, not entirely as a trial run for life as his 24/7 slave.  I imagine that to be more work, more structure and ritual, as well as more interaction with others. I imagine us having a social life that involves other in the scene, being together openly as Master and slave, having others around us in our home or going out. I also imagine traveling together, being domestic and making plans for a future. There are many things on hold until we're actually living in the same city. I'm apprehensive about none of them, only eager to start and to deepen our dynamic by being immersed in each other.

Slavery Exercise 1

Its been awhile since I've written here. I've decided to use this as a place to begin the internal work that seems to need doing, if I"m to continue on this path successfully and completely. I'm following a book I found on becoming a slave and answering questions at the end of each chapter as a way to explore my intentions and understanding so I can be a better slave to my Master.

Its not that I have intended to play at slavery. However, I think on some level I have been adhering to the aspects I find the easiest - submitting my body, sexually, being obedient, without allowing the psychological changes to occur. Its difficult for me to take myself seriously, to not be afraid of being caught and ridiculed, by others or by myself. I've avoided any conscious examination of the effects, implications and meaning behind slavery. When I was younger and wanted to be an actress, I spent hours in front of the mirror, practicing lines, lip syncing to songs, working on expressions and dance moves, trying to figure out how to look sexy or happy or sad, scared, elated, interested... whatever role I was playing. At times I'd be walked in on by my parents - but usually I had warning. Now and then I'd feel someone might be watching and that I wasn't alone, and I'd feel this wave of embarrassment, that I'd be admiring myself and mugging in the mirror. It was of course the most fun, and better and I was really good when I was unconscious and unafraid anyone might be watching.

With the things I do as a slave, someone always is watching. Someone who matters very much to me, someone whose approval I want to win. And so, on some level, I fear that exposure. When I ask permission, its almost as if I fear he'll laugh at me, mock me, think I'm being too much, asking too often, not knowing when and why I need to ask. Not certain he understands it's the asking that makes me feel owned, that if I had to ask before I ate, or slept or picked out an outfit I would be fine. How much control does he want, should I solicit more, or is that being controlling? Or will he think me mindless? I want him to think I'm smart and capable, not needy and indecisive. I think my image of a slave, of myself as a slave, is something I'm not quite comfortable with. I remember him teaching me how to ask permission. I wanted to so badly, to ask for this thing from him, or to kneel, but the manner to get from here to there was just a black hole in my mind. The process of lowering to the ground a blank. It's not that I can't it's that my head stops me.

I heard about the concept of slavery in an erotic manner when I was only a child, and my parents allowed me to choose several items from the bookstore, as it was in the science fiction section. I liked the cover - a warrior-like man and an equally beautiful woman at his feet, similar to man romance novels in the positioning of the women in relation to the men, I doubt they gave it a second thought.

The sexual aspect of the idea of slavery immediately appealed to me - in fact, that's all I remember about Gor. The sex scenes, the eroticism of surrender, of being made to do things and having no choice or responsibility, that made it okay. The being shared with other men, passed around, but owned only by one - again, the freedom I suppose to be a slut but in an approved manner and still not responsible, not willing necessarily but always owned by someone else, never left alone and unwanted, as I imagined bad girls often were in real life.

All those feelings though, I put away into a box inside my head and never thought on them for very long. I think it strange now, that it didn't occur to me that at least one other person, the author of the books, felt as I did, fantasized about the same things. It didn't occur to me that other readers must also feel that resonance of something about his words. I know I felt it was something to keep secret, something, like all things sexual, to keep inside.

The sex aspect aside, however, there is an emotional component to slavery that I'm only now really trying to put words and names to. The desire and need to submit, to commit, to give my self entirely to another, to please and serve and make someone happy, make their life better and more pleasant by what I do for them. Not just by what I do, but for them to court and accept my pliability to them.

I've always tried to please the one I loved or was interested in loving. To a large degree this meant an attempt to alter myself to conform to their needs, preferences and likes. This has been a source of conflict for me because I think the way I was raised is you find someone who loves you for who you are, who doesn't expect you to change. Part of the thing I question the most about slavery, or my idea of it, is the concept of altering myself to fit into someone else's paradigm. What I want the most in a relationship, at base, is someone who wants that conformity, who doesn't make me feel as if I have no sense of self or ego because I want to submit. I've found someone obviously who fits to me and who suits me, who is my match. However I never sat down and consciously began a search for such a man. I've always assumed, deep down, that such a man as I want might not want me. I might be too difficult because while I desire inside to submit, there's a part of me that resists that very instinct in myself and most people don't recognize the "protesting too much" as what it is, they just see the protest, not the interest behind it, the desire and the fear of admitting it.

I think my desire to conform and be molded to my Master, to strive to become his perfect companion, mate, plaything, whatever, is what I have to offer. I think also my intelligence and ability to love strongly and completely is also something I have to offer. I just need to learn to make these offers despite the audience that might be there, and might not approve, and be willing to alter my level and direction and style to suit my Master, if necessary.

Trouble

The lack of information flows both ways, that is the only thing that keeps me going.

This attachment and codependency is astonishing. These weeks that I've been silent here, content in my ebb and flow of what is my enslavement ... there's been little to write about. Oh, I write to HIM all the time. Our days have become a dance of interaction, small loves and pokes across the miles, our meetings and partings, our unexpected chances to spend time together.

There has been some conflict, some disappointment, mostly on his part in me. Frustration, mostly on my part, as my innate and automatic contrivances to get my way fail.

But for the most part, the silence has just been a result of the business of life. Each week, I become less my own, and more his creature. I learn to be content in this, to stop missing and straining towards my own vision of the way things should be, the way I want to do them, used to do them and learn to at least mimic and comply, f not accept and embrace his ways.

Does that mean I'm faking this, that I'm not really a slave? I suspect he believes so, and I quiver inside at the thought I may be deemed some kind of failed experiment. Maybe I had potential but came up short in some way.

I've run afoul of his grace. Today I am banished from the missives and little inquiries I'm used to getting from him throughout the day. It is my fault. I was careless, disobedient and indifferent to his will. It was a small thing, the way I did it, but the event itself isn't the point, it's the failure to obey that is.

I sat there as each silent hour (this is how pathetic I am, we are measuring time in minutes, not even in days and weeks) passed, trying to focus on work. I made myself eat, drink, apply myself to tasks while my mind scurried around and took up the patterns it adopts when he's not there. I considered marking off quarter hours the way I used to do before.

Finally I left. I am not falling apart, he hasn't abandoned me, he is just furious, displeased, disappointed and angry. But he is so absent. I console myself with pursuit of a hobby I enjoy, trying to be productive at home. I deny myself food as punishment for making him unhappy, and stick to water. I can't cry. I am doing what I can only describe as pouting. I want him to not care, to be reasonable, be upset for small things. And I am angry at myself, for it was more than a small thing, it was a breach of trust and something I wasn't even smart enough to conceal from him, wasn't smart enough to recognize as something that might be best left unsaid, although of course the recognition of such would require that I say it anyway. Its the dual shame of my own unawareness that does me in.

What I did, to a vanilla person would be nothing. If I were involved with anyone other than my Master, it might be a blip of annoyance instead of this. But then, then there would be none of the other things, the things that keep me buoyed and together and sane. I find myself thinking hopefully of a punishment, maybe he'll just punish me physically ultimately.

Finally, I slept. I tried to cry, tried to excise out the sharp aching that I know better will not go away. But I am too distressed even to cry. He knows too perfectly how to get to me ... of course, I've handed him all the insight into me he would need to do this. I dreamed of my mother instead of him, how funny a comfort - how blatant to replace daddy with my only other parental figure.

And now I'm awake and alone. I'm still not a good girl, even alone, doesn't he see? Alone or with him, I'm still me. Maybe that's the problem. I've put my phone under the pillow. Resisted impulses to erase myself from the view of anyone online, delete every profile, remove every contact, destroy my existence.

Then I remind myself that the lack of information cuts both ways. Maybe he will begin to wonder what I'm doing just as I do? He's as used to having updates as I am. Surely he's thinking of me, having some withdrawals, missing me? Maybe his anger will be tempered by thinking of other days without me ahead, if he sends me away?

Or maybe he will be relieved, a little voice says, glad to see me gone and no longer responsible for me? There is always that.

Bound and Spread

The time for my punishment finally arrived - belated, due to our busy schedules but eventually we were able to intersect and despite my hints at forestalling the inevitable, I ultimately found myself bound, spread across the bed, while my Master began to assemble his tools.

He hasn't ever punished me before, only once, playfully soon after we first met I had some corner time, but this was different. He said he would hit me inside my thighs, where he knows it's difficult for me to take pain, that area is so sensitive. He said I would cry. He said I would suck his cock until I stopped crying. I made the mistake of not believing him.

This man has pressed his cock so far down my throat I thought I might truly choke on it. He has held my throat, cut off my air. He's held a knife against my skin. He's penetrated my ass with his overly sized cock, stretching and filling me as I worried I would tear, that in his passion he wouldn't care if so. I trust him with my life.

Yet, lying there bound, his determined and still face giving no hint of desire or anything other than to be on task, I became frightened. I have no safeword, I'm completely at his mercy. I told him there was no need for the tying, I wouldn't try to escape. That was before the first strike.

Normally I have a warm up. This was two weeks ago, and I still have the marks from his lashes. It wasn't that there were so many. It wasn't that they were so hard. It was his intention, his decision to punish, to ask me why I was being punished to make me say it and repeat the violation of his rule. Even as I said it, part of me wondered, was it so bad, what did I do so bad? And I began to be angry. Not at him, but at the situation, at myself, at the circumstance of being forced to endure this exercise which was not sexy, not fun, not reasonable. I disobeyed him. So what? So what this, is the answer, one I don't like.

Is it worse, I wondered to be held down in this way and forced to take the punishment, or to be told to hold still for it? To be allowed to be silent, or to repeat the violations? I began to turn my head away from him as he changed sides on the bed, striking the leg closest to him as he moved. He would come back around, and I would turn my head away, I didn't want to look at him. Couldn't look at him. I felt ... petulant? Even as he strikes right by my pussy, hitting the underside of my ass lying there on the bed, ridiculously spread like some kind of staked out victim. I'm mad and annoyed. And crying. He covers my mouth with his hand and strikes me harder, I cry harder, silently, just mad and upset and humiliated and of course it hurts but I don't even care.

This isn't sexy, it's not fun, it's horrible and I don't like it. Deep down I thought I would. I imagined him striking me, imagined the lashing, the way pain usually goes right to my cunt, but it just wasn't like that. I'm very ambivalent about being bound.

Suddenly he's undoing my hands and I think he's done. Fine. Good. I can lie there and cry and he'll be sorry - soon he'll be there, apologizing and comforting me. No. I'm ordered to suck his dick until I stop crying.

There is nothing I less want to do in that moment than anything remotely sexual or remotely submissive. I hesitate and he repeats himself. I find myself obeying automatically even as my own mind is telling me not to - or rather just not telling me anything, I'm just doing what he says, regardless. But oh, I don't want it in my mouth, and he can tell and he asks do I want to do that or do I want to be punished more. I begin to suck like I mean it, like I care... surprised he's hard, then wondering, then within a shorter time than you would think, I've forgotten all about my earlier feelings, my previous misgiving and I'm suddenly very much interested in sucking his cock.

I try to show him how sorry I am, suddenly I am nothing but obedience, nothing but his, nothing but a slave, trying to atone to her Master for her disobedience. Life becomes much more simple with that objective.

Punishment

I'm to be punished when I see my Master next. I know why, and I know how. He has never punished me before in a physical way. He has in other ways, but pain is something I enjoy, so typically this has never been something he uses.

This time, my first punishment as his slave, he is to use a strap on my inner thighs. He has said I will be bound.

The excitement of this worries me. How on earth can I be aroused by the threat of punishment? I think it's because I haven't had one yet, I'm certain this isn't going to be pleasant. I don't like to be hurt on my inner thighs. I'm used to having some kind of warm up. I've never been hit with the intention of hurting me as a punishment, it's always been for my own enjoyment, for our mutual play.

But the idea, of his tying me - perhaps on my back, legs pulled open and over my head so he can see my face and my pussy while he uses a belt on my thighs, or perhaps on my hands and knees, with my arms pulled up, my knees forced apart by a spreader bar, my ass exposed should he decide to reinforce the lesson by using me in that way roughly as he has threatened in the past... these things to me do not seem to be a deterrent.

Even though I know he will make it hurt, he will make it not fun, somehow. I think of his voice, how it makes me respond inside when he's serious or stern. I think of his strength, of how hard I know he can wield the belt. I think of how it excites him to hurt me, and how knowing that will inevitably turn this into something beyond what it maybe should be - a deterrent to disobedience.

And yet... and yet... I long to cry for him, long to be made to do something, to take something for him that I don't want in the moment. I want to be on the floor at his feet, my thighs red and sore, shaking from the moment ... I can't even describe what it is I'm after here. I just know it's there somewhere. Perhaps afterward I'll be able to describe it and define it adequately.

Property

My first moments as a slave, I felt as if my breath were sucked out of my lungs. My Master began immediately to take charge of me, and although I'm always a willing participant in our play, lovemaking, although he is always in charge and that I'm used to - somehow things felt different.

He put nipple clamps on my breasts - he hadn't done this to me in the past. They were connected by a chain and screwed tightly to my nipples, which began to ache. They remained on for quite awhile, longer than I would have thought they could be worn.

The difference between sex as an owned girl versus with a lover: its like being broken apart then put back together. There is an element of detachment and objectification. There is a duality and a splitting. I'm a person, experiencing what is happening, responding, and acting and at the same time I'm something else - an object, another entity separate from myself. Property.

My Master touches me, but his focus is on me as he would be on a car or any other object he was on task with. He bends down to bite my stomach and I begin to wilt and melt into the pain and the pleasure, I'm there but I'm also there with him observing me, aware of myself as his.

My pussy wets for him, and I'm aware of the pleasure leading up to it as I experience this, but then am also suddenly made aware externally as I feel him shove two fingers inside me after he checks to see if I'm wet.

"What a little slut you are", he says against my stomach, and I note this, helpless as he proves his words, for here I am, the chain between my nipple clamps swaying, my back arching as he fingers me, my knees weakening as he presses them inside me. I'm both inside my head and outside with him, seeing myself as he does.

My body is his toy, and we both feel the difference. I don't yet wear a collar but the contract and our mutual understanding of it is enough to send both of us to a new level. I can't speak for him, but I felt awed by the change, aroused and freed to do what he willed without concern. I didn't have to worry about anything that happened from that moment on, for everything I am and that I do belongs to him. If I soak the sheets with my sex, I don't need to be concerned or embarrassed. I'm there to please him, belonging and pleasing my only purpose.