Today is Walpurgis Night, which is a really big deal at this university town we live in. In some areas the pre-schools are closed down or moved, because of all the partying. In the morning, rafts are paddled down the river that goes through the town, most of them falling apart as they go down the waterfalls.
After that, there's picnicing in a park below the medieval castle, and a lot of singing and a lot of drinking. Three o'clock, the Dean of the University steps out on a balcony at the 16th century library and holds an (inaudible) speech, and then everybody waves their white caps in the air and puts them on. And in that moment, spring begins! I like that. After that, it's mostly a whole lot of drinking and singing, and in the evening a whole lot of bonfires are lit all over town with people gathering around, singing and saluting the spring.
Some years, I've done these things, only ones all of it I think (that year I got very, very drunk before the evening was over). This year I settled for the picnic part, meeting friends and putting the white student's cap on. It's a ritual stemming from a hundred years ago or so, when everyone wore hats of some kind all the time, and the university students wore black ones at winter and white once in summer, and Walpurgis Night were when you switched. A few of my more traditional friends have gotten black winter caps for just this occasion, and actually switch caps. Most of us simply bring the white one and put it on.
Little S was in pre-school, and Mistress worked from home, so it was only me going away to meet friends - and that is very rare and precious nowadays. I've would rather have had Mistress with me, but I'm very grateful that she let me go alone when she felt she didn't have time to come with. I met friends I haven't seen in a long time, people I've known for fifteen years in some cases, and it made me happy.
I live a rather strict life, following an inflexible schedule, mostly due to the needs of the two-year-old, and also due to the specific dynamic between Mistress and I - I really don't like to do things without her, for the most part, and she really don't like me to either. Since one of us must watch the baby if we can't get a grandparent to babysit, and since she makes it impossible to concentrate on anything or have any sort of meaningful conversation, we're kind of in a bind. We can do things, but only separately and we don't like that, or while bringing the kid, and we don't much appreciate that either.
I think the worst part is over though, little S is growing up and becoming more manageable every week, and also as we get more sleep and more free time and aren't as stressed out, we're more willing to be separated. Like today.
But after a few hours I was perfectly happy going home to my family, and our tentative plans on having my mother babysit while we went out this evening, maybe to a bonfire, maybe to friends for a barbecue, changed into a desire to cuddle on the sofa and go to sleep early. That's also a bit typical - I reckon I would be a big party lion if only it wasn't for little S, and if only Mistress would come with me. But in reality, a few hours is enough, and then I'm perfectly satisfied with a quiet evening indoors.
And there will be more Walpurgis Nights. A lot of them, I suspect. And there will be time for drinking and singing and hanging out with old friends. But right now, I have the cutest and most charming little girl in the world sleeping in her bedroom, and I'm going to bed with my beloved Mistress, looking forward to having my collar put on and being chained to the bed for the night. It's a good life, and a lot better than what my life was like before, even though I had all the time in the world for friends and singing and drinking. This is so much better.
(But in the future, I plan to have it all...)
Apr 30, 2012
Apr 29, 2012
Beaten
On another note, my mom babysat today, taking care of little S a few hours before lunch, and we had some precious alone time. At first, we simply talked and cuddled, and then I had this vision in my head of being tied up and ruthlessly beaten.
She liked the idea, and made it come true, with the added bonus of her fucking me from behind afterwards, tied to the bed with all limbs except for my right arm, which she let free so that I could touch myself and orgasm on her request while she fucked me.
It really was a sever beating, both harder than usual and with almost no warm-up. Now my ass is still a little red and quite sore, and my soul is all tender and loving. I'm longing for tonight, when little S is asleep, and she can hold me tight again.
She liked the idea, and made it come true, with the added bonus of her fucking me from behind afterwards, tied to the bed with all limbs except for my right arm, which she let free so that I could touch myself and orgasm on her request while she fucked me.
It really was a sever beating, both harder than usual and with almost no warm-up. Now my ass is still a little red and quite sore, and my soul is all tender and loving. I'm longing for tonight, when little S is asleep, and she can hold me tight again.
The inner working of the power dynamic - or obeying isn't enough.
We actually had a rather deep discussion about the workings of our dynamic yesterday and today. It's been a long while since we had the time or energy to spare for that type of pondering, since it's not immediately rewarding.
During the last three years or so, we've mostly been talking either about stuff that's very enjoying to talk about (planning LARPS, discussing films, planning the summer vacation or dreaming about the house we're going to buy once I have my exam and a real job and an income), or that's not at all enjoying but really necessary to talk about (why the other one said all that stupid, hurtful stuff, or why our parents behave so strange/badly/intoxicated/unfair, or where little S' jacket really is, at home or at pre-school?). There's not been very much new to discuss about the M/s part of our life (besides from moaning about not having enough time for it).
But with us starting the discussion about a permanent collar, and actually having more time together and more serious play (it kind of hurts sitting down right now), suddenly new thoughts came to the surface.
I've always assumed that the most important part of me belonging to her (being slave, slut, property, whatever we choose to call it, being hers) is the fact that I obey. Which, in its crudest form, translates to "as long as I obey, I'm ok". She'll always now I'm hers, she can alwasy be sure of my submission, because the only thing she'll have to do to check it is give me an order and watch me jumping through hoops on her command.
And yes, she agrees, that's true as far as it goes. But it turns out that thats the minimum requirement. That I obey her orders is an important part of our dynamic for her too, but it hasn't got the pivotal role it has in my head.
She claims even that I would still belong to her even if I would screw up totally and at some point not obey her. That disobedience is not an immediate cause for total dismissal and complete relationship do-over, which I've imagined in my mind. Just as in any other area of life, it's ok for me to fail. Which in its way is very reassuring. I can't disqualify myself from the relationship by some simple mistake or slip of tongue or mind.
On the other hand, she also stressed that while obedience is good, it's not enough. And that kind of threw me. That she gives orders and I obey, we concluded, is one dimension of at least two of our dynamic. The other one we named, for lack of a better word, "attitude". It's something we're both really sensitive about, where very small gestures, nuances in words and eye contact, makes a world of difference. And it's in that dimension our difficulties lie.
I'm good at obeying. I have no problems with that (most of the time, anyway). She's good at deciding a course of action and executing it, that's not a problem either. What I'm not very good at, or at least frequently fail at, is showing an attitude of respect and reverence. I'm often to fast, to harsh, to demanding, bossy, angry, all sorts of things. I may think I'm submissive, because I'm ready to obey in the end, but in actuality, what is projected is an attitude very far from the reverantial, humble behaviour she would like from me.
She, on the other hand, has every intention of taking care of me, making good decision for my life, and making me do the things she thinks will benefit me the most. She's comfortable being the leader, and genuinely and authentically expresses her love by controlling and demanding obedience.That's not the problem. But when I disrespect her, she reacts with hurt and mistrust and dismisses me, interpreting my actions as if I don't want to be hers anymore. Which hurts me deeply, and makes me do all kinds of irrational things.
And sometimes in stress, regardless of our status, she freaks out and get irrational and hasty in her movements and scary to me, an attitude from her that I hate and fear, and that for me breaks down my trust and safety. When she does that, I will still obey a direct order, but her attitude is such that I no longer feel safe in her presence.
What we really need to do, both of us, is cool down. I'm not sure it's possible for either of us to be less sensitive, less hypervigilant about the other ones moods and smallest gesture. But I do think we could cultivate our tolerance, expand the time we're able to tolerate the discomfort stemming from our partners bad attitude.
If I could live with her being nervous and unsure for a few minutes without having a complete breakdown, she would be able to regain her composure after a while, and come back to me. And if she could refrain from interpreting rudeness from my side as contempt and disrespect, and instead continue seeing me as her slut (albeit a slut badly in need of discipline) I would have time to realise my mistake and humbly apologise.
We need to get some redundancy in the system. As it is now, we're both on a hair trigger, ready to explode at the smallest provocation, and very inclined to interpret the others behaviour as negative. If we could just chill a little even when we sense a bad attitude from our counterpart, our life would run much more smoothly.
Maybe we can. Knowing about it is going to help at least a little, I hope. And I'm glad that we're at least equally sensitive - we both know exactly whats going on, even when almost nothing is visible for anyone else. Unfortunately, that it doesn't show doesn't make it any less hurtful.
During the last three years or so, we've mostly been talking either about stuff that's very enjoying to talk about (planning LARPS, discussing films, planning the summer vacation or dreaming about the house we're going to buy once I have my exam and a real job and an income), or that's not at all enjoying but really necessary to talk about (why the other one said all that stupid, hurtful stuff, or why our parents behave so strange/badly/intoxicated/unfair, or where little S' jacket really is, at home or at pre-school?). There's not been very much new to discuss about the M/s part of our life (besides from moaning about not having enough time for it).
But with us starting the discussion about a permanent collar, and actually having more time together and more serious play (it kind of hurts sitting down right now), suddenly new thoughts came to the surface.
I've always assumed that the most important part of me belonging to her (being slave, slut, property, whatever we choose to call it, being hers) is the fact that I obey. Which, in its crudest form, translates to "as long as I obey, I'm ok". She'll always now I'm hers, she can alwasy be sure of my submission, because the only thing she'll have to do to check it is give me an order and watch me jumping through hoops on her command.
And yes, she agrees, that's true as far as it goes. But it turns out that thats the minimum requirement. That I obey her orders is an important part of our dynamic for her too, but it hasn't got the pivotal role it has in my head.
She claims even that I would still belong to her even if I would screw up totally and at some point not obey her. That disobedience is not an immediate cause for total dismissal and complete relationship do-over, which I've imagined in my mind. Just as in any other area of life, it's ok for me to fail. Which in its way is very reassuring. I can't disqualify myself from the relationship by some simple mistake or slip of tongue or mind.
On the other hand, she also stressed that while obedience is good, it's not enough. And that kind of threw me. That she gives orders and I obey, we concluded, is one dimension of at least two of our dynamic. The other one we named, for lack of a better word, "attitude". It's something we're both really sensitive about, where very small gestures, nuances in words and eye contact, makes a world of difference. And it's in that dimension our difficulties lie.
I'm good at obeying. I have no problems with that (most of the time, anyway). She's good at deciding a course of action and executing it, that's not a problem either. What I'm not very good at, or at least frequently fail at, is showing an attitude of respect and reverence. I'm often to fast, to harsh, to demanding, bossy, angry, all sorts of things. I may think I'm submissive, because I'm ready to obey in the end, but in actuality, what is projected is an attitude very far from the reverantial, humble behaviour she would like from me.
She, on the other hand, has every intention of taking care of me, making good decision for my life, and making me do the things she thinks will benefit me the most. She's comfortable being the leader, and genuinely and authentically expresses her love by controlling and demanding obedience.That's not the problem. But when I disrespect her, she reacts with hurt and mistrust and dismisses me, interpreting my actions as if I don't want to be hers anymore. Which hurts me deeply, and makes me do all kinds of irrational things.
And sometimes in stress, regardless of our status, she freaks out and get irrational and hasty in her movements and scary to me, an attitude from her that I hate and fear, and that for me breaks down my trust and safety. When she does that, I will still obey a direct order, but her attitude is such that I no longer feel safe in her presence.
What we really need to do, both of us, is cool down. I'm not sure it's possible for either of us to be less sensitive, less hypervigilant about the other ones moods and smallest gesture. But I do think we could cultivate our tolerance, expand the time we're able to tolerate the discomfort stemming from our partners bad attitude.
If I could live with her being nervous and unsure for a few minutes without having a complete breakdown, she would be able to regain her composure after a while, and come back to me. And if she could refrain from interpreting rudeness from my side as contempt and disrespect, and instead continue seeing me as her slut (albeit a slut badly in need of discipline) I would have time to realise my mistake and humbly apologise.
We need to get some redundancy in the system. As it is now, we're both on a hair trigger, ready to explode at the smallest provocation, and very inclined to interpret the others behaviour as negative. If we could just chill a little even when we sense a bad attitude from our counterpart, our life would run much more smoothly.
Maybe we can. Knowing about it is going to help at least a little, I hope. And I'm glad that we're at least equally sensitive - we both know exactly whats going on, even when almost nothing is visible for anyone else. Unfortunately, that it doesn't show doesn't make it any less hurtful.
Apr 28, 2012
Drama averted, times two
One day into the weekend, and yey! no arguments so far. And that's quite an achievement, for us, at least compared to the last week or so.
There's been two times when it was close, where I could see myself standing on the road toward catastrophe, hysteria and all-out fighting, and actually managed to take a different path. It's really cool to see that it does matter what I do, that I can influence things, and that it doesn't stand between either blowing up and start fighting, or completely violate myself and my needs. It really doesn't, even though that's often what I think when we do fight.
This time, I managed to think and feel and wait before reacting, and keep some compassion and rational thought even though I was afraid and upset, and it does a world of difference.
Yesterday, I had been messaging on Facebook with my friend I. who had asked randomly for things to do in the evening. I had offered her beer and tacos in front of the teve at our place, and she had predictibly turned me down - it's quiet a long bike ride from her place to ours, and she said she was too tired. I wished her luck with her evening activities and thought no more of it.
And then, while Mistress was reading little S bedtime stories, she called my cell and asked if it was ok if she came over for a cup of tea. She was feeling better, and really wanted the company. It was late, we were tired, I know Mistress doesn't like to change her plans on short notice, and there was no way for me to ask her, since she was in the bedroom with little S and disturbing them would mean upsetting the baby right before bedtime (that's a bad idea). I realised I was screwed.
One factor in this is that our friend is recently divorced - they were the only other D/s-couple we really hung out with, but it's been going steadily dowhill for them the last two years, and he moved out last Saturday. I wanted to talk to her, and I really wanted her to feel welcome at our place. So I said "yes, of course", hoping she didn't notice the micro-second pause before I said it, and started to worry about Mistress' reaction.
When it was my turn at the baby-handling, I told her I had written her a note on my laptop. There I described the situation, apologised and explained my thinking. I was really nervous, and really hoping she'd pop her head in and give me a thumbs up when she'd read it but she didn't. When I came out, she had started her job computer, and seemed really displeased. I kneeled before her, and waited for the verdict, and yes, she was pretty ticked off. She was disappointed, she said, she had been looking forward to a whisky and some teve-time with me, but if I. was coming she preferred to spend the time working rather than hang out with us.
I tried to tell her she could have whisky and teve even though we had company, but she dismissed the idea, and then little S came trudging out of the bedroom, flicking all lightswitch as she went, and loudly calling for Mistress. Our conversation ended there, with me still kneeling on the floor, and as Mistress tried to coax the hyper two-year-old back in to bed, I fell into a well of panic and despair.
I was so angry. A thousand furious thoughts flew through my head, about how unfair it was, how cruel Mistress was, how I couldn't stand her way of being angry with me, how I was trapped and never could do anything right in her eyes, about how hopeless everything was and how much I hated my life. In a time shorter than a second, I was well under way towards full out rage. The combination of nervousness, shame and discomfort coming from Mistress' being less than pleased with me became in my mind insufferable emotional torture.
Which is pretty much the thing that always happens every time I feel like I haven't managed everything perfectly, especially when it comes to human relations. (It used to be true about everything. But nowadays, I can almost stand critique regarding at least some areas of my life.)
I sat still, remaining on my knees. And then I tried a mindfullnes-technique I've learned in school. Still with the almost unbearable feeling of worthlessness and utter hopelessness, I noticed one thing my eyes fell on. I tried to find words for it, naming it and describing it in my mind. And then another one. And one more. The despair kept on, hitting me with relentless waves.
Then I started listening, hearing the whisper of my laptop, my own breathing, and random sounds outside our apartment. I shifted my attention to things I was feeling, and apart from the crushing, choking feeling and pain around my chest and throat, I also became aware of the way my knees felt against the hardwood floor, and the way my hands rested in my lap. And then I started all over again, two things I saw, two things I heard, two things I felt, and then another cycle, with only one of each. And when I was down to the last thing I felt, the utter despair had abated.
Feelings are like that, I have finally learned. Focus your attention on them and the thoughts they generate, and you can easily whip yourself into frenzy (at least if your me). Focus your attention on them by trying not to feel them, by defending yourself and denying them, and they sneak up on you and poison everything. Relax, let them be, focus on other things without fighting - and they ebb away, like the sea at low tide.
When I was done, I walked outside and sat on a bench on the patio for a few minutes, and when eventually the low temperature forced me back inside, I was calm, composed and full of compassion for Mistress, fully understanding her decision to spend the time working instead of chit-chating with a friend she didn't invite. I realised, too, that she hadn't actually said I had made the wrong decision - simply that she was sorry over what we lost (as was I, for that matter) and that she intended to do the best she could in the situation at hand.
As it were, me and I. had a nice time on the sofa with a cup of tea, but I got really sleepy really fast, and after half an hour or so, she got on her bike home again. There were still time for some teve and a small whisky, and Mistress wasn't disappointed anymore. We had a nice cuddle before bedtime, and everything was right in the world. There were no disaster, no tension, no half-hidden conflict exploding the second the guest was out of the door. There were just us, being our tired selves, offering tea and a bit of company, but not entertaining in any big way. And I'm so happy I managed to regain my composure and trust, instead of acting out.
The other time was this morning, when we tried to get little S ready for an outing with me before lunch, and I tried to put her clothes on, didn't find her trousers, asked Mistress for them, and when she didn't go get them right away (because she was putting on socks on very small feet kicking at high velocity) I barked an angry "Now!" at her.
Yeah.
Not a big slave-moment there.
I was trying to convey some sort of urgency, because little S was wriggling her way down from my lap, and I was afraid that if she managed to reach the floor, any attempts of getting her back would be futile. I thought Mistress knew were the pants were and I didn't understand why she didn't simply hand them to me. But no, that's no defense. That's only rationalising.
And usually when I screw up like that a few things happens very fast: I realise I've been bad. I feel ashamed and a little afraid. That makes me insecure, which in turn makes me angry. I go from "uh-oh" to "fuck off!" in half a second, give or take, and when Mistress catches up and realise she's just been snapped at, I'm in full combat mood, ready to defend myself against any accusation. Understandably, Mistress reacts with disappointment, hurt and mistrust, which I then mirror, and here-we-go-again...
This time, I apologised, heartfelt and sincere. I kept on being humble and apologetic even when Mistress didn't immediately forgive me. I weathered her unhappiness and didn't defend myself. And when Mistress concluded "I suppose your back is hurtin again, since you act this way?" I answered that no, I was simply being a bitch. Which earned me a playful slap (which would have been anything but playful had we been alone) and then everything, again, was right in the world.
Later on, during litlle S's nap, we talked it over, and she delivered two very non-playful, and very deserved, real slaps. Which made me feel owned, and cherished, and forgiven - and also, as if someone rather strong just hit me two times hard on my cheek.
I hope that in time, we will get out of these kind of vicious emotional loops altogether. For now, I'm really proud of my part in defusing situations that not so long ago most likely would have led to ugly arguments and loss of trust from both sides. I'm slowly growing up.
There's been two times when it was close, where I could see myself standing on the road toward catastrophe, hysteria and all-out fighting, and actually managed to take a different path. It's really cool to see that it does matter what I do, that I can influence things, and that it doesn't stand between either blowing up and start fighting, or completely violate myself and my needs. It really doesn't, even though that's often what I think when we do fight.
This time, I managed to think and feel and wait before reacting, and keep some compassion and rational thought even though I was afraid and upset, and it does a world of difference.
Yesterday, I had been messaging on Facebook with my friend I. who had asked randomly for things to do in the evening. I had offered her beer and tacos in front of the teve at our place, and she had predictibly turned me down - it's quiet a long bike ride from her place to ours, and she said she was too tired. I wished her luck with her evening activities and thought no more of it.
And then, while Mistress was reading little S bedtime stories, she called my cell and asked if it was ok if she came over for a cup of tea. She was feeling better, and really wanted the company. It was late, we were tired, I know Mistress doesn't like to change her plans on short notice, and there was no way for me to ask her, since she was in the bedroom with little S and disturbing them would mean upsetting the baby right before bedtime (that's a bad idea). I realised I was screwed.
One factor in this is that our friend is recently divorced - they were the only other D/s-couple we really hung out with, but it's been going steadily dowhill for them the last two years, and he moved out last Saturday. I wanted to talk to her, and I really wanted her to feel welcome at our place. So I said "yes, of course", hoping she didn't notice the micro-second pause before I said it, and started to worry about Mistress' reaction.
When it was my turn at the baby-handling, I told her I had written her a note on my laptop. There I described the situation, apologised and explained my thinking. I was really nervous, and really hoping she'd pop her head in and give me a thumbs up when she'd read it but she didn't. When I came out, she had started her job computer, and seemed really displeased. I kneeled before her, and waited for the verdict, and yes, she was pretty ticked off. She was disappointed, she said, she had been looking forward to a whisky and some teve-time with me, but if I. was coming she preferred to spend the time working rather than hang out with us.
I tried to tell her she could have whisky and teve even though we had company, but she dismissed the idea, and then little S came trudging out of the bedroom, flicking all lightswitch as she went, and loudly calling for Mistress. Our conversation ended there, with me still kneeling on the floor, and as Mistress tried to coax the hyper two-year-old back in to bed, I fell into a well of panic and despair.
I was so angry. A thousand furious thoughts flew through my head, about how unfair it was, how cruel Mistress was, how I couldn't stand her way of being angry with me, how I was trapped and never could do anything right in her eyes, about how hopeless everything was and how much I hated my life. In a time shorter than a second, I was well under way towards full out rage. The combination of nervousness, shame and discomfort coming from Mistress' being less than pleased with me became in my mind insufferable emotional torture.
Which is pretty much the thing that always happens every time I feel like I haven't managed everything perfectly, especially when it comes to human relations. (It used to be true about everything. But nowadays, I can almost stand critique regarding at least some areas of my life.)
I sat still, remaining on my knees. And then I tried a mindfullnes-technique I've learned in school. Still with the almost unbearable feeling of worthlessness and utter hopelessness, I noticed one thing my eyes fell on. I tried to find words for it, naming it and describing it in my mind. And then another one. And one more. The despair kept on, hitting me with relentless waves.
Then I started listening, hearing the whisper of my laptop, my own breathing, and random sounds outside our apartment. I shifted my attention to things I was feeling, and apart from the crushing, choking feeling and pain around my chest and throat, I also became aware of the way my knees felt against the hardwood floor, and the way my hands rested in my lap. And then I started all over again, two things I saw, two things I heard, two things I felt, and then another cycle, with only one of each. And when I was down to the last thing I felt, the utter despair had abated.
Feelings are like that, I have finally learned. Focus your attention on them and the thoughts they generate, and you can easily whip yourself into frenzy (at least if your me). Focus your attention on them by trying not to feel them, by defending yourself and denying them, and they sneak up on you and poison everything. Relax, let them be, focus on other things without fighting - and they ebb away, like the sea at low tide.
When I was done, I walked outside and sat on a bench on the patio for a few minutes, and when eventually the low temperature forced me back inside, I was calm, composed and full of compassion for Mistress, fully understanding her decision to spend the time working instead of chit-chating with a friend she didn't invite. I realised, too, that she hadn't actually said I had made the wrong decision - simply that she was sorry over what we lost (as was I, for that matter) and that she intended to do the best she could in the situation at hand.
As it were, me and I. had a nice time on the sofa with a cup of tea, but I got really sleepy really fast, and after half an hour or so, she got on her bike home again. There were still time for some teve and a small whisky, and Mistress wasn't disappointed anymore. We had a nice cuddle before bedtime, and everything was right in the world. There were no disaster, no tension, no half-hidden conflict exploding the second the guest was out of the door. There were just us, being our tired selves, offering tea and a bit of company, but not entertaining in any big way. And I'm so happy I managed to regain my composure and trust, instead of acting out.
The other time was this morning, when we tried to get little S ready for an outing with me before lunch, and I tried to put her clothes on, didn't find her trousers, asked Mistress for them, and when she didn't go get them right away (because she was putting on socks on very small feet kicking at high velocity) I barked an angry "Now!" at her.
Yeah.
Not a big slave-moment there.
I was trying to convey some sort of urgency, because little S was wriggling her way down from my lap, and I was afraid that if she managed to reach the floor, any attempts of getting her back would be futile. I thought Mistress knew were the pants were and I didn't understand why she didn't simply hand them to me. But no, that's no defense. That's only rationalising.
And usually when I screw up like that a few things happens very fast: I realise I've been bad. I feel ashamed and a little afraid. That makes me insecure, which in turn makes me angry. I go from "uh-oh" to "fuck off!" in half a second, give or take, and when Mistress catches up and realise she's just been snapped at, I'm in full combat mood, ready to defend myself against any accusation. Understandably, Mistress reacts with disappointment, hurt and mistrust, which I then mirror, and here-we-go-again...
This time, I apologised, heartfelt and sincere. I kept on being humble and apologetic even when Mistress didn't immediately forgive me. I weathered her unhappiness and didn't defend myself. And when Mistress concluded "I suppose your back is hurtin again, since you act this way?" I answered that no, I was simply being a bitch. Which earned me a playful slap (which would have been anything but playful had we been alone) and then everything, again, was right in the world.
Later on, during litlle S's nap, we talked it over, and she delivered two very non-playful, and very deserved, real slaps. Which made me feel owned, and cherished, and forgiven - and also, as if someone rather strong just hit me two times hard on my cheek.
I hope that in time, we will get out of these kind of vicious emotional loops altogether. For now, I'm really proud of my part in defusing situations that not so long ago most likely would have led to ugly arguments and loss of trust from both sides. I'm slowly growing up.
Apr 27, 2012
The luxury of working from home with kid at pre-school
Mistress worked from home today, and even though she more or less locked herself in our bedroom/office (actually, not the best combination of space, but the best we've been able to come up with) already at 7.15 this morning, when I came home around two she closed her computer and started the weekend. She'd declared that this morning already, that she planned to spend an hour with me before it was time to pick up little S at pre-school, and it made me feel so good - cared for, excited, like I was promised a big treat.
And it was a big treat. Time for just us, time to be together, time to enjoy each other, sure that nothing would disturb us - that's luxury. That's the absolut best thing in the world, for me.
She even asked me what her slut was yearning for, what I wanted most of all. And I realised that my answer was perfectly truthful - "to be used in any way Mistress desires". That's not coming from any kind of altruistic place, I'm not trying to please her or hiding anything. On her request I could come up with a hundred juicy scenarios of things she might do to me - but if she asks me what I truly want, it's as simple as being of pleasure to her. Her answer was "then I think I'll fuck you. That's what I want the most."
And she did. At first, though, we undressed, and she chained me to the bed in leather handcuffs. The moment the snap hook closes and I now I wont be able to reach anything to get loose, there's like a sigh going through my whole body. I'm completely relaxed, I simply surrender, and I'm never happier then that.
She stroked me and caressed me, then spanked me a little, and eventually she probed my ass with a buttplug. We do have a buttplug problem, though, because I've developed an allergy to latex, and all our plugs is made of it. She tried it, but I had to admit to it stinging in the wrong way, and eventually she focused her attention on other things, and started fucking me for real.
Something about the whole thing, being caressed, being tied down, having time on our hands, her using the plug on me - it drove away my usual inhibitions. After a while, I was about to start begging her to take me in the ass, and she shortly coaxed the plead out of me. After she'd demanded an orgasm from me, she ordered me to turn over, and did take me from behind. It was a long time ago, at least it felt like it, and it was wonderful. Hurtful, but wonderful. There's equal parts indulgence and shame in it for me, I love it and I'm deeply embarrased about loving it, and also, it hurts alot. Afterwards, I was somehow drained, feeling smaller and more vulnerable than I've done for a long time.
And that's ok, because we cuddled some more, took a shower, and later on, she went to pick up little S, and I'm allowed to simply stay put, taking it easy and regaining my composure. That was a long time ago too - to have the time to put me deep into subspace, doing things that affect me strongly, and me having the time to recuperate.
I'm feeling so very blessed today. Soon, my family is back home, we're going to eat tacos in front of the teve, and everything is fine.
(I'm still having the fever, though. The doc said nothing dangerous, probably virus, it will pass. Hopefully, he's right.)
(We've thrown away the plugs. No point in having toys if they're dangerous to play with. I'm hoping for a glass or metal one instead, but she might prefer silicon. I guess I'll find out.)
And it was a big treat. Time for just us, time to be together, time to enjoy each other, sure that nothing would disturb us - that's luxury. That's the absolut best thing in the world, for me.
She even asked me what her slut was yearning for, what I wanted most of all. And I realised that my answer was perfectly truthful - "to be used in any way Mistress desires". That's not coming from any kind of altruistic place, I'm not trying to please her or hiding anything. On her request I could come up with a hundred juicy scenarios of things she might do to me - but if she asks me what I truly want, it's as simple as being of pleasure to her. Her answer was "then I think I'll fuck you. That's what I want the most."
And she did. At first, though, we undressed, and she chained me to the bed in leather handcuffs. The moment the snap hook closes and I now I wont be able to reach anything to get loose, there's like a sigh going through my whole body. I'm completely relaxed, I simply surrender, and I'm never happier then that.
She stroked me and caressed me, then spanked me a little, and eventually she probed my ass with a buttplug. We do have a buttplug problem, though, because I've developed an allergy to latex, and all our plugs is made of it. She tried it, but I had to admit to it stinging in the wrong way, and eventually she focused her attention on other things, and started fucking me for real.
Something about the whole thing, being caressed, being tied down, having time on our hands, her using the plug on me - it drove away my usual inhibitions. After a while, I was about to start begging her to take me in the ass, and she shortly coaxed the plead out of me. After she'd demanded an orgasm from me, she ordered me to turn over, and did take me from behind. It was a long time ago, at least it felt like it, and it was wonderful. Hurtful, but wonderful. There's equal parts indulgence and shame in it for me, I love it and I'm deeply embarrased about loving it, and also, it hurts alot. Afterwards, I was somehow drained, feeling smaller and more vulnerable than I've done for a long time.
And that's ok, because we cuddled some more, took a shower, and later on, she went to pick up little S, and I'm allowed to simply stay put, taking it easy and regaining my composure. That was a long time ago too - to have the time to put me deep into subspace, doing things that affect me strongly, and me having the time to recuperate.
I'm feeling so very blessed today. Soon, my family is back home, we're going to eat tacos in front of the teve, and everything is fine.
(I'm still having the fever, though. The doc said nothing dangerous, probably virus, it will pass. Hopefully, he's right.)
(We've thrown away the plugs. No point in having toys if they're dangerous to play with. I'm hoping for a glass or metal one instead, but she might prefer silicon. I guess I'll find out.)
Apr 26, 2012
Rules and regulations
I answered on a thread on Fetlife about what the dominant controls, and realised afterwards that I actually forgot to mention a few things. One of my rules is that I'm not allowed to write more than one post a day at Fetlife - ironically, that was one of the ones I forgot to mention. And everything to do about sex.
I think that's funny, and even funnier that another person also wrote later on something along the lines of "oh no, I forgot to even mention sex!". It's so taken for granted that she controls everything regarding sex, that I don't even bring it up in a text regarding what things in my life she controls... That makes only really weird sense.
I found it hard to really define what my rules are, and whats more like preferences I know she has and therefore acquiesces to. We've never written anything down, and she doesn't remind me of rules or expectations as long as I follow them. And I trudge happily along, supposing I'm a good girl as long as she doesn't look at me sternly, slaps my face or pinch my ear.
My rules, however, is: No sweets except Saturdays or by permission. No more than one post at Fetlife a day (fairly recent, that one). No going to bed without permission (defined as taking clothes of and pulling cover away, at night time. I may spend time in bed during the day, I'm just supposed to wait for her when we do it together).
No leaving the bed when she's in it without permission. I sleep collared with a red dog collar and chained to the bed, but it's not locked, and if she has had to leave the bed during the night, I'm allowed to unchain myself to go to the bathroom, or get up in the morning. That feels very very wrong, but it's the only practical solution we've found with a little one waking at all hours at night and demanding company. If she's in the bed, I have to wake her and ask for permission, and wait for her to unchain me.
Always make a curtsy when I serve her coffee or whisky. If it's really inappropriate to do so, if my mother is standing right next to me or something, I may make eye contact and wait for a nod instead. But generally, always curtsy. I often do it with other things too, but coffee and whisky are the only required things.
Always text her when I'm leaving or arriving at things. We spend our days separately, and my schedule varies a lot. I'm supposed to let her know where I am at all times, and rapport regularly. If I don't, she'll ask me whats wrong. Having my cell phone on and ready is not a rule as such, but I know she gets annoyed if I don't, so I do. (At least I think it's not a rule. I might get slapped over this one...)
And then the sex, of course. No orgasms without permission, no touching without permission, no anything without permission. No touching her without permission. She controls everything, when, where, what, how much. I don't think we could possibly have sex any other way by now. It would feel weird. (But I wouldn't mind being allowed to come whenever I wanted to when she's not around. That would be nice. But then again, the control is nice too.)
And, the big one of course, always obey. That one too goes almost without saying by now. I take pride in always obeying. I always do. (Except one time, for oh I don't know, maybe a minute? It was horrible - I'll probably write about it some time.)
I'm not allowed to say "no" either. I discovered this a few years ago when I had read somewhere of submissives who weren't allowed to use the word "no" and I scoffed at that and declared it unhealthy, and she told me that I wasn't allowed that either. Or rather that "she wouldn't like it if I did" (that translates to "not allowed" in our dynamic). Not that I couldn't disagree or want not to do things - but I can't tell her "no". I can tell her "I would very much like that not to happen" or "I really don't think that's a good idea", but apparently, that's not the same thing. So I don't tell her no.
That's about it, I think. But I've probably forgotten something. I sometimes forget just how much I do because she tells me to, and how ingrained that has become.
(I had: No swearing.)
(No drinking alcohol without permission.)
(No spending any large sums of money (coffee machine in school and the occasional lunch is ok).)
(No covering up, in any way, ever.)
(No talking after she's said "good night" to me in bed in the evening, until I've fallen asleep. It's ok to talk if I wake up in the middle of the night, though.)
(Always using a helmet when riding a bike.)
(No checking of email och Facebook in the evening, after little S has gone to sleep.)
I think that's funny, and even funnier that another person also wrote later on something along the lines of "oh no, I forgot to even mention sex!". It's so taken for granted that she controls everything regarding sex, that I don't even bring it up in a text regarding what things in my life she controls... That makes only really weird sense.
I found it hard to really define what my rules are, and whats more like preferences I know she has and therefore acquiesces to. We've never written anything down, and she doesn't remind me of rules or expectations as long as I follow them. And I trudge happily along, supposing I'm a good girl as long as she doesn't look at me sternly, slaps my face or pinch my ear.
My rules, however, is: No sweets except Saturdays or by permission. No more than one post at Fetlife a day (fairly recent, that one). No going to bed without permission (defined as taking clothes of and pulling cover away, at night time. I may spend time in bed during the day, I'm just supposed to wait for her when we do it together).
No leaving the bed when she's in it without permission. I sleep collared with a red dog collar and chained to the bed, but it's not locked, and if she has had to leave the bed during the night, I'm allowed to unchain myself to go to the bathroom, or get up in the morning. That feels very very wrong, but it's the only practical solution we've found with a little one waking at all hours at night and demanding company. If she's in the bed, I have to wake her and ask for permission, and wait for her to unchain me.
Always make a curtsy when I serve her coffee or whisky. If it's really inappropriate to do so, if my mother is standing right next to me or something, I may make eye contact and wait for a nod instead. But generally, always curtsy. I often do it with other things too, but coffee and whisky are the only required things.
Always text her when I'm leaving or arriving at things. We spend our days separately, and my schedule varies a lot. I'm supposed to let her know where I am at all times, and rapport regularly. If I don't, she'll ask me whats wrong. Having my cell phone on and ready is not a rule as such, but I know she gets annoyed if I don't, so I do. (At least I think it's not a rule. I might get slapped over this one...)
And then the sex, of course. No orgasms without permission, no touching without permission, no anything without permission. No touching her without permission. She controls everything, when, where, what, how much. I don't think we could possibly have sex any other way by now. It would feel weird. (But I wouldn't mind being allowed to come whenever I wanted to when she's not around. That would be nice. But then again, the control is nice too.)
And, the big one of course, always obey. That one too goes almost without saying by now. I take pride in always obeying. I always do. (Except one time, for oh I don't know, maybe a minute? It was horrible - I'll probably write about it some time.)
I'm not allowed to say "no" either. I discovered this a few years ago when I had read somewhere of submissives who weren't allowed to use the word "no" and I scoffed at that and declared it unhealthy, and she told me that I wasn't allowed that either. Or rather that "she wouldn't like it if I did" (that translates to "not allowed" in our dynamic). Not that I couldn't disagree or want not to do things - but I can't tell her "no". I can tell her "I would very much like that not to happen" or "I really don't think that's a good idea", but apparently, that's not the same thing. So I don't tell her no.
That's about it, I think. But I've probably forgotten something. I sometimes forget just how much I do because she tells me to, and how ingrained that has become.
(I had: No swearing.)
(No drinking alcohol without permission.)
(No spending any large sums of money (coffee machine in school and the occasional lunch is ok).)
(No covering up, in any way, ever.)
(No talking after she's said "good night" to me in bed in the evening, until I've fallen asleep. It's ok to talk if I wake up in the middle of the night, though.)
(Always using a helmet when riding a bike.)
(No checking of email och Facebook in the evening, after little S has gone to sleep.)
Collar-time?
I was 22 when I met my ex boyfriend. It was aboout a year later he put a collar on me, and 6 months after that my Mistress and I realised we were in love, and the three of us decided to continue together. So when Mistress and me got together, I was wearing his permanent collar. "I hated that collar!" she said the other day, and I know that. I knew that. Whenever we were together, he was with us, in the reminder around my throat. Which was fine, as long as we were fine. As long as him and me were fine.
But sadly, the relationship deteriorated badly before it was ended. The last year was horrible, and I remember Mistress and me discussing sometime in March that he had abandoned us, emotionally and in a very practical sense, and that we were both just kind of waiting for him to come back. But he never did. In October, she said she couldn't take it anymore, but somehow we persevered. At Christmas, I caved in, and around New Year, I moved to my mothers apartment for a week, and two weeks after that I split up with him. And only then was the collar removed.
It was a relief. I had loathed wearing it for a long time by then, but been much too afraid of the irrevocable concequenses that would follow if I asked him to take it off. It was supposed to be a symbol of Ownership, of me belonging to him, but I hadn't belonged to him for a long while in any practical or emotional sense at that point, and the symbol had lost it's original meaning. The magic had turned black.
That was... 2006, the very beginning of 2006. Six years ago now. In March, Mistress proposed. Sometime before the wedding in August 2007 I became her slave, her property. For two years I think I wore a chain around my ancle, but eventually the lock broke. Since last summer we've been wearing charms, mine a lock and hers a key, as simple necklaces, but my chain broke, and then I lost the charm. Now we have nothing.
We've been talking about getting tattooes, even went into a studio last summer. I hope we do it someday, but the whole thing about finding a place, describing what we want, booking an appointment and so on seems difficult and cumbersome. We just never seems to actually do it. Honestly, I think tattoo-artist intimidates us. And while that's not really a practical problem when it's me that's apprehensive, it is when she is. Maybe she'll get me tattoed. Maybe she wont.
It does seem, however, as it's time to get a collar around my neck again. Or maybe around my ancle. Or wrist. I don't know. I just know I wont be able to take it off, and now, for the first time in six years, I get that good tingly feeling thinking about it, rather then bad-relationship-triggers. I want to be collared again. I want to be marked and not being able to choose to wear it or not. I want the safety of knowing that I can't take it off, whether I want to or not. I'm ready now. At this point, what she and I have is so much more in the forefront than the memories of what has passed.
I guess it's a little like re-marrying after a divorce.
The collar I once wore was a flat metal ring around my neck, with the lock visible in the back, and it was made out of silver. There are some beautiful collars sold at different places, but most of them look a lot like that one, and I think it's putting both of us off. Eventually, we found www.wyredslave.com, and I think that's what Mistress will get for me. She took measurements for both neck, wrist and ancle, so it will be a surprise what it is.
They're sold with a PVC-coating, too, and I'm guessig I'll end up with something in black, somewhere on my body. I'm looking forward to it.
But sadly, the relationship deteriorated badly before it was ended. The last year was horrible, and I remember Mistress and me discussing sometime in March that he had abandoned us, emotionally and in a very practical sense, and that we were both just kind of waiting for him to come back. But he never did. In October, she said she couldn't take it anymore, but somehow we persevered. At Christmas, I caved in, and around New Year, I moved to my mothers apartment for a week, and two weeks after that I split up with him. And only then was the collar removed.
It was a relief. I had loathed wearing it for a long time by then, but been much too afraid of the irrevocable concequenses that would follow if I asked him to take it off. It was supposed to be a symbol of Ownership, of me belonging to him, but I hadn't belonged to him for a long while in any practical or emotional sense at that point, and the symbol had lost it's original meaning. The magic had turned black.
That was... 2006, the very beginning of 2006. Six years ago now. In March, Mistress proposed. Sometime before the wedding in August 2007 I became her slave, her property. For two years I think I wore a chain around my ancle, but eventually the lock broke. Since last summer we've been wearing charms, mine a lock and hers a key, as simple necklaces, but my chain broke, and then I lost the charm. Now we have nothing.
We've been talking about getting tattooes, even went into a studio last summer. I hope we do it someday, but the whole thing about finding a place, describing what we want, booking an appointment and so on seems difficult and cumbersome. We just never seems to actually do it. Honestly, I think tattoo-artist intimidates us. And while that's not really a practical problem when it's me that's apprehensive, it is when she is. Maybe she'll get me tattoed. Maybe she wont.
It does seem, however, as it's time to get a collar around my neck again. Or maybe around my ancle. Or wrist. I don't know. I just know I wont be able to take it off, and now, for the first time in six years, I get that good tingly feeling thinking about it, rather then bad-relationship-triggers. I want to be collared again. I want to be marked and not being able to choose to wear it or not. I want the safety of knowing that I can't take it off, whether I want to or not. I'm ready now. At this point, what she and I have is so much more in the forefront than the memories of what has passed.
I guess it's a little like re-marrying after a divorce.
The collar I once wore was a flat metal ring around my neck, with the lock visible in the back, and it was made out of silver. There are some beautiful collars sold at different places, but most of them look a lot like that one, and I think it's putting both of us off. Eventually, we found www.wyredslave.com, and I think that's what Mistress will get for me. She took measurements for both neck, wrist and ancle, so it will be a surprise what it is.
They're sold with a PVC-coating, too, and I'm guessig I'll end up with something in black, somewhere on my body. I'm looking forward to it.
Apr 25, 2012
Still sick (and Mistress-approved ice cream)
I'm into day eleven with headaches, slight fever and fatigue. There's something wrong, I don't know what it is (allergy? bacterial infection? something unknown and sinister?) and it's freaking me out.
We had an argument this morning, bumping in to eachother as we often do, and when we had finally solved it (in between making breakfast, feeding and clothing and playing with little S, packing bags and taking showers - the normal busy morning) she said she thought the illness was turning me into a bitch. I replied I thought it was more due to me being inherently bitchy. Luckily, she had just the minute before very discreetly laid her hands around my throat and told me that I was hers and that I was safe with her, so the bitchiness had come and gone already.
But an hour before lunch time today I couldn't take it any more in school, and bailed. And hated myself for it. It was a relief when she called me back a little later and assured me that I wasn't shirking my responsibilities, that my order for the day was to "take good care of her slut", and if I needed to take two hours lunch to do that, then so be it. I was scheduled to be in scool the whole day, with fever and headaches, and it was perfectly understandable that it was tough on me. As long as I signed the attendance slip and wont have to retake the lecture in the fall, all was fine with her.
Me, I alternate between thinking I have leucemia, AIDS, or one of a thousand other unlikely diseases, and berating myself for being a lazy hypocondriac who should keep herself together and stop bothering people. Neither way of thinking is especially healthy, or good for the peace of mind. "Take care of Mistress' slut" seems like a brilliant strategy in comparison.
Right now, I'm in a nice café with wi-fi, have finished my coffee, and are planning to enjoy an ice cream and a stroll along the river before three hour of tutoring in the afternoon. Mistress said I could, so I will - and I plan to stomp on my bad conscience until it crawls back into the hole it came from. So there!
Computer, coffee, street view
We had an argument this morning, bumping in to eachother as we often do, and when we had finally solved it (in between making breakfast, feeding and clothing and playing with little S, packing bags and taking showers - the normal busy morning) she said she thought the illness was turning me into a bitch. I replied I thought it was more due to me being inherently bitchy. Luckily, she had just the minute before very discreetly laid her hands around my throat and told me that I was hers and that I was safe with her, so the bitchiness had come and gone already.
But an hour before lunch time today I couldn't take it any more in school, and bailed. And hated myself for it. It was a relief when she called me back a little later and assured me that I wasn't shirking my responsibilities, that my order for the day was to "take good care of her slut", and if I needed to take two hours lunch to do that, then so be it. I was scheduled to be in scool the whole day, with fever and headaches, and it was perfectly understandable that it was tough on me. As long as I signed the attendance slip and wont have to retake the lecture in the fall, all was fine with her.
Me, I alternate between thinking I have leucemia, AIDS, or one of a thousand other unlikely diseases, and berating myself for being a lazy hypocondriac who should keep herself together and stop bothering people. Neither way of thinking is especially healthy, or good for the peace of mind. "Take care of Mistress' slut" seems like a brilliant strategy in comparison.
Right now, I'm in a nice café with wi-fi, have finished my coffee, and are planning to enjoy an ice cream and a stroll along the river before three hour of tutoring in the afternoon. Mistress said I could, so I will - and I plan to stomp on my bad conscience until it crawls back into the hole it came from. So there!
Computer, coffee, street view
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Apr 23, 2012
True love
When Mistress were in little S' bedroom, reading her goodnight, I had reason to write this letter to her on my computer, so she could see it when she stepped out again:
"Forgive me, Mistress!
Your slut lost her temper because her back hurt and she had a hard time standing brushing little S' teeth. It was all stressfull and wrong. This slut is terribly sorry that she acted rudely and disrespectfully. She's calmed down now.
Forgive me!"
Then I nursed and sang little S to sleep, and when I walked out again, this was on the screen:
"The slut is forgiven. She will get a rub down and a slap before bed. /M"
I wish we didn't have any reason for writing conciliatory notes at bedtime. But since I obviously have to, I'm glad mine is so well received.
"Forgive me, Mistress!
Your slut lost her temper because her back hurt and she had a hard time standing brushing little S' teeth. It was all stressfull and wrong. This slut is terribly sorry that she acted rudely and disrespectfully. She's calmed down now.
Forgive me!"
Then I nursed and sang little S to sleep, and when I walked out again, this was on the screen:
"The slut is forgiven. She will get a rub down and a slap before bed. /M"
I wish we didn't have any reason for writing conciliatory notes at bedtime. But since I obviously have to, I'm glad mine is so well received.
Apr 22, 2012
A nice weekend
We've had a weekend at my in-laws place, which means uninterrupted time together in the evenings, sleeping together all night, and having lazy breakfast in front of the tv. And besides arguing and discussing arguments, we've also had time for some other things.
She spanked me, with the leather tawse I gave her for her birthday. It hurt, a lot, and now I have a pretty bruise on my left cheek. Yesterday she bound me with the black ropes she'd brought, tying me up from the feet and all the way up to my hands. We were on a mattress in the living room, and she had me tied up for an hour, watching tv and cuddling. I love the feeling of not being able to get loose, and still being perfectly safe and comfortable.
Eventually, she took advantage of me not being able to cover anything up (not that I usually do) and started caressing me, and we ended up having sex on the floor in front of a very loud tv, masking the sound. There's definitely both pros and cons with having the in-laws downstairs (the pros being that little S is down there with them).
Tomorrow we're back to job and school and daycare and sleeping in between little S waking us up. I must say I'm not totally thrilled.
She spanked me, with the leather tawse I gave her for her birthday. It hurt, a lot, and now I have a pretty bruise on my left cheek. Yesterday she bound me with the black ropes she'd brought, tying me up from the feet and all the way up to my hands. We were on a mattress in the living room, and she had me tied up for an hour, watching tv and cuddling. I love the feeling of not being able to get loose, and still being perfectly safe and comfortable.
Eventually, she took advantage of me not being able to cover anything up (not that I usually do) and started caressing me, and we ended up having sex on the floor in front of a very loud tv, masking the sound. There's definitely both pros and cons with having the in-laws downstairs (the pros being that little S is down there with them).
Tomorrow we're back to job and school and daycare and sleeping in between little S waking us up. I must say I'm not totally thrilled.
Apr 21, 2012
Diagnose: Dysfunction
We had a fight in the middle of the week, I can't remember if it was Thursday or Wednesday. I can't remember, either, exactly what we said, or what happened, and that's not unusal for me in fights. I remember that I was hurt, that I think I'm right, that I have been put upon and badly treated - but give me a few days, and the details get very hazy. Which doesn't take away from the general sentiment, though.
I do remember the theme, however. The theme is "me being sick". It's a regular occurence around here, both the sick-thing and the horrible-fight-thing. Unfortunately. And this week has been such that we haven't been able to talk it out until yesterday. I've been unusually good about that, I loath waiting, and having to live with an unfinished fight for days is some kind of mental torture in my book. But I know how our situation is, I know what Mistress job has been like and my school and everything, so I respected (yey me!) her order when she declared "I'm too tired now, later".
And later, now, after we've talked, I've finally realised it's actually me that has to change. She's not the ogre. If there's an ogre here, it's me.
Every time I get sick, I get apprehensive. My background is such that I expect being treated with contempt, mocked and denied love whenever I need someone or aren't happy. That's not healthy, at all, and it makes me behave in rather dysfunctional ways. One is that when I am in pain or tired (this week I've had a fever and headaches) I don't want to show it. I hide it. Unfortunately, I'm a rather accomplished liar. The whole idea of a stiff upper lip, toughing it out and waiting for someone else to acknowledge you need a break or help only works if someone sees it. It doesn't work if you can lie so that nothing shows for a very long time. But that's what I do.
And when eventually the discomfort is so great I fear not being able to hide it anymore, I panic. I've had different solutions to this, none of them good, but the latest one is simply declaring "I'm too tired" or "I have a bad pain" and saying I need to go away for a rest. Which Mistress grudgingly, coldly acknowledges and agree too - but my fear of the love going away, of being less loved and cherished when I say that I'm ill or need something is confirmed by this every time, and I go away feeling ashamed, worthless and empty. She's obviously displeased with me, and I feel like I'm being treated very unfairly, since I really do try to hold off as long as possible, and ask for as little as possible.
And I haven't been able to come to any other explanation of why she seems so angry than the one stated above. Which is kind of stupid of me, since she takes really good care of me in every other aspect, and seems to genuinely care for my welfare. So why does she gets pissed off and snappy with me simply because I sometimes need a rest? Am I really that worthless to her? That was the general question from me in our fight this week. I realised how incongruent this was, what a paradox, and I wanted to know why she did this.
When we finally could talk about, I had calmed down, I felt connected to her again, and I was able to listen to her. And I realised, for the first time, what it is I'm doing. Not what she's doing. It's me. Of course she's not angry with me for being in pain or tired. I'm right to question that, because it's absolutely ludicrous to think so. She would never do that. She do, however, gets royally pissed off when I withhold information from her, when I make decision all by myself and makes it nearby impossible for her to have a say in the matter, and when I act defensive, angry and stand-offish. That, she doesn't like.
When I angrily marches up to her, and demand to immediately go away and have a break, with no warning or indication beforehand at all, and at the same time is in obvious panic and not willing to talk about it - she gets angry, frustrated and sends me away so that I will come back as soon as possible in some kind of sane mind again. And from that perspective, I get it.
I get my side too. I look panicky and strange and defensive because I'm terrified and drowning in shame. I haven't said anything or shown anything exactly because of that. And I wont negotiate, because I've held on to the last minute and am asking for the absolut minimum I need not to lose it completely. Of course, what I'm most afraid of is losing it completely, showing emotions or fatigue, and being even less loved than I will be anyway. That this is complete bullshit and wont happen I don't realise, because I withdraw myself before it happens.
Obviously, this isn't working. It hasn't worked regularly the last three years, and been the reason for endles amounts of arguments, and of me feeling very very let down, ashamed and disconnected.
Today, I've tried really hard to tell her continously how I'm doing and feeling, and she's tried really hard to ask me, and to listen and comment on my answers. So far, I like this way much better. Who knows, we might be on to something.
I do remember the theme, however. The theme is "me being sick". It's a regular occurence around here, both the sick-thing and the horrible-fight-thing. Unfortunately. And this week has been such that we haven't been able to talk it out until yesterday. I've been unusually good about that, I loath waiting, and having to live with an unfinished fight for days is some kind of mental torture in my book. But I know how our situation is, I know what Mistress job has been like and my school and everything, so I respected (yey me!) her order when she declared "I'm too tired now, later".
And later, now, after we've talked, I've finally realised it's actually me that has to change. She's not the ogre. If there's an ogre here, it's me.
Every time I get sick, I get apprehensive. My background is such that I expect being treated with contempt, mocked and denied love whenever I need someone or aren't happy. That's not healthy, at all, and it makes me behave in rather dysfunctional ways. One is that when I am in pain or tired (this week I've had a fever and headaches) I don't want to show it. I hide it. Unfortunately, I'm a rather accomplished liar. The whole idea of a stiff upper lip, toughing it out and waiting for someone else to acknowledge you need a break or help only works if someone sees it. It doesn't work if you can lie so that nothing shows for a very long time. But that's what I do.
And when eventually the discomfort is so great I fear not being able to hide it anymore, I panic. I've had different solutions to this, none of them good, but the latest one is simply declaring "I'm too tired" or "I have a bad pain" and saying I need to go away for a rest. Which Mistress grudgingly, coldly acknowledges and agree too - but my fear of the love going away, of being less loved and cherished when I say that I'm ill or need something is confirmed by this every time, and I go away feeling ashamed, worthless and empty. She's obviously displeased with me, and I feel like I'm being treated very unfairly, since I really do try to hold off as long as possible, and ask for as little as possible.
And I haven't been able to come to any other explanation of why she seems so angry than the one stated above. Which is kind of stupid of me, since she takes really good care of me in every other aspect, and seems to genuinely care for my welfare. So why does she gets pissed off and snappy with me simply because I sometimes need a rest? Am I really that worthless to her? That was the general question from me in our fight this week. I realised how incongruent this was, what a paradox, and I wanted to know why she did this.
When we finally could talk about, I had calmed down, I felt connected to her again, and I was able to listen to her. And I realised, for the first time, what it is I'm doing. Not what she's doing. It's me. Of course she's not angry with me for being in pain or tired. I'm right to question that, because it's absolutely ludicrous to think so. She would never do that. She do, however, gets royally pissed off when I withhold information from her, when I make decision all by myself and makes it nearby impossible for her to have a say in the matter, and when I act defensive, angry and stand-offish. That, she doesn't like.
When I angrily marches up to her, and demand to immediately go away and have a break, with no warning or indication beforehand at all, and at the same time is in obvious panic and not willing to talk about it - she gets angry, frustrated and sends me away so that I will come back as soon as possible in some kind of sane mind again. And from that perspective, I get it.
I get my side too. I look panicky and strange and defensive because I'm terrified and drowning in shame. I haven't said anything or shown anything exactly because of that. And I wont negotiate, because I've held on to the last minute and am asking for the absolut minimum I need not to lose it completely. Of course, what I'm most afraid of is losing it completely, showing emotions or fatigue, and being even less loved than I will be anyway. That this is complete bullshit and wont happen I don't realise, because I withdraw myself before it happens.
Obviously, this isn't working. It hasn't worked regularly the last three years, and been the reason for endles amounts of arguments, and of me feeling very very let down, ashamed and disconnected.
Today, I've tried really hard to tell her continously how I'm doing and feeling, and she's tried really hard to ask me, and to listen and comment on my answers. So far, I like this way much better. Who knows, we might be on to something.
Apr 19, 2012
Love and safety
And then I started to think about all the things I can trust her to do. All the things she's proven again and again to be true. That I love her and want to be with her is not dependent on that, but whether or not I can feel safe doing that, whether or not I feel confident and proud of how I live my life, that has to do with it.
In our worst moments, the question do arise; am I crazy for doing this? Am I deluding myself? Is love leading me into something, making me stay in something, that isn't healthy for me? Should I feel ashamed over my poor choices, give up all hope, and simply berate myself for being duped? The question is not "should I leave her?" (because I wont) but "should I hate myself for not being able to leave her?". There's a lot of self hate and self blame in that, and for me, unfortunately, that's easy to fall in to.
And then it's important for me to rembember, that yes, this person whom I've chosen to give myself over to completely, whom I obey and follow, might not be perfect, but she's not only the person I love and who loves me back deeply, she's also very very good for me.
We sometimes have trust-related breakdowns, and they are horrible and hurtful. But they pass. And nowadays, we can contain ourselves. We're sad, yes, and angry, but not devastated, and there's a lot less of the drama. One thing I can trust her to do is owning her own problems, working on them and making things better. That's a big thing.
Another thing I can always trust her to do is caring about me. My biggest issue is that I don't see this, because when I get hurt or need caring, I tense up and get defensive, and I have a very hard time interpreting compassion. She, on the other hand, often express it physically, in some sort of practical way. That flies right by me, I don't see it at all usually (I want a hug, and I don't interpret a vacuumed kitchen or a sleep-in as an equivalent), but I've learned what it means. She cares so much, I can't even realise it.
I can trust her to make good decisions for me, for herself and for the baby. She's lived a succesful life before me and with me, she's practical and economical and I can trust her to lead us. That's a big thing too, because I've experienced the alternative, and that's very bad.
Most of all, I can trust her to always love me, to really really love me. The one I really am. All my sides, all my facets. She loves the needy me, the practical me, the goofy me, the creative me, the smart me, every bit of me. She sometimes get exasperated with the bratty me and the sloppy me, but she still sees those parts of me and love me all the same. Nothing is neglected. Nothing is not loved. I think maybe that is the biggest thing. With her, I can be myself. That gives me safety.
In our worst moments, the question do arise; am I crazy for doing this? Am I deluding myself? Is love leading me into something, making me stay in something, that isn't healthy for me? Should I feel ashamed over my poor choices, give up all hope, and simply berate myself for being duped? The question is not "should I leave her?" (because I wont) but "should I hate myself for not being able to leave her?". There's a lot of self hate and self blame in that, and for me, unfortunately, that's easy to fall in to.
And then it's important for me to rembember, that yes, this person whom I've chosen to give myself over to completely, whom I obey and follow, might not be perfect, but she's not only the person I love and who loves me back deeply, she's also very very good for me.
We sometimes have trust-related breakdowns, and they are horrible and hurtful. But they pass. And nowadays, we can contain ourselves. We're sad, yes, and angry, but not devastated, and there's a lot less of the drama. One thing I can trust her to do is owning her own problems, working on them and making things better. That's a big thing.
Another thing I can always trust her to do is caring about me. My biggest issue is that I don't see this, because when I get hurt or need caring, I tense up and get defensive, and I have a very hard time interpreting compassion. She, on the other hand, often express it physically, in some sort of practical way. That flies right by me, I don't see it at all usually (I want a hug, and I don't interpret a vacuumed kitchen or a sleep-in as an equivalent), but I've learned what it means. She cares so much, I can't even realise it.
I can trust her to make good decisions for me, for herself and for the baby. She's lived a succesful life before me and with me, she's practical and economical and I can trust her to lead us. That's a big thing too, because I've experienced the alternative, and that's very bad.
Most of all, I can trust her to always love me, to really really love me. The one I really am. All my sides, all my facets. She loves the needy me, the practical me, the goofy me, the creative me, the smart me, every bit of me. She sometimes get exasperated with the bratty me and the sloppy me, but she still sees those parts of me and love me all the same. Nothing is neglected. Nothing is not loved. I think maybe that is the biggest thing. With her, I can be myself. That gives me safety.
Apr 18, 2012
A bumpy road
I read an interesting text on Fetlife a few days ago, and showed it to my Owner who also liked it. It was about abused and emotionally scarred dominants, and how that can play out in a relationship. A lot of the discussion about emotional problems centers around abused submissives, and how they are to be treated and what is expected of them. If the question is ever lifted regarding dominants, it tends to be simplified into "a dominant must be stable and healthy, otherwise the relationship is abusive" and be left at that.
In many ways, that of course is true. If either party in an intense relationship is severely unstable it will be very detrimental to all parties and the relationship as a whole. And my personal belief is that it is more damaging with the same amount of "trouble" if the troubled one is the dominant part, as in the one holding the whip, holding the money, making all the decisions. (That's not to say a submissive partner with serious issues can't make some real damage too.)
But the thing is, it's a continuum. Everybody has issues (as everybody knows) and how messed about is it ok to be as a dominant? Is nothing but perfect good enough? Because then we're in trouble. I guess I might be hanging with a fairly messed up crowd (like attracts like?), but of the five dominant persons I know more intimately (one of them my ex) four I know for sure has some sort of emotionall problem (anxiety, depression) and/or a bad childhood. That's no different from the submissives I know, or the vanilla people I know, it's par for the course in my social circles. But that's my point. Dominants are no different in that regard.
And neither is my Owner. She's not always emotionally stable, and not alwasy rational from my point of view. I can't trust her to handle every crisis with a clear and cold head. I can't expect her to always give me the benefit of the doubt, to be fair and reasonable, to always excercise good judgement. She often doesn't calm me when I'm uspet, or diffuse intense situations, or see things in proportion.
Rather the opposite, actually - she sometimes seriously freak out. She has scared me, in the past, I have been physically afraid of her because of her temper, and not in a sexy way. I've actually only ones for real believed she was going to strike me in anger (a long time ago) but that one time still happened, and is still a part of our history together. Since then, the only things she's been violent towards is herself and stuff, but to me, that's bad enough.
I really really don't like it. She knows that, of course. She doesn't like it either, and she's worked very hard over the years to overcome it. And succesfully, too - it's much, much better. Not enough better, however, for me not to get a stomach ache every time she's in a bad mood. (We are a poor match in that regard, though, since my history on the other hand has made me almost affect phobic, in the beginning unable to cope with any kind of outward signs of anger from anyone, including me. I've worked on that too.)
My point though, is that I belong to her. Unconditionally. I'm hers, not in spite of her problems, certainly not because of them, but totally regardless of them. I'm hers, and however much I sometimes wish I wasn't, sometimes wish that my ultimatums "never again or I wont stand it" had some sort of real meaning, I know they don't. They just don't. I can't not submit to her as long as I'm in her life, and I can't stand the thought of not being in her life.
Submitting to her is my way of loving. It's how I'm wired, it's how I want to be towards the person I love, it's my way of expressing myself. Any other way, and I would be maiming myself. We talked about that, and she confirmed something I hoped for, and have begun to believe, namely that she feels the same way. Owning me is her way of expressing love, and not doing it would not be really possible.
Personally I think she would have liked to express this level of control in her previous relationships too, only the partners didn't function like I do. For me, that's a happy thought, because one of my fears, one of my trust issues, is that I was the one who initiated the BDSM-aspect of our relationship, I was the one who said "I function like this, this has to be in or I'm out", and it's been very easy for me to sometimes convince myself that it's really only me that wants it. That she's owning me to humour me and placate me, catering to my needs, not because she wants it herself. I don't really believe that anymore, though, not even in our darkest moments. I genuinely believe this is how she ticks too.
Again, what point am I making? Maybe that it was nice to read something that indicated another solution than "get the fuck out" if the dominant is something besides totally emotionally stable. That there are ways of making it work, and not necessary a recipe for disaster. I felt validated in that regard, for the first time ever, perhaps.
For me, my Owner is my soulmate. She's my best friend, the center of my life, my teammate, my missing half. I'm Robin to her Batman. She really is. I know it sounds corny, and so I don't often say it, but that's the way it is. That people were jerks to her when she was a little girl and destroyed stuff for her - well, that makes me want to go and piss on their graves. For real. I'll do it someday. It doesn't, however, makes me love her one bit less.
And my love is expressed as submission, as wanting to belong to her body and soul, as never saying no and never refusing, as obeying and deferring to her. That's true no matter what. It's no less true simply because the road is bumpy sometimes.
In many ways, that of course is true. If either party in an intense relationship is severely unstable it will be very detrimental to all parties and the relationship as a whole. And my personal belief is that it is more damaging with the same amount of "trouble" if the troubled one is the dominant part, as in the one holding the whip, holding the money, making all the decisions. (That's not to say a submissive partner with serious issues can't make some real damage too.)
But the thing is, it's a continuum. Everybody has issues (as everybody knows) and how messed about is it ok to be as a dominant? Is nothing but perfect good enough? Because then we're in trouble. I guess I might be hanging with a fairly messed up crowd (like attracts like?), but of the five dominant persons I know more intimately (one of them my ex) four I know for sure has some sort of emotionall problem (anxiety, depression) and/or a bad childhood. That's no different from the submissives I know, or the vanilla people I know, it's par for the course in my social circles. But that's my point. Dominants are no different in that regard.
And neither is my Owner. She's not always emotionally stable, and not alwasy rational from my point of view. I can't trust her to handle every crisis with a clear and cold head. I can't expect her to always give me the benefit of the doubt, to be fair and reasonable, to always excercise good judgement. She often doesn't calm me when I'm uspet, or diffuse intense situations, or see things in proportion.
Rather the opposite, actually - she sometimes seriously freak out. She has scared me, in the past, I have been physically afraid of her because of her temper, and not in a sexy way. I've actually only ones for real believed she was going to strike me in anger (a long time ago) but that one time still happened, and is still a part of our history together. Since then, the only things she's been violent towards is herself and stuff, but to me, that's bad enough.
I really really don't like it. She knows that, of course. She doesn't like it either, and she's worked very hard over the years to overcome it. And succesfully, too - it's much, much better. Not enough better, however, for me not to get a stomach ache every time she's in a bad mood. (We are a poor match in that regard, though, since my history on the other hand has made me almost affect phobic, in the beginning unable to cope with any kind of outward signs of anger from anyone, including me. I've worked on that too.)
My point though, is that I belong to her. Unconditionally. I'm hers, not in spite of her problems, certainly not because of them, but totally regardless of them. I'm hers, and however much I sometimes wish I wasn't, sometimes wish that my ultimatums "never again or I wont stand it" had some sort of real meaning, I know they don't. They just don't. I can't not submit to her as long as I'm in her life, and I can't stand the thought of not being in her life.
Submitting to her is my way of loving. It's how I'm wired, it's how I want to be towards the person I love, it's my way of expressing myself. Any other way, and I would be maiming myself. We talked about that, and she confirmed something I hoped for, and have begun to believe, namely that she feels the same way. Owning me is her way of expressing love, and not doing it would not be really possible.
Personally I think she would have liked to express this level of control in her previous relationships too, only the partners didn't function like I do. For me, that's a happy thought, because one of my fears, one of my trust issues, is that I was the one who initiated the BDSM-aspect of our relationship, I was the one who said "I function like this, this has to be in or I'm out", and it's been very easy for me to sometimes convince myself that it's really only me that wants it. That she's owning me to humour me and placate me, catering to my needs, not because she wants it herself. I don't really believe that anymore, though, not even in our darkest moments. I genuinely believe this is how she ticks too.
Again, what point am I making? Maybe that it was nice to read something that indicated another solution than "get the fuck out" if the dominant is something besides totally emotionally stable. That there are ways of making it work, and not necessary a recipe for disaster. I felt validated in that regard, for the first time ever, perhaps.
For me, my Owner is my soulmate. She's my best friend, the center of my life, my teammate, my missing half. I'm Robin to her Batman. She really is. I know it sounds corny, and so I don't often say it, but that's the way it is. That people were jerks to her when she was a little girl and destroyed stuff for her - well, that makes me want to go and piss on their graves. For real. I'll do it someday. It doesn't, however, makes me love her one bit less.
And my love is expressed as submission, as wanting to belong to her body and soul, as never saying no and never refusing, as obeying and deferring to her. That's true no matter what. It's no less true simply because the road is bumpy sometimes.
Apr 16, 2012
Sickly-sickeli-sick
And then I'm sick again. Feeling unwell, having a slight fever, headache, a little soar throat. No more than would be possible to ignore, but making me feel cranky, and unwilling to do anything.
Normally, I would have tried to brush it off, and continued with my plans for the day. But I have a gnawing suspicion that my tendency not to take care when I feel ill (in fear of appearing lazy or not being good enough) have contributed to me being sicker than I otherwise would have been, and now I try a different approach, staying home. This has so far led to 1) massive guilt and bad conscience, 2) four phone calls to class mates I'm doing a project with and should have been in a meeting with right now and 3) two hours working at my home computer. I'm not sure this is actually more restful than simply going to school.
I hate being sick. And I'm sick all the time. Bleeerrgh!
(When I was 14 I was systematically and cruelly bullied in school. I started to develop a lot of (genuinely felt) psychosomatic symtoms, fevers, headaches, stomach aches and so on, very much like the symtoms I have today (though I think this really is a virus).
My parents declared me "not really sick" and made me go to school anyway after a while, leaving me with a feeling of shame and abandonment (on top of bullying and headache and fever) and never asking why I always felt crappy sunday nights and the day before PE.
Every time I get sick now, I feel that same shame and abandonment, and want to crawl in to a hole and hide and not exist for a while. It's way worse than the actual, physical symtoms. This has not been a happy winter.)
Normally, I would have tried to brush it off, and continued with my plans for the day. But I have a gnawing suspicion that my tendency not to take care when I feel ill (in fear of appearing lazy or not being good enough) have contributed to me being sicker than I otherwise would have been, and now I try a different approach, staying home. This has so far led to 1) massive guilt and bad conscience, 2) four phone calls to class mates I'm doing a project with and should have been in a meeting with right now and 3) two hours working at my home computer. I'm not sure this is actually more restful than simply going to school.
I hate being sick. And I'm sick all the time. Bleeerrgh!
(When I was 14 I was systematically and cruelly bullied in school. I started to develop a lot of (genuinely felt) psychosomatic symtoms, fevers, headaches, stomach aches and so on, very much like the symtoms I have today (though I think this really is a virus).
My parents declared me "not really sick" and made me go to school anyway after a while, leaving me with a feeling of shame and abandonment (on top of bullying and headache and fever) and never asking why I always felt crappy sunday nights and the day before PE.
Every time I get sick now, I feel that same shame and abandonment, and want to crawl in to a hole and hide and not exist for a while. It's way worse than the actual, physical symtoms. This has not been a happy winter.)
Apr 14, 2012
D&D
Not all is drama, and not all is BDSM either. Today my parents took turns babysitting little S (since none of them were free all day), and we got to play Dungeons&Dragons (3,5) all day. That's a table top role playing game, as information to anyone who's not a nerd.
It was wonderful. We were able to hang out together with old friends, and do the stuff we did when we first became friends, and when we first fell in love. It's really nostalgic, and still really really fun even now. We do not outgrow it.
I think we need to do stuff like this, stuff just for us, play together in the vanilla sense, to be healthy and happy. When little S gets bigger, we'll play videogames with her and have blast. And roleplay. And bring her to LARPS. (Well, that we've already done, when she was 4 months old. But I'm not sure that counts.)
The terrible burden of having nerdy parents
It was wonderful. We were able to hang out together with old friends, and do the stuff we did when we first became friends, and when we first fell in love. It's really nostalgic, and still really really fun even now. We do not outgrow it.
I think we need to do stuff like this, stuff just for us, play together in the vanilla sense, to be healthy and happy. When little S gets bigger, we'll play videogames with her and have blast. And roleplay. And bring her to LARPS. (Well, that we've already done, when she was 4 months old. But I'm not sure that counts.)
The terrible burden of having nerdy parents
Apr 13, 2012
Good enough?
On a completely different note, I've been thinking about "service" and about "the Masters needs go first" even though in this case of course it's Mistress. It's all Fetlifes fault. Other peoples ideas, seeping in to my own.
I usually read about stuff like that, shrug and think "well that's not me, or maybe I'm simply bad at it". My first reaction is that no, I don't put Mistress' needs before my own.
And then I contemplated it a bit more, and realised that yes, of course I do. To the best of my ability. But my ability is so far below my own idea of what standard I should live up to, that in my eyes it doesn't even count.
I definitely "put her needs first" in so far that her happiness is necessary for my happiness. If I know a way to please her, I do it. I think my contentment and safety and well-being is necessary for her happiness in equal regard, there's really not much imbalance there.
But often, I don't know a way, or am not able to fulfill it. I'm often tired, and overwhelmed. She's not always that clear about her preferences. Or her preferences is for me to do things for myself, to rest or do something I like. And sometimes, I make sure I do things like that, because otherwise I literary break down.
I have a bad back that's bothering me a bit, and when I stand a lot, it hurts, intensely. It's some sort of nerv damage, one of many side effects of pregnancy. I try to get to the gym a lot and exercise in order to get rid of the problem, but it means both that I have to rest from time to time, even when it's inconvenient (right now, for example - I would much rather dust our living room, but it's wiser for me to sit on the sofa), and also to be at the gym rather than studying or cleaning for example.
This winter, from November and on, I've been sick a lot more than I've been healthy. Two bouts of the flu, both followed by bacteria, the first one giving me pneumonia and the other one sinusitis. I've been eating penicillin for the first time in my adult life, twice in four months. One or two bouts of stomach disease, and a whole lot of colds. Between that, not much service going on.
And winter combined with sickness led to an even greater concern, namnely depression. I was clinically depressed during january and february, and it's not until the spring came and I broke free of it that I've realised just how bad it was. It was horrible. And when everything is a bleak drudgery, interspersed with angst and horrible, pervasive pictures of hurting yourself, that service orientation thing kind of goes out the window. I tried desperately to perform okay as a mother, wife and student, and I tear up even now when I consider how badly I failed.
Depression is a bitch. I know I'm in danger of falling down that terrible hole every winter, I obviously suffers from Seasonal Affective Disorder, as do my mother, and epidemically that's worst for women in the end of their thirties. I'm in the beginning of my thirties, so it's likely to get worse each year from now on. It's very clearly stress induced for me, so if I had a choice, I would work half time during december, january and february, and save myself the grief. That might be possible in the future, but right now, the next winter, we'll be as poor as this one, and it'll be just as important for me to do well in school. I dread it a little.
Anyway, depression = bad for everything. But I think my shame and guilt over being sick and not being able to do the things I want to and other people need me to do, makes me a harder judge on myself then necessary. I can't compensate for all the months I lost. But if I stop trying to do that, I am able to see that what I do do now, actually might be enough. At least, most importantly, my Mistress says it is.
She's satisfied with me. She thinks the things I do are good and she's glad I'm doing them. It's just that I do things that come naturally to me, and feels easy, and she does things that comes naturally for her, and feels easy to her, and I've a hard time realising that it might also be the other way around.
She pays the bills, and I'm so grateful for that. But I manage our social calender, make sure we stay in touch with friends, and she's grateful for that. She vacuums and dusts and do the dishes more than me - but I always help, without her asking. And I always clean the bathroom, and the fishtank. And while she does a lot of housework, I keep little S occupied and out from under her feet, and that's no easy task either...
I think I'll simply have to stop berating myself, be content with the fact that my Mistress is happy with me and promises to tell me if she isn't, and that I can't help being sick, in either way. I'm good enough. My Mistress say so.
I usually read about stuff like that, shrug and think "well that's not me, or maybe I'm simply bad at it". My first reaction is that no, I don't put Mistress' needs before my own.
And then I contemplated it a bit more, and realised that yes, of course I do. To the best of my ability. But my ability is so far below my own idea of what standard I should live up to, that in my eyes it doesn't even count.
I definitely "put her needs first" in so far that her happiness is necessary for my happiness. If I know a way to please her, I do it. I think my contentment and safety and well-being is necessary for her happiness in equal regard, there's really not much imbalance there.
But often, I don't know a way, or am not able to fulfill it. I'm often tired, and overwhelmed. She's not always that clear about her preferences. Or her preferences is for me to do things for myself, to rest or do something I like. And sometimes, I make sure I do things like that, because otherwise I literary break down.
I have a bad back that's bothering me a bit, and when I stand a lot, it hurts, intensely. It's some sort of nerv damage, one of many side effects of pregnancy. I try to get to the gym a lot and exercise in order to get rid of the problem, but it means both that I have to rest from time to time, even when it's inconvenient (right now, for example - I would much rather dust our living room, but it's wiser for me to sit on the sofa), and also to be at the gym rather than studying or cleaning for example.
This winter, from November and on, I've been sick a lot more than I've been healthy. Two bouts of the flu, both followed by bacteria, the first one giving me pneumonia and the other one sinusitis. I've been eating penicillin for the first time in my adult life, twice in four months. One or two bouts of stomach disease, and a whole lot of colds. Between that, not much service going on.
And winter combined with sickness led to an even greater concern, namnely depression. I was clinically depressed during january and february, and it's not until the spring came and I broke free of it that I've realised just how bad it was. It was horrible. And when everything is a bleak drudgery, interspersed with angst and horrible, pervasive pictures of hurting yourself, that service orientation thing kind of goes out the window. I tried desperately to perform okay as a mother, wife and student, and I tear up even now when I consider how badly I failed.
Depression is a bitch. I know I'm in danger of falling down that terrible hole every winter, I obviously suffers from Seasonal Affective Disorder, as do my mother, and epidemically that's worst for women in the end of their thirties. I'm in the beginning of my thirties, so it's likely to get worse each year from now on. It's very clearly stress induced for me, so if I had a choice, I would work half time during december, january and february, and save myself the grief. That might be possible in the future, but right now, the next winter, we'll be as poor as this one, and it'll be just as important for me to do well in school. I dread it a little.
Anyway, depression = bad for everything. But I think my shame and guilt over being sick and not being able to do the things I want to and other people need me to do, makes me a harder judge on myself then necessary. I can't compensate for all the months I lost. But if I stop trying to do that, I am able to see that what I do do now, actually might be enough. At least, most importantly, my Mistress says it is.
She's satisfied with me. She thinks the things I do are good and she's glad I'm doing them. It's just that I do things that come naturally to me, and feels easy, and she does things that comes naturally for her, and feels easy to her, and I've a hard time realising that it might also be the other way around.
She pays the bills, and I'm so grateful for that. But I manage our social calender, make sure we stay in touch with friends, and she's grateful for that. She vacuums and dusts and do the dishes more than me - but I always help, without her asking. And I always clean the bathroom, and the fishtank. And while she does a lot of housework, I keep little S occupied and out from under her feet, and that's no easy task either...
The fishtankPublished with Blogger-droid v1.5.8
I think I'll simply have to stop berating myself, be content with the fact that my Mistress is happy with me and promises to tell me if she isn't, and that I can't help being sick, in either way. I'm good enough. My Mistress say so.
Drama queens and bad moods
This morning, when I stepped out of the shower, suddenly there was something wrong. My Owner was sitting in the living room with little S on her lap giving her her bottle, but her face was wooden, her voice was flat, her whole demeanor had changed. Everything was ok when we got up, we even had time to snuggle a bit before the little one came in to our bedroom, but now, apparently, something was not ok anymore.
I hate when that happen! I hate it, I hate it, I hate it! I'm not good with mood swings, I'm not good with moods generally, and I suck at it when it comes to my Owner. I immediately tensed up, simply from looking at her and hearing the tone of her voice, and went to the kitchen, and ended up standing at the counter not knowing that to do.
Was it me? Had I done something wrong? Was it little S? Had something else entirely happened? What would happen now? What should I do? It was as if all will to live, to even exist, had drained out of me in that one second in the living room. I had no direction, no intentions, no desire to do anything.
The only thing I wanted was for the person in the chair in the living room to transform back to my loving, present, reliable Owner. And I know, by now, that there was nothing I could do to make that happen.
I gathered myself, and most unwilingly, made some breakfast. My Owner came in and said, with that dead voice that makes me cringe, that she'd made me eggs. I wanted to scream at her that I didn't want eggs. I wanted her. I couldn't care less for eggs or tea or anything at all, as long as she treated me as if I'd done something wrong without telling me what it was.
But I didn't. I said "thank you" and took the egg and the tea and sat down and ate my breakfast. It was incredibly hard to do, but I did it. I even conversed semi-normally with little S. "I could say 'I'm sorry' my Owner said, while I went to sit down. "Yes, that would help" I answered, but then she didn't. She told me about pressure at work and decisions she had to make, that made her feel bad and behave like she did, but I was waiting for the apology, and in lack of it, my empathy level was low. I didn't really care what specific things at work made her act like a jerk to me - only that she seemed to think it was justified.
I finished my breakfast and when I prepared to leave for school my Owner met me in the hallway and hugged me, and I told her, almost crying: "You never said you were sorry!" "I didn't? I thought I did." "NO! You only said it would help if you said it..." "Oh. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't say it, and I'm sorry I was grumpy. I'm sorry I hurt you, my little girl. I love you." "I love you too! And it's ok." And we hugged some more, and little S wanted to hug too, and then I could relatively calm ride my bike to school and a very early appointment.
This is so typical of us. It's such small things, accompanied with such strong emotions. She's stressed out over something at work - and have almost a full blown anxiety attack. I interpret that as anger, and very nearly fall in to a fit of rage. We bump in to each other, and it's so very very hard to do the right things, to find our way back from the brink of disaster.
This time, we did all the right things. I didn't attack her. I didn't confront her, there in the living room, I didn't pester her with questions of what's wrong and why wont she tell me. I went and tried to go about my day, eating breakfast. And she didn't belittle me or lie or avoid, she didn't pretend to not know what upset me. And she didn't interpret me being upset as an accusation, and didn't fall in to the trap of thinking everything was lost anyway, so why try? Instead she did what she could to comfort me, and when the bad cloud had passed, she hugged me and said she was sorry. And I was calm enough to accept that, to receive it and reciprocate. We didn't say anything bad, we didn't scare or upset little S, and we both could work afterwards. That's very very good of us. And incredibly hard to do.
And still I wish we wouldn't have to be good at it. I wish it came naturally. I wish we weren't drama queens with anxiety attacks, fits of rage and separation angst. I wish I could simply live with her being grumpy for five minutes, without feeling like the sky had fallen down over my head. And I wish she could handle a decision, albeit a difficult one, without zooming out completely and become some sort of other person, impossible to make real contact with. That I wish more then anything, perhaps because that is the part I have no control over.
We have a long history of ugly arguments and fights. Mostly the first years of our relationships, it has been getting steadily better. But everytime it gets like this morning, all those other times feels real close, and I feel really, really scared. I wish it wasn't so.
I hate when that happen! I hate it, I hate it, I hate it! I'm not good with mood swings, I'm not good with moods generally, and I suck at it when it comes to my Owner. I immediately tensed up, simply from looking at her and hearing the tone of her voice, and went to the kitchen, and ended up standing at the counter not knowing that to do.
Was it me? Had I done something wrong? Was it little S? Had something else entirely happened? What would happen now? What should I do? It was as if all will to live, to even exist, had drained out of me in that one second in the living room. I had no direction, no intentions, no desire to do anything.
The only thing I wanted was for the person in the chair in the living room to transform back to my loving, present, reliable Owner. And I know, by now, that there was nothing I could do to make that happen.
I gathered myself, and most unwilingly, made some breakfast. My Owner came in and said, with that dead voice that makes me cringe, that she'd made me eggs. I wanted to scream at her that I didn't want eggs. I wanted her. I couldn't care less for eggs or tea or anything at all, as long as she treated me as if I'd done something wrong without telling me what it was.
But I didn't. I said "thank you" and took the egg and the tea and sat down and ate my breakfast. It was incredibly hard to do, but I did it. I even conversed semi-normally with little S. "I could say 'I'm sorry' my Owner said, while I went to sit down. "Yes, that would help" I answered, but then she didn't. She told me about pressure at work and decisions she had to make, that made her feel bad and behave like she did, but I was waiting for the apology, and in lack of it, my empathy level was low. I didn't really care what specific things at work made her act like a jerk to me - only that she seemed to think it was justified.
I finished my breakfast and when I prepared to leave for school my Owner met me in the hallway and hugged me, and I told her, almost crying: "You never said you were sorry!" "I didn't? I thought I did." "NO! You only said it would help if you said it..." "Oh. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't say it, and I'm sorry I was grumpy. I'm sorry I hurt you, my little girl. I love you." "I love you too! And it's ok." And we hugged some more, and little S wanted to hug too, and then I could relatively calm ride my bike to school and a very early appointment.
This is so typical of us. It's such small things, accompanied with such strong emotions. She's stressed out over something at work - and have almost a full blown anxiety attack. I interpret that as anger, and very nearly fall in to a fit of rage. We bump in to each other, and it's so very very hard to do the right things, to find our way back from the brink of disaster.
This time, we did all the right things. I didn't attack her. I didn't confront her, there in the living room, I didn't pester her with questions of what's wrong and why wont she tell me. I went and tried to go about my day, eating breakfast. And she didn't belittle me or lie or avoid, she didn't pretend to not know what upset me. And she didn't interpret me being upset as an accusation, and didn't fall in to the trap of thinking everything was lost anyway, so why try? Instead she did what she could to comfort me, and when the bad cloud had passed, she hugged me and said she was sorry. And I was calm enough to accept that, to receive it and reciprocate. We didn't say anything bad, we didn't scare or upset little S, and we both could work afterwards. That's very very good of us. And incredibly hard to do.
And still I wish we wouldn't have to be good at it. I wish it came naturally. I wish we weren't drama queens with anxiety attacks, fits of rage and separation angst. I wish I could simply live with her being grumpy for five minutes, without feeling like the sky had fallen down over my head. And I wish she could handle a decision, albeit a difficult one, without zooming out completely and become some sort of other person, impossible to make real contact with. That I wish more then anything, perhaps because that is the part I have no control over.
We have a long history of ugly arguments and fights. Mostly the first years of our relationships, it has been getting steadily better. But everytime it gets like this morning, all those other times feels real close, and I feel really, really scared. I wish it wasn't so.
Apr 11, 2012
Birch
We had a wonderful Easter vacation at my in-laws cabin by the Baltic Sea in the north of Sweden. Cold, sunny days, beatiful full moon, all kinds of birds, a lot of outdoor work, and most importantly - evening, nights and mornings baby free, in our very own little miniature-cabin by the water's edge. It's really small, there's really only room for our narrow sofa bed, and a bureau with an electric kettle on, but it's ours, and we can have some privacy.
At the Easter Sunday* we made good use of this privacy, and my Owner used the birch on me. It was officially taken in as Easter decorations, and I even put some feathers in it, but these were later removed, and I tied it properly, and more for my sake than for hers, took away any twigs that were too pointy and all over the place. Eventually we had a very nice looking, traditional birch.
The carefully constructed instrument of traditional torture
The thing is, I discovered my masochistic nature around five years old, and as a young adult I also discovered internet. Which led to a lot of pornographic web surfing, at that time mostly centered on spanking. Birch featured heavily in these novels (mostly) and pictures (some). Even though that was some ten years ago, I still have very vivid images in my head about how it should be; look like, feel, and so on.
My Mistress discovered she was a sadist by hooking up with me and realising how very satisfactory it was to finally being able to slap me in the face when I mouthed off to her, after something like six years of close friendship. Her pornographic history differs from mine.
So while I was happily busy perfecting the intstrument of torture, I think she mostly smiled at my happiness, and went and did other things.
And then she had me on the bed, bare assed, and started to hit me, and I yelped and couldn't lie still, and it was very very painful. In the end, because she likes it when it's possible for me to relax in to it, she had to use it so gently at my skin that it was hardly even hitting me. When I was warmed up, she could use real strokes wothout me levitating to the ceiling, but afterwards she claimed to be bored by then, and losing interest.
*sigh*
Either she'll choose to use something else for warm up, or she'll simply tie me down and have at it anyway. Or, the saddest part, it was a bust and I'll have to take all my carefully perfected dreams about traditional Swedish corporal punishment and fold them away again in a drawer. It was, however, fun while it lasted.
Afterwards, we removed the string and throw the twigs out through the window, in the bushes. Good thing with living in the wilderness for a while!
(*Swedes have strange tradition (I should know, I am one). Almost every holiday is celebrated properly the day before the actual day... We celebrate Christmas Eve, while Christmas Day is a slacker day without much happening except eating left overs. The same with Easter - the big family get-together was Easter Eve, the day before Easter Sunday. For some reason, we apparantely celebrate that Christ is safely in the ground and will arise shortly...)
At the Easter Sunday* we made good use of this privacy, and my Owner used the birch on me. It was officially taken in as Easter decorations, and I even put some feathers in it, but these were later removed, and I tied it properly, and more for my sake than for hers, took away any twigs that were too pointy and all over the place. Eventually we had a very nice looking, traditional birch.
The carefully constructed instrument of traditional tortureThe thing is, I discovered my masochistic nature around five years old, and as a young adult I also discovered internet. Which led to a lot of pornographic web surfing, at that time mostly centered on spanking. Birch featured heavily in these novels (mostly) and pictures (some). Even though that was some ten years ago, I still have very vivid images in my head about how it should be; look like, feel, and so on.
My Mistress discovered she was a sadist by hooking up with me and realising how very satisfactory it was to finally being able to slap me in the face when I mouthed off to her, after something like six years of close friendship. Her pornographic history differs from mine.
So while I was happily busy perfecting the intstrument of torture, I think she mostly smiled at my happiness, and went and did other things.
And then she had me on the bed, bare assed, and started to hit me, and I yelped and couldn't lie still, and it was very very painful. In the end, because she likes it when it's possible for me to relax in to it, she had to use it so gently at my skin that it was hardly even hitting me. When I was warmed up, she could use real strokes wothout me levitating to the ceiling, but afterwards she claimed to be bored by then, and losing interest.
*sigh*
Either she'll choose to use something else for warm up, or she'll simply tie me down and have at it anyway. Or, the saddest part, it was a bust and I'll have to take all my carefully perfected dreams about traditional Swedish corporal punishment and fold them away again in a drawer. It was, however, fun while it lasted.
Afterwards, we removed the string and throw the twigs out through the window, in the bushes. Good thing with living in the wilderness for a while!
(*Swedes have strange tradition (I should know, I am one). Almost every holiday is celebrated properly the day before the actual day... We celebrate Christmas Eve, while Christmas Day is a slacker day without much happening except eating left overs. The same with Easter - the big family get-together was Easter Eve, the day before Easter Sunday. For some reason, we apparantely celebrate that Christ is safely in the ground and will arise shortly...)
Apr 3, 2012
There's a tempest in the teacup...
Mistress is going through the first part of the rituals around putting little S to sleep. When she's done with reading stories and giving her the bottle, I'll take over and nurse and rock her to sleep in her dark bedroom, before I lay her down in her little bed. I try to have her half-awake when I put her down, so that she'll know what's happening and wont come traipsing out again after five minutes, looking for me. But it's a balance; too awake, and she'll make a game out of it, and it'll take another half hour.
When she's finally gone to sleep, Mistress and I have an hour or so before we go to bed, and that's the best part of the whole day. Usually we don't do much, we cuddle on the couch in front of the tv, and drink some tea before bed. It's our time to talk, our time to re-connect, to hug without being screamed at. Understandably, anything that postpone that time is highly annoying. And yet, any stress or rush will get little S worked up and angry, so somehow, we both have to accept the time it takes, and make the most of it.
That's one of the reason we've split it in two. There has been periods of time where we've taken every other night instead, and other periods when it's been only one of us all nights. Right now this works best. You can only take so much of too tired, difficult 2,5-year old and not lose your temper, so switching it up has it's advantages.
But just now, Mistress came out alone from the nursery, with a deep, irritated sigh. I asked if I could help, and got a grumpy "No!" as answer. She went out in the kitchen and started cutting something, and I figure little S had declared hunger and wanted fruit.
It's not my fault. It's not something I could have prevented, or helped with, or done differently. In my head, I realise Mistress isn't really annoyed with me - she's annoyed with the child, for very good reasons. Not to mention that she prepared the fruit, went back in, and now are back to reading stories.
But my stomach clench up and ache, as do my throat. My neck muscles tense. I can feel my whole body prepare for attack. I hate that tone of voice. I hate hearing her being disgruntled. I hate her anger, her temper, her irritation. It scares me, it fills me with despair and fear, and it makes me want to cry, to fight, to run.
And I hate that I react this way. I haven't yet figure out how not to care.
Now I need to relax and gather myself, so that I'm able to be calm and balanced and full of patience when they call for me from the nursery. And I hate that too - that I can't get a hug, or a reassurance, or something. And also, I have to get over it so that I don't pick a fight the first thing I do when little S has finally gone to sleep, because then it'll ruin the whole evening, and probably tomorrow too, and we can't afford that.
I'm not good at self-soothing. Or reasonable responses to others anger. I'm just not good at it.
When she's finally gone to sleep, Mistress and I have an hour or so before we go to bed, and that's the best part of the whole day. Usually we don't do much, we cuddle on the couch in front of the tv, and drink some tea before bed. It's our time to talk, our time to re-connect, to hug without being screamed at. Understandably, anything that postpone that time is highly annoying. And yet, any stress or rush will get little S worked up and angry, so somehow, we both have to accept the time it takes, and make the most of it.
That's one of the reason we've split it in two. There has been periods of time where we've taken every other night instead, and other periods when it's been only one of us all nights. Right now this works best. You can only take so much of too tired, difficult 2,5-year old and not lose your temper, so switching it up has it's advantages.
But just now, Mistress came out alone from the nursery, with a deep, irritated sigh. I asked if I could help, and got a grumpy "No!" as answer. She went out in the kitchen and started cutting something, and I figure little S had declared hunger and wanted fruit.
It's not my fault. It's not something I could have prevented, or helped with, or done differently. In my head, I realise Mistress isn't really annoyed with me - she's annoyed with the child, for very good reasons. Not to mention that she prepared the fruit, went back in, and now are back to reading stories.
But my stomach clench up and ache, as do my throat. My neck muscles tense. I can feel my whole body prepare for attack. I hate that tone of voice. I hate hearing her being disgruntled. I hate her anger, her temper, her irritation. It scares me, it fills me with despair and fear, and it makes me want to cry, to fight, to run.
And I hate that I react this way. I haven't yet figure out how not to care.
Now I need to relax and gather myself, so that I'm able to be calm and balanced and full of patience when they call for me from the nursery. And I hate that too - that I can't get a hug, or a reassurance, or something. And also, I have to get over it so that I don't pick a fight the first thing I do when little S has finally gone to sleep, because then it'll ruin the whole evening, and probably tomorrow too, and we can't afford that.
I'm not good at self-soothing. Or reasonable responses to others anger. I'm just not good at it.
Apr 2, 2012
The taming of the... horse?
One big thing that confused me and upset me in the beginning was the sex. She didn't want me, I thought. Whenever I tried something to please her and show her I loved her, I was met with empty stares, or her shrugging me off. When I got upset by the rejection, she got defensive and angry. And I didn't get it. I mean, I did everything right. Exactly as he taught me.
Yeah.
It took me a while to figure that one out, which is a bit embarrassing. But I got it, after a long while. The details I got pretty fast, I quickly stopped doing most of the things that annoyed her. But I didn't really got the big picture for maybe a year or so (I said it was embarrassing...)
I thought she destroyed me, spoiled me in the worst meaning of the word. That she taught me how to do things differently, and in the process made me worse, less desirable, less valued. She didn't want the things he had taught me made me loved and valuable, she made me not do them, and all I could see was that she would eventually stop value me and stop love me and get rid of me. So I resisted, as much as I could.
Until I finally got it.
I finally got that what she was teaching me was how to be good for her, how to do things the way she wanted them done. It was harder to get, I think in my own defence, because a lot of what she wanted was for me not to do things. To be still. To be receptive. To listen and follow. To take what she gave, without resistance. To let her set the pace, let her decide, ler her initiate things, and follow her lead. To do that, I had to dare let go and stop doing stuff, and it took some courage, actually.
An analogy that I've come to think of is of me as a horse. A fine, well-trained horse. With my boyfriend, he kept me as a racing horse. Full of force, speed, nerves. Constantly on tip-toe, constantly moving and trying to break free, running in any direction. He liked that, he liked that his job was to point me in a direction and let me run. He, I think, liked the drama. Even if it also meant that the horse in question would rear, and sometimes run into things.
Racehorse
And when Mistress took over, she didn't want the horse to be a racing horse anymore. She wanted it to be a dressage horse. As fine, as well trained, as powerful. But with a quiet grace and calm and all that power well collected and under minute control. But to make a racing horse in to a dressage horse, you first must make it stop running around prancing...
Dressage
I don't know if it's a good analogy, but it works for me. It explains that confused helpless feeling I got when I realised all that stuff I did, things I thought required of me, wasn't wanted and I had to stop doing them. What good is a slow, untrained race horse? It's dog food. It took me a while to realise Mistress wasn't throwing my talent away because she didn't want me - she simply wanted me to excel at other things.
Nowadays, I lay perfectly still when she beats me. Or well, no I don't, but I try, and I know that's what she wants from me. She doesn't want visual or oral evidence of how she's hurting me, she wants me to be still and accept it. So I do. And I very rarely initiate sex, and if I do it's with great care and low expectations, because I know I please her more that way. She don't mind me being horny and wanting her, but she doesn't expect it from me all the time, and she do want me not to push it. So I don't. And so on and so forth.
Yeah.
It took me a while to figure that one out, which is a bit embarrassing. But I got it, after a long while. The details I got pretty fast, I quickly stopped doing most of the things that annoyed her. But I didn't really got the big picture for maybe a year or so (I said it was embarrassing...)
I thought she destroyed me, spoiled me in the worst meaning of the word. That she taught me how to do things differently, and in the process made me worse, less desirable, less valued. She didn't want the things he had taught me made me loved and valuable, she made me not do them, and all I could see was that she would eventually stop value me and stop love me and get rid of me. So I resisted, as much as I could.
Until I finally got it.
I finally got that what she was teaching me was how to be good for her, how to do things the way she wanted them done. It was harder to get, I think in my own defence, because a lot of what she wanted was for me not to do things. To be still. To be receptive. To listen and follow. To take what she gave, without resistance. To let her set the pace, let her decide, ler her initiate things, and follow her lead. To do that, I had to dare let go and stop doing stuff, and it took some courage, actually.
An analogy that I've come to think of is of me as a horse. A fine, well-trained horse. With my boyfriend, he kept me as a racing horse. Full of force, speed, nerves. Constantly on tip-toe, constantly moving and trying to break free, running in any direction. He liked that, he liked that his job was to point me in a direction and let me run. He, I think, liked the drama. Even if it also meant that the horse in question would rear, and sometimes run into things.
RacehorseAnd when Mistress took over, she didn't want the horse to be a racing horse anymore. She wanted it to be a dressage horse. As fine, as well trained, as powerful. But with a quiet grace and calm and all that power well collected and under minute control. But to make a racing horse in to a dressage horse, you first must make it stop running around prancing...
DressageI don't know if it's a good analogy, but it works for me. It explains that confused helpless feeling I got when I realised all that stuff I did, things I thought required of me, wasn't wanted and I had to stop doing them. What good is a slow, untrained race horse? It's dog food. It took me a while to realise Mistress wasn't throwing my talent away because she didn't want me - she simply wanted me to excel at other things.
Nowadays, I lay perfectly still when she beats me. Or well, no I don't, but I try, and I know that's what she wants from me. She doesn't want visual or oral evidence of how she's hurting me, she wants me to be still and accept it. So I do. And I very rarely initiate sex, and if I do it's with great care and low expectations, because I know I please her more that way. She don't mind me being horny and wanting her, but she doesn't expect it from me all the time, and she do want me not to push it. So I don't. And so on and so forth.
Fears
When I left my ex and moved in with Mistress, we already had a power exchange in place. We had come to terms with me being submissive, and she had realised she enjoyed dominating me. Still, it was a new thing for us to be alone together, for her to have me all to herself, and to me to not being torn between two conflicting masters. It was a huge relief, but also kind of scary. We fought a lot, horrible, angst-filled conflicts that could last for days, flaring up again and again. They always centerd on the same theme, the same one we fight about to this day to be honest; "Do you really want me?"
For me, it was "do you really want my submission? Do you want me in this fashion, in this way that I'm trying to give myself up to you? Do you want me enough to be careful of me, to keep me and treat me well? Do you? Do you really really? Really?"
For her it was the same, I think, but the other way around: "Do you really want to be controlled? Are you really ok with me doing horrible things to you? Are you going to tell me I'm a horrible person and leave me? You can't really want this, can you?"
And we desperately wanted the other one to soothe our fears, without being very good at listening to the answers...
For me, it was "do you really want my submission? Do you want me in this fashion, in this way that I'm trying to give myself up to you? Do you want me enough to be careful of me, to keep me and treat me well? Do you? Do you really really? Really?"
For her it was the same, I think, but the other way around: "Do you really want to be controlled? Are you really ok with me doing horrible things to you? Are you going to tell me I'm a horrible person and leave me? You can't really want this, can you?"
And we desperately wanted the other one to soothe our fears, without being very good at listening to the answers...
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