Jan 31, 2013

Guilt by association

Mistress got a package today, the key ring to the collar from wyredslave that she'd bought. She promptly lost one of the keys, and they didn't include the ordered key on a keyring, so now it came in a special delivery. I'm sitting right now with the collar on, and it feels so good. I love it.

In the package there were also some gifts, postcards with quotes on, and a calendar that was a refrigerator magnet. It wont be going on our fridge though I wish it could, but one of the quotes read something like "it's the submissive who shows to others what type of persons owns them". That made me think of the workshop, and wonder how people perceive me in these circles, and how that reflects on Mistress.

I do know that I stand out a bit. Not that I look odd or anything, I have a feeling I look very very normal - a jeans and sweaters thirty-something mom, long brown hair in ponytail, a little on the plump side, cute-ish but not remarkable, no make up, no fancy shoes or jewellery. A bit plain, even. But in any kind of group discussions, I'm always one of those four or five people that talks. I always raise my hand, and I always have something to say.

I really do try to not be one of those that people roll their eyes at, I strive to be short and succinct and to keep my points relevant to the discussion. I often share something personal or some reflection or another, I'm not usually debating or arguing. But being in the discussion, participating, voicing thoughts and opinions, is what makes it interesting for me. What makes it relevant. I can sit still and just listen for two hours, but I wont remember a thing, and I would be dead tired. It's so much easier for me if I participate.

I did say some good things, I think. I made people laugh, twice. And in the break and afterwards, I had some great, although, short, talks with a handful of people afterwards, that I really liked and wish to talk to again.

But I wonder how I came off to others? And I wonder what impression people get of Mistress, through me? I'm really curious, but I guess I'll never know.

Jan 30, 2013


The other night, Mistress granted me the privilege of going to a workshop about service. It really was a privilege,  since she let me go away rather late in the evening while she stayed at home working and being responsible adult at home while the kid was sleeping. Actually, I had to ditch her before the kid was sleeping, leaving her to do the whole bedtime ritual all by herself, while I gallivanted away in the car.

I was actually a bit nervous, since I had to drive 60 miles to get there and more importantly home again late at night. I recruited my friend I. and sneakily convinced her that even though it was very good and noble of her to stay at home studying for exams, it was a much better idea to go to BDSM-workshops with me.

And it really was (at least for me, but then again, I didn't have any exam-studying-plans). I'm never really been comfortable with the concept of "service", which is one reason I wanted to go, and I actually did come home with a few thoughts in my head that I didn't have before. I think I broadened the concept a lot.

When I've read others referring to service, I've always read it in the context of doing things above and beyond the usual. It's about keeping an extra eye on things, about doing things extra good, or in a special way. The "clean a toilet with a toothbrush"-example did occur yesterday too.

And... no. There's simply no room for that in our life. We're both working full tilt as it is, there's nothing more to give. I could "service" her right now of course, I'm sitting her writing a blog while she's paying bills, and I could be up vacuuming instead. Or I don't know... sort her sock drawer?

But I don't do that. Because there's no end to it. There's no point where the work ends. There's no point where I can sit down and relax and say that "yeah, now I've done enough! Now she'll be pleased with me!". She's pleased with me a lot of times for all kinds of reasons. But if I tried to outwork the workload and do above and beyond what she could wish for, I would break.

In fact, I did break. I broke down completely, that was kind of the deal with last year. I tried my absolute hardest to be the best mom, the best wife, the best student, and I didn't give my self any slack and I was constantly on my own case about not being good enough, and I tried and tried and tried, and the more I tried and the more I failed and the more I berated myself the more desperate I became and the less resources I had left to do anything with. And I didn't stop doing it that way until I was in so bad a shape that I couldn't lift a fork and eat lunch because I couldn't decide how to cut a sausage.

But the workshop yesterday gave me more faith in the belief that I do service Mistress. I do. Just not in the more common houseworky sort of way.

I'm devoted to her. I'm absolutely loyal to her. I'm completely invested in our relationship. She's the top of my priorities, if I have any alternative I always choose the one I think that she'd prefer. She's the centre of my life. I always want to be of service to her.

Sometimes she uses me in an outright manner, she exercises her authority and tells me to do things. I love that, that's easy. I love getting her tea or her slippers or go get the laundry. Sometimes my appallingly bad working memory fails me and I have to do a few false starts before I get it right, but that doesn't mean I don't want to do it. She doesn't do this all that often, honestly I think it doesn't occur to her mostly, but when she does I like it.

But there's also more subtle ways that I relate to her that might be called service, in a very broad definition of the term. I service her, one could say, by letting her control me. By gracefully and without a fuss constantly report my whereabouts and plans and actions and travels to her, so that she'll always know where to find me. By never making definite plans with anyone without checking in with her first. By presenting things to her in a manner that makes it clear that the decision is up to her, that I'm merely presenting alternatives.

By now, all those things are second nature to me - but seeing them in the light of "service" made me feel a little better about myself. After all, I could act in other ways. Those other ways would have consequences, bad once, but that doesn't mean I can't give myself credit for making wise decisions and behaving well. 

An even more convoluted way of looking at it is the things I don't do, and where the refraining in itself can be considered service, as sorts. I try very hard not to lash out at her when I'm upset. Sometimes I  fail, but nowadays I often succeed. Not because she'll punish me otherwise, but because I hurt and upset her, and I contribute much more to our relationship if I keep calm and, in all honesty, shut up.

I also refrain from second guessing her, barging in when she gives signs of insecurity and doubt, or trying to "help out" if I think she can't handle something. Again, not always, but most of the time, I succeed. Oddly enough, a lot of my "service" consists of not doing things. First, do no harm.


And then I had to go to bed. This continues therefore the day after.

Today, I had very clear orders to fix a few errands at the pharmacy and the bank, leave and pick up little S, and have lunch, and nothing else. When I asked, she agreed to me studying for no more than an hour. And when she left in the morning, she agreed in letting me clear the dishes after breakfast, since she was in a hurry. So today, I'm obeying her and servicing her by reading a new Kelley Armstrong-novel on the iPad, and drinking tea in front of the telly. The doing as she tells me to part is obedience. The doing it with grace and without fuss is service. In a way.

Jan 23, 2013

Grandpa's got cancer

Mistress took little S and went to her parents for a couple of days. I thought I would love the time home alone, relieved from duties and stress. I hate it. Come back! All I do is long for the two of them.

So this was very good for me. It's good to miss people sometimes.

Unfortunately, yesterday Mistress' father got his diagnosis - the prostate cancer has spread to the skeleton. The doc who told him said the prognoses was "good" but a short web-search indicates a lifespan of one or two years and a painful death.

Little S is going to lose her grandpa. My beloved mother-in-law is going to lose her spouse of forty plus years. And of course, Mistress is going to lose her father. And it's not going to be pretty. It's an ugly disease, and he's not a well-balanced man at the best of times. He's prone to rumination and angst, he has a nasty tendency to spread his bad mood around with snarky comments and petty meanness, and he tends to drink to relieve anxiety. He's already lashed out at Mistress a couple of times for things he feels she's done him wrong over the years (mostly a slammed door a couple of years ago - I have no idea what that's about, it's a really strange thing to be hung up about), and my fear is that it'll only get worse.

I wish I could help him. I wish I could help her. I wish I could make it all better.

And I'm dreading the day little S will realise grandpa has cancer and is going to die. She's already crying about cancer and dying (not to mention losing limbs - she's got a lot of existential angst for a three year old), and I so wish I could tell her that we will all live together for ever.

But we wont, and the scary truth is that yes, she could die, her moms could die, everyone around her could die. We most probably wont, but yes, we could. And I really really don't want to have that conversation - or rather, I'd really want a way to comfort her afterwards when she's inconsolable.

We have a shaky Christian faith, both me and Mistress, we choose to get married in a church and to baptise our kid, we both went through with confirmation as teenagers (even though my atheistic dad said that if I only did it for the presents, I could get presents anyway....). We want to believe there's something after death, we want to believe we're not separated forever. But... We're both also scientists. It's hard to believe without proof. It's hard to trust and find comfort in something a part of you say is bullshit.

I do believe in a soul. I do believe in a benevolent, loving God. And I very strongly believe in offering my kid something besides "nah, we're all gonna die and that's that, buck up kid!" when she's torn in pieces by despair and separation anxiety.

Jan 22, 2013

Making it easier

We had an interesting talk yesterday. We had finally gotten into bed at night, after Mistress had started answering work emails after brushing her teeth. I waited for her with a book on the sofa while she worked, and when I realised I was really tired I meekly asked her if it wasn't time for bed soon. She agreed and shut down the computer and we crawled in to bed. But then she commented on the fact that she'd started working late in the evening, and mentioned that I'd been sitting there and seemed to have had a good time too, or something similar.

And that made me freak.

Not that bad of a freaking, actually, I got a bad feeling in my stomach and a lingering panic, but I didn't do or say anything disrespectful or hasty. We explored together what it was that had made me uncomfortable, and after a while I realised it was mostly that the idea that she thought everything was "okay" with me (in the sense that I agreed on her decision to start working late at night) made me feel responsible for her.

Like if I didn't like it I should make sure to let her know that. While on the other hand she really doesn't want that from me, and I was going in the other direction - dutifully trying to accept Mistress' decision and doing the best of the situation instead of trying to control it or sway her in one way or another.

She admitted that yes, if I had seemed genuinely distressed she would have stopped, for my sake, because she didn't want me to suffer over it. But that wouldn't have been what she wanted. She reassured me that she had loved to be able to write those email without worrying about me, and that I had no responsibility whatsoever for whether she did it or not.

Somehow this made everything okay for me again. I wasn't responsible for her. She wasn't looking to me for approval. I didn't have a duty to her to approve or disapprove of her actions.

And the most important thing was something she said at the end of the conversation: "This time you did make my life easier."

It's something I've said that I don't do. Warmer, nicer, more loving, more interesting, more meaningful, yes, all of those, but not easier. I often perceive myself as a lot of work for Mistress, like a loved but somewhat annoying pet. I would dearly love to be of service, to be able to lighten her load, to be able to do just that - make her life easier. It's just that I know that I often isn't even close, and I'm okay with that. I know she loves me for me. But still. This one time I obviously did just that. And it feels so so good.

Jan 17, 2013

Getting what I want

Yestarday, I begged, literary begged, Mistress to be spanked. "Or whatever, it doesn't have to be spanking - just hurt me! Please, please, please, Mistress?". This was after we had gone to bed, I was tense and worked up and worrying about my upcoming exam and just generally feeling out of sorts.

Mistress sighed and said, that no, she wasn't going to. She was tired, and she didn't want to. She was however, going to do it "tomorrow". I refrained from growling about how much I cared about "tomorrow" and said "yes Mistress!" instead, which usually is the safer choice. We cuddled, and she stroked me and petted me until I was all blissed out by good feelings and felt very calm and satisfied anyway, without any pain whatsoever.

Then, today, I sat through my exam in the morning (the last one I'll ever take hopefully) and when I came home we cuddled, and after a while Mistress said that she was planning to beat me. And I cuddled up to her and asked if we couldn't just "cuddle without clothes on for a while" first (read "instead").

Mistress said she didn't feel like taking her clothes off, it felt like to much work and I threw a pillow at her... And then I proposed that it was fine if we just cuddled, it was perfectly good even with clothes. I snuggled up to her, and whispered in to her arm that honestly, I was feeling a bit afraid and really didn't felt like being spanked any more. "That's ok" she answered "you don't have to feel like it."

And then she made me lay on my stomach on the bed, taped my arms and legs to the bedposts and beat me with the tawse and then, grumbling over not being able to draw blood, she switched to the horse whip. Oh, and she stuffed a gag ball in my mouth too, "so I don't have to worry about you disturbing the neighbours".

Yeah. It really doesn't matter whether I feel like it or not. And the secret? The moment she said that I was instantly horny and so very, very submissive. That's the best part of it. That I can't decide what she'll do and when she'll do it. On the one hand, I really do want the things I ask for, and really don't want the things I'm afraid of or don't want, but on the other hand, what I most of all want is to not being able or allowed to decide that. I guess that's kind of a win-win for both of us.

She did drew blood, eventually. She likes to stop at that point. For me, I'm so far gone by then that she could go on forever as far as I'm concerned. Times stops and everything is an endless, hurtful, wonderful, all encompassing now. I guess that's the part I'm longing for when I'm begging her to beat me.

(The exam? I think it went just fine. They usually do.)

Jan 15, 2013

Busy little bee

Today I have:
1) Had an emotionally taxing meeting with one of the teachers at my daughters pre-school early in the morning, trying to convey the message that something's wrong and that even if the symtoms only manifests at home that doesn't mean the problem can't be present at the pre-school too. And trying to handle the frustration that comes from being treated as someone who doesn't know anything about kid's normal development, when I do. Bleergh.

2) Gone home and studied for exam on Thursday.

3) Gotten on a bus to get to a lunch meeting

4) Had a lunch meeting in a noisy and crowded café (bad choice, wont go there again) and discussed the thesis (or paper? or exam paper? I have no idea.) me and a colleague are going to spend the whole of next term writing.

5) Had to hurry away from there to go to a mandatory seminar, that went on for an hour (during which time I knitted frenetically because I was so tense and worked up).

6) Only to take the bus home, fetch the stroller, walk the kilometre to the pre-school, dress the little squirrel and drive her home in half a metre of snow and more coming all the time, and eat dinner.

7) Collapsed.

8) Oh, and had my mother over for said dinner, and for playtime with the happy little squirrel, who choose to top it all off with parting advice about us not getting any more babies, since "you seemed to think it was so much hard work the last time". Yeah. Thank you. Not a dilemma I'm planning on solving this very minute, thank you very much.

And in a way I know this day on the one hand would have been a bit much for anyone, but also that on the other hand most people with jobs and kids do these kinds of things on a regular basis. But that has really no bearing on what this means to me.

For me, this is... amazing. Unheard of. I haven't been this active and productive in about a year, and even then it was under duress and with a feeling of dread and exhaustion. Now I'm tired, and a bit high-strung, but I don't feel like killing myself (or anyone else) and I'm not falling asleep on the couch.

I am getting better.

My only worry right now is that I will be a walking corpse tomorrow, cognitive-wise, not to mention Thursday, when the exam is. But I'll deal with that then.

I'm guessing my chance of making Mistress hurt me in any nice way is pretty slim - she didn't sleep well last night, and she's still at her computer working now, even though it's soon past eight. But I'll give it a shot. The thing I long for most of all right now is being tied down and floating away on happy pain-endorphins.

Or maybe I'll just have to go to sleep like a normal person.

Jan 14, 2013

A love letter, of sorts (or two)

As usual, I got a text from Mistress this morning, when she was on her bus commuting to work and I had just dropped off little S at the pre-school.

"Hi there sweetie!" it said, "Thank you for a great weekend. I hope leaving little S will go well, and I'm glad we have a plan to solve this. If you'd get the idea to unload the car, the big bag is filled with clean clothes, and the small one is laundry. I love you so much! Thank you for being in my life, my wonderful slut. Kisses!"

And I'm overwhelmed with gratitude. There's so much in this that speaks about how wonderfully lucky I am. There's no pressure there to unload the car, or doing any other housework. This is pure information, no unspoken expectation. I know she'll think I'm just as wonderful whether there's bags still in the car tonight or not. And even more, I know she knows why I expectations like that is a bad idea, why me doing things like that can't be taken for granted. She knows that, she knows me, and she loves me all the same.

On the other hand, she's not taking for granted the things I do accomplish either. She mentions leaving little S as a special chore, not something that I of course should do. I get to go home and do things in my own pace while she sits on a bumpy bus on her way to the office, and she still doesn't take for granted that I drop off the kid on the way home.

And we have a plan. Our kid is not feeling well, and we have a shared view of the problem and we've made a plan to sort it out, and I relax and lean back and know she's there. I can always depend on her putting us first, putting family first, and I'm never alone.

And in all of this, she thanks me for a great weekend and for being in her life. I'm the one who should be grateful. Or maybe we should just both be, not to each other but to the Universe (or God if you will) that allowed us to find each other and be together. She's the centre of my world, she's the planet I'm happily orbiting, and I love her so much. Knowing she loves me back makes me go all tingly.

Jan 12, 2013

A movie-night

The upside of being tied up from head to toe and securely attached to the radiator is that it makes me relaxed enough to actually be able to watch a whole movie in one go. In this case "Snow-white and the huntsman", on the mattress in the living room, curled up besides Mistress.

The downside of being tied up from head to toe while watching a movie? I don't know, I like this stuff.

A snowy walk

We were going out for a walk after breakfast this morning, Mistress and me, with the dog and with little S in her plastic sledge. But when we were trying to get dressed, something went wrong. Suddenly, Mistress was pissed off and hectic, oozing irritation and frustration all over the place. I had no idea what had happened, and honestly hid upstairs with a happily playing little S for a while. The I poked my head down the stairs and tentatively asked if it was "safe to come down". Mistress' answer was definitely contra-indicating, but somehow, we all managed to get our warm clothes on. When Mistress and little S was outside, Mistress offered me the alternative to stay at home, and I said something grumpily that I wanted to come but that I wanted her to behave herself. She made no promises.

And so it continued. Mistress was seriously pissed off, I got more and more anxious, and the heavy weight in my stomach grew. Little S kept up a one person-choir for a while, but when she was met with stony silence, she lost her good temper too. After a while I couldn't take it any more, and when Mistress in an effort to sing with little S instead growled the words, I stopped dead in my tracks and said "This is not okay! Please stop being like this." I tried to hand her the rope to the sledge and said."I don't want to keep going. This is not okay. I want to go back.".

At first, Mistress didn't answer, and then she said "I know this was STUPID, stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid..." in that horrible, strangled voice she has when she gets like that. I refused to move and kept holding the rope out to her. "I want to go back." "No" she said, "keep going. I want us to continue." And therefore, we did.

If she hadn't said that, I would have gone home alone and she would have taken little S to the store. It would have worked out. She would have calmed down, eventually, and I would have forgiven her and gotten over it, after a while. I hate it when she gets like that, I hate that I can't predict it, that I can't protect myself, that it scares me and that I think it makes little S world more unpredictable than it should have to be. And most of all, I hate that I never have any idea what brought it on. It's like at these occasions, we live in different worlds, and I miss her.

But this time, she didn't let me leave. And we talked. Quietly, in front of the sledge, with a firm grip on the dogs leash. And she finally told me that it was little S complaining over stomach ache that set her off, that she had a catastrophic view of sickness and disease in her mind, and that it was fighting this off that made her crazy and strange. And she listened to me, and eventually came back to the here-and-now, to us walking as a happy family through the snow on a beautiful Saturday morning. She accepted the catastrophic view, somehow, and could let it be and still be with us.

And then, after we kissed, we knelt by little S in the sledge, were she sat and looked at us with tired, sad eyes. And I asked it it felt bad for her when her moms argued, and she nodded her head, and we kissed her face and said that it was over now, we had made up, and everybody was okay again. And then we all started singing.

We had a great walk, actually. We ran with little S in the sledge, and after a while we tied the dog to it, since we had him in a harness anyway. And before long we were shopping candy in the store and  walking all the way back again, singing and running and playing.

I wish Mistress never got like that. But since that ain't happening (at least anytime soon) I'm glad we're getting better at dealing with it. I'm glad I didn't explode, and I'm glad she didn't let me go, and I'm glad she talked to me and came back to me. And I'm very glad we could make it a nice morning walk for little S.

Jan 11, 2013


When we stopped cuddling on the mattress on the floor in front of a Buffy Season 4-episode this evening, and Mistress was about to get up, she first gave me a set of hard slaps on my butt, that I had conveniently positioned beside her.

"Mmm..." I said, "that diminishes tomorrows insufferable-ness from my side with at least... oh, 0.6 percent.."
She briskly administered a few more, and I admitted that it summed up to at least a whole percent or something. Then she had to walk the dog, and left me to my own devices.

This whole topping from the bottom thing, manipulating the Owner in to punishment and sexy torture by being bratty and challenging? It really doesn't work here. Mistress is no good at bottoming from the top! She just wont play along... *pouts*

Ah well. I'm guessing I'm in for a real sever beating any day now, whether I want it or not and whether I'm insufferably bratty or not, anyway. Just as soon as Mistress has slept a few proper nights without being woken by the little one umptheenth times in a row. And since we're at Mistress' parents place over the weekend, that will most probably happen sooner rather than later.

I love that she can make me heel and behave. And I love that she doesn't have to prove to me that she can.


A tired little one

This week, Christmas break was over with a vengeance, and our ordinary lifes fell on top of us like a ton of bricks...

Mostly on top of the little one though. We started to suspect it the whole of December, but now it's painfully obvious - she's not coping well with the long days at the pre-school. She's stressed out and exhausted. Our guess is that she's doing fine when she's there, and only showing her fatigue at home, which isn't that unusual for kids.

She's not sleeping well, or enough. She's throwing tantrums every day, over the smallest things, and becomes inconsolable every now and then. She can't sit at her chair and eat with spoon and fork any more, she sits in a lap and we feed her - something she didn't even want us to when she was a baby. And she's three and a half now.  She cries every morning, and sometimes when she's dropped off, over not wanting to go. She wants to stay at home. When we get home at dinner time, she's grey-faced and her eyes are almost dead, she's immobile (and this is a kid that's ordinarily never still) and all she wants to do is sit in a lap with her blanky and pacifier and watch the telly. This is not a healthy way of being for her.

We've been referred to a child psychologist and we're waiting to hear from them. And I've booked a conference with one of the staff at the pre-school this Tuesday, to start discussing what they see and inform them of the change we're seeing.

This week has been a somber one for us. It's no fun when one of our little family isn't feeling well. Especially not when it's our precious daughter. Of course, the obvious solution is to shorten her days, but we can't do that. She started to go full days (9-4.30) this fall, and we need to keep working full time both of us this spring too. We can't afford for Mistress to work less (not without selling the car and perhaps moving, at least) and we both want to prioritise me graduating this summer, so that I can get a job and earn money. When that's accomplished, we can probably both start working part-time, and the problem will go away (at least until she starts school...). But this spring, we need it to work out for her.

Parenting can really put a damper on anything kinky or sexy or even slightly romantic. When little S isn't okay, we have one problem, and one problem only. The rest of life mostly has to wait.

Jan 5, 2013

Fighting - not fighting

We had a fight, or almost a fight, this morning. A very typical situation, Mistress were going to take little S to the supermarket, little S refused to put any clothes on and ran around the living room naked, we aborted the mission and had some coffee and donuts instead, and afterwards we semi-tricked her into clothes by offering her the too big Pippi Longstrump-t-shirt we got her this summer.

I was deftly and sneakily pulling a pair of underwear on her legs while distracting her with small talk when Mistress interrupted me and wanted me to wait while she got the pair little S started the day wearing, instead of putting on a new pair.

And I flipped. Because... I was doing my best. Because I was almost succeeding. Because I was pretty sure that the delay would mean little S would go back to dancing naked around the living room, and I frankly didn't have the energy or focus to manage to lure her in once more. Because I had been so proud in knowing I was helping, that I was contributing, that I could feel like a competent mom and an asset to the family, and because it hurt me that 1) it wasn't good enough and 2) I wouldn't be allowed to succeed.

Mistress was forcing me to failure, and then, in my minds eye, I was sure she would be angry and irritated with both me and little S, and I would feel guilty for not being able to fix it. And also, the pressure of the thought of having to once again run around chasing a little naked someone and trying to dress her (like putting a hysterical octopus down a net with big holes in it without any arms sticking out...) felt like it was crushing me. In an instant I was convinced that it would end with Mistress angry and me crushed, broken down, laying on the living room floor crying, a failure both as a mother, a wife and her property.

So I snarked at her that couldn't she pleeease not bother just this once and let me do my thing? Or something to that effect. And Mistress got angry and pointed out "all the things I haven't said anything about!" which made me feel like a complete failure at everything, and sent me spiralling down an emotional chasm of raging fury and despair. Mistress jumped down her own dark well in the same instant, and well... here we go again.

Only, we didn't. We didn't yell or accuse or acted out. We tried talking, in intervals between getting little S ready and prepared to go out the door, and in the end I stalked off to go sulk on the bed. Before she left, Mistress came in and looked at me and said: "I know your feelings are hurt and that you're angry. But I'm going to give you an order now. I want you to get dressed and put your running shoes on and go out for a jog, and when you get inside again I want you to take a shower. And I want you to start now."

And I did. It was possible, even if my hurt feelings felt like a lead weight in my chest. And after running a while I sent Mistress a text, and she texted me back. And all is right in the world again. And soon they'll be coming home, so I'll go make pancakes now. And we're so frikkin awesome to save this, to not destroy the whole day, to actually keep our heads even when the hearts are screaming in terror.

She's my Mistress. And I'm so incredibly proud of her, and of being allowed to be hers.