Bad decisions and consequences

There was this discussion on Fet about punishments, and a few posts described really harsh things. I contered with a very low key account of getting a few swats on my pants for being uppity. I consider our relationship to have a "punishment dynamic", since there is punishment at times. But the thing is that the stuff she does to me for positive for more positively associated reasons are way more bloody and painful than the corrections I get.

She came home Friday six days ago, and as always things were a bit weird after she's been gone. I had a hard time finding my bearing, kept clinging to her and at the same time got bouts of anger and insecurity. I don't handle separation well, it's not as if I have very healthy patterns from childhood in the attachment area of things (yeah, I'm a shrink, I think like that).

Anyway, come Saturday when the kid was asleep, she pointed me to the bedroom, had me lay on my stomach and proceeded to tie me down, hands and feet to the bedposts. "I'm going to beat you" she said, and my stomach did a happy and scared flip, "there's not going to be any peace and quite around her 'til I do, anyway." And then she did, a lot.

She ended it with a volley of blows with the thick rattan on my ass that made me try to faint and fly at the same time. It wouldn't have surprised me one bit if I had started to levitate. And if I remember this correctly, it simply ended with her untying me and cuddling on the sofa. Or was this the time she fucked me silly? That might have been the day after. It was good, anyhow.

Two days later I marvelled over the tenderness I still felt, and when I checked in the mirror, there were actual bruises. I had bruises on my ass! That hasn't happened for forever, no matter what agony she puts me true, I never get to show it off, 'cause it simply doesn't show. But this time it did.

So that's the stuff she does just because she want to, and to keep me her good, calm, submissive little slut.

Now this morning, when Mistress hade left for work and I was about to herd the kid through the door on our way to the pre-school said kid had a complete meltdown over Mistress choosing black pants for her. She didn't want black pants, they were ugly, she only wanted pink pants, pink and purple were the only pretty colours, why couldn't she have pretty pants, she hated us, she wasn't going to play with anyone at pre-school, and oh why did she have to have ugly clothes??!!

My interest in taking off all her layers of outdoor clothes that covered the black pants in question was non-existent. I tried some halfhearted attempts of compromising, offering her other pants to change to at lunchtime when they go inside, but it failed because we actually didn't have any other suitable pants. They were in the hamper. I sighed and was preparing myself for ignoring her wailing and bodily drag her to the pre-school.

And then a memory came to me, of when I was around four or five, and had a fight with my mom over a pair of pants. She wanted me to wear some sort of bib-and-brace overalls, and I just refused. They were baby-pants! Ugly baby-pants! I remember my mother pleading with me that I had worn them last week and liked them just fine, and I remember how utterly illogical that argument was in my ears. That feeling of having to wear something that didn't fit who I was, that felt demeaning and wrong and humiliating. It's only a snapshot, and I don't know how it went, but I'm guessing I lost the fight since I remember it so vividly. Or, equally likely, I didn't have to wear the pants but my mother reacted with coldness and hostility and punished me by withdrawing her love because I voiced my opinion.

Anyway, I know what it feels like having to go around in clothes that makes you feel bad and makes you feel ugly. I don't care that the pants in question was gorgeous and supercomfy and that Mistress has an exact copy of them, they didn't match little S' view of herself. And suddenly I thought, what the hell, we'll fix this. And I got the kid in the car instead of the stroller, and headed for the nearest mall on the way to the pre-school. We were going to buy pants!

Only, the shops didn't open as early as I had hoped, but then I was on a mission, so we went ten minutes in another direction, found a supermarket with a small clothes aisle, and eventually a pair of pants. That were actually in a set with a cute matching top. And then we got a pair of warm winter mittens, and three pairs of gloves, because those always get dirty or lost, and it's good to have a few to change with. And it was really cheap, too. On the way out past the register little S got a balloon too, for free, and we made our way to the pre-school quite happily. I was pleased with little S getting new clothes and with being able to leave a contented child for the day.

And then I got home and texted Mistress about my adventure. The first text was rather optimistic, like "oh, and I got some clothes for little S, wasn't that great?". The next one, ten minutes later was more along the lines of "Uhm... I just realised I should have asked first. I should have asked for permission, shouldn't I? Sorry..." That one got a terse answer, that yes, I should definitely have asked permission first.

Epic slut fail.

So now I got punished. And remember those bruises on my butt? If she does that simply for maintenance, what does she do when I spend money without permission and goes on errands completely without telling her about it? Well... she docked the money for the clothes from my allowance this month, about a fifth of the sum I get for lunches and other indulgenses. And I had to complete a task that I was supposed to do today anyway, before lunch instead of whenever I wanted. That's the punishment.

And now I'm forgiven. I'm still a bit ashamed, and feeling greatful to her for holding me to her standards, and very much decided that I'll never to that again and always text her about my doings and plans, as I usually do.

I feel punished. And I feel contrite. And I feel very much that she owns me, and that I made a mistake, and that I should do better in the future. It does matter that she holds me accountable. It does matter that she meets out punishment. It doesn't, however, have to be cruel or nasty or bloody. A short jerk, a disappointed voice, a reminder that she's not pleased with my actions. It makes me thankful to be hers, and it makes me feel safe and secure and looked after.

Snow day

There was a lot of snow this morning, and Mistress decided to work from home. She goes by bus for 1,5 hours to work, and that road is treacherous, so this time of year sometimes she opts for not going. I was scheduled to sit at home all day writing on things for our thesis, and so we had company. She sat at the workplace and I in the bed beside her, and we actually worked quietly for hours. And then we had an hour long lunch break, during which we managed to squeeze all sorts of things. I cut Mistress' hair, and we had lunch, and then she spanked me with her belt for the first time for what feels like ages but isn't more than ten days or so, and fucked me. And then I made her a latte and we went back to work.

But honestly, she whipped me all red and fucked me to orgasm in less than fifteen minutes. We don't do speed dating, we do speed BDSM-sessions. I'm not sure what kind of skill this is - the most S/M-play in the least time? Is there competitions for this? Because we would have a good shot at winning!

Now she's picking up little S from pre-school, and I'm supposed to finish my school work so I'll get on that. I don't want her to start competing in "most punishment in shortest amount of time" either. I bet those don't end with an orgasm.

Being a bitch

I hurt Mistress today, I was snarky and bitchy and said an offhand comment to her that made her really hurt and angry. It takes her awhile to process it, I noticed that she was pissed off about something but I didn't make the connection to what I had said, and ended up hurt and pissed off all on my own instead.

Eventually we managed to talk about it, and eventually eventually we also managed to actually communicate and I finally got what she was trying to say.

And felt horrible. Seen from her perspective, I can definitely see how what I said must have sounded terribly ungrateful, accusing and just plain bitchy.

I'm so so sorry I hurt her. All I ever want to do is make her life better. Saying nasty things that makes her cry and throw stuff around is not on my "to do"-list, on any day.

I did this a lot before the summer. We argued a lot, and it took a long while for me to get my head around my part of the issue. Then I stopped doing that, I stopped getting pissed off about everything she said and stopped snarking at her. I don't know what compelled me to start again today. Fatigue I guess. Stress, worry. Or just... I don't know. Bad manners?

I'm so glad we found each other again, that she forgave me, and that I understood what it was I had said that hurt her. And then, when we were cuddling and kissing each others tear wet faces, we discussed whether she had time to beat me or not, or if she really had to work. And I made a tentative suggestion:

"Well maybe we could you know, well... first let me use the bathroom, 'cause I need to, and then do another small thing, and then I can make you coffee and you could work."
"I guess that 'other small thing' is I beat you?"
"Well... yeah... but... maybe more punish me for being bad..." said in a very very small voice.
"You're right. That wouldn't take very long."

And then she did.

She had me lay on my stomach on the bed, pulled my pants down and said "This is going to hurt." and then she proceeded to hit me ten times with her cane. I almost cried, and even though I tried my best, I had a hard time laying still. She stroked me and petted me lovingly, but also said in a very stern voice that "this is supposed to hurt". And then she gave me ten more, because I belong to her. And finally three more, because, she said "I love you".

And then all was right in the world.

I was promised more in the evening, of the sexy sadistic variety. That's good too. (And Mistress' guess that my recent flare-up in bitchiness might be connected to lack of preventative beatings is not necessarily wrong.) The punishment, though, is a different kind of beating. It's loving too, and I can't say I don't find it hot, but most of all it's freeing. It's forgiving. It's righting a wrong.

Now I'm sitting on a rather sore butt on the sofa reading a paper on the necessity of inhibition for executive functioning, and finding it ironically apt. I could use some inhibition, undoubtedly.

Being punished?

Late at evening yesterday while Mistress brushed her teeth, I crawled in to the bed, and only halfway remembered that I hadn't asked permission to do so. When she stepped in to the room I was sitting up, legs covered by the duvet, naked. "May I go to bed, Mistress?" I asked, the right wording, but totally wrong position.

"No, you may not" she answered, and I got my self up a little grudgingly and went over to her so that she could put the dog collar around my neck. "Bend over" she said and had me standing by the end of the bed with my hands on the mattress, and my butt sticking up. I stood with my feet firmly together and looked down on my toes. She pulled my panties upwards, and started to whip my ass cheeks with a belt she'd found hanging over the wardrobe door.

And I guess this was a punishment. There's some discussions going on on FetLife on punishments and what type of punishment people use and what differentiate punishment from "funishment" and some people say things like "I can't be punished with pain because I'm a masochist" or "I'm a masochist but the punishments are way more than I like" or, the all time favorite "I don't get punished because I'm not a child"... Love that one.

Anyway, nothing of that fits when it comes to us. I'm a masochist and a painslut and pain and corporeal punishment works just fine as a deterrent for me. But that doesn't mean I get overly harsh corrections. The things Mistress does to show me my place is typically less severe than what we do in a more playful mood.

Yesterday she whipped me hard, but not extremely in any way, I might gotten slightly reddish but nothing more than that. It hurt, a lot, but I liked it. It was dominant. It was sexy. It made me feel owned and cared for and appreciated. I made me feel sexy. It reminded me of her power, and of our respective places in our relationships. And it reminded me not to get in to the bed without asking permission first.

That's the thing. I might very well actually in some ways enjoy the things she does to remind me and correct me, even while she's doing them. I might appreciate the dominance and the sexiness and the safety that gives me. That, however, doesn't take away from the fact that it also serves to remind me of a rule and ensure that I keep following it. The same action might have several functions, that do not diminish each other.

Afterwards she told me to get up and did give me permission to go to bed, and I thanked her, first immediately while I curtsied and respectfully said "thank you, Mistress" but also later, in bed, while we were spooning and about to go to sleep. I thank her for taking care of me, for caring about me, for caring about us and, maybe, simply for being who she is and doing what she wants to do. I love that she can beat me whenever she want to, and when she thinks I deserve it and when she doesn't care if I've deserved it or not, simply because she likes it. I love belonging to her. Maybe that's the part I like about punishment, even if I at the same time try to avoid it as best as I can. 

Not a very good plan

When Mistress met me and little S outside the pre-school after work and she asked how I was I had to admit to feeling like crap. A lot of angst, very tired. This made me ashamed, because I had a vague sense of guilt about it. “Is that why you didn’t text me?” she asked and I denied it.

On the way home I realized she was right (of course). I didn’t text her when I’d dropped off little S in the morning, nor did I when I left home in the afternoon to go get her. Both corresponding to times when I felt wiped and angsty, probably forgetting to text because I was dissociating and simply going through the basic motions of getting were I was supposed to go – with no energy left to direct outward.

And that’s not ok. If something is that hard for me to do that I can’t even text Mistress, then I shouldn’t do it. I most definitely should text Mistress, or call her, and ask for help.

Since I didn’t, I continued to have a too high tempo that day. I went to my friend I. a bit late, because I had a hard time getting off the couch, and then I stayed there longer than I’d planned, because I was exhausted. And also because I ended up with my head in her lap while she was massaging my head with a funny wirey head-massage-tingy. It was cuddly and a bit dominant of her, and very very relaxing for me, and definitely one of the best parts of the entire day.

But when I left, it was lunch time, I was still really tired, and again, I should have called Mistress. But I didn’t, I texted her and told her I was getting lunch and doing some shopping that was pre-planned, and didn’t mentioned the parts of feeling exhausted and confused. 

I did get lunch at a crowded sandwich-place and found what I was looking for, but when I finally got home my mind was all over the place, and I still had studying to do. Which I did, and then went to get little S and couldn’t understand why I was feeling so bad. 

I texted Mistress that she was right and about my day, a short version, and when I’d finally gotten little S to sleep at night I went to her and kneeled and apologized. We backtracked the whole thing, and while talking I realized that the real problem actually wasn’t that day at all, but the day before. When I asked my friend I. about lunch and she preferred earlier, and I didn’t think twice about it.

I should have thought twice. It’s one thing booking in a lunch, it’s always good for me to have company then, but it’s another thing to make a plan that involves me being out of the home and in company for the whole day. When it didn’t go as I thought, I should have asked Mistress. Instead I decided, presented it for Mistress as a done deal, and refrained from getting in touch during the day.

I’m horrible at time management. Unfortunately, I’m great at selling in ideas an presenting things in a way that makes Mistress semi-accept them at first glance. It always comes back and bites me in the ass in the end, and it’s not an acceptable behavior from me towards Mistress.

In short, I screwed up. Not by being angsty, and not by wanting to meet with a friend, but by trying to manipulate Mistress and not asking for her input in my plans. That’s a real screw up.

We were cuddling on the sofa the whole time we discussed this, my head on her chest, and now and then during the talk she slapped my face as the more damning aspects of my actions came up.  But in the end, when all was said and done, I asked her for punishment. “Haven’t I already done that?” she asked, and stroked my cheek with the palm of her hand. “Obviously not enough” she concluded, and looked me in the eyes while she lifted her hand up and delivered a stinging slap to my face. For a moment my head was ringing and the world turned around a little.

 

And then everything was well in the world again.

Responsibility

As I mentioned earlier, I was involved in a discussion about responsibility, were I most of all realised that I was rather alone in my view of it. "Slaves must be responsible!" and "I get punished if I don't do what I'm supposed to, so I'm definitely responsible" was the gist of the answers.

For me, that's not how it works. I was also told several times that I meant something else than I did, that I meant authority maybe, or something else, not responsibility. But I meant exactly what I wrote (I honestly don't think the Swedish word "ansvar" and the English word "responsibility" is that far apart, the translation is rather straight forward).

The point, for me, is that Mistress stands between me and the rest of reality in a lot of cases. She has not only the power and the authority but the direct control. If I'm bad at something or isn't performing as I'm supposed to, she doesn't let me fail. She steps in and handles it, gives me whatever help and guidance I need, or rearrange the situation so that I don't have to deal with it. In either way the end result is that the real life consequences doesn't happen.

I might very well get a painful correction. But that's not the same thing as me being responsible, because that is not the real life consequences of the action. If I don't water the flowers and that's important to her, she will talk to me, motivate me, control me, correct me, punish me, remind me or whatever else she needs to do to get me to water them. She will not watch me fail and let me live with the consequence of her flowers being dead and her being disappointed.

Yesterday I wanted an egg to my coffee, put it on the stove, forgot about it and left the home. When I returned home my egg was a black mess and the apartment stank of burnt egg. When Mistress heard about it, she didn't say much, but the next morning she boiled me an egg. So that I wouldn't have to do it again.

When I forgot my meds the other morning, for the first time since I started taking them a couple of months ago, her reaction was pity, and then saying "it was a really stressfull morning - I'm sorry I didn't remind you to take them!".

And so on and so forth. I don't usually run the risk of failure, and that is what makes me feel not responsible. She will not let me fail - she will help me and make sure I can do what she wants me to do, because that's how she is. 

I don't have to worry about failing, not in life and not to her, because I'm hers and she wont let me. I might have to worry about a slap or a spanking, or stricter rules, but that's something completely different. In my situation being accountable to her is exactly why I'm not responsible for most things in my life.

(I used to be. I've let go of one thing at a time, the last bits I think was my relationship with my parents, my school work and parenting. Not until I could stand the idea of failing, of that belonging to her was more important to me than doing the right things, could I give those up. When I finally did, it was with a feeling of great relief. I have setbacks sometimes, and that always starts an argument and gets me in trouble. But usually I'm a good girl and doesn't make a fuss about it.)

A reflection about punishment

I just got to think about punishment. We do have "punishment dynamic", that is, Mistress punishes me if I break a rule. And I like that. I need that.

It's rather light punishments, though. Nothing compared to the things she does to me in play. It's more of a correction, a symbolic act, unpleasent but not excrucating. It's usually a slap to my face, of varying harshness, or maybe two or three. Sometimes it's something else, but she rarely hurts me.

I think part of it is making things clear for me. I don't have to worry, because if she doesn't like something she lets me know, first by setting up a rule about it and then by enforcing that rule. It usually takes me four or five times before I start doing things right - in some ways, I'm a slow learner. If she didn't punish me, I would feel bad and still keep doing it wrong, that would be way worse.

But then again, if she uses harsh punishment, things that in itself would make me sorry I misbehaved, if she used severe beatings or humiliation, it would take energy from me. I don't have that to spare, and neither does she. She doesn't want me to suffer or feel bad about myself, she just wants me to behave and obey her. Beat me up she can do in better ways than as punishment.

I fantasize about it though, sometimes. About harsh punishment, about torment and torture. But I think for me there's a problem with combining that type of activities with for-real failures on my part. It hurts my self-esteem, and makes my life harder, and I really don't need that. I'm glad she saves the torment and torture for the times when she simply wants to do such things to me, and not for when I've messed up.

She nipped it in the bud - ha!

I'm sick. Again, and well, still. I haven't really recovered the last months, and this weekend it hit with full force for the umpteenth time this spring. One of the symtoms is sinusitis, I can breathe through the nose ok, but I've lost my sense of smell and when I blow my nose, there's blood. And that's actually what I'm going to write about, blowing my nose...

Because Mistress said I was blowing my nose too hard. We were in the bathroom, she was in the shower, I was trying to stop that irritating itching at the back of my nose and we were discussing the bleeding and if I should call the doctors again (bleeeergh! Don't wanna!) and then she comments on me blowing my nose to hard, that she was afraid I was causing it to bleed. And suddenly I'm furious, and more or less growls at her: "I do not blow my nose too hard! We've talked about this! It just isn't so!"

I think that "we've talked about this" was somehow the worst bit. Or maybe my tone - I don't think I'm supposed to growl. Or glare. Whether I made things better or worse by stomping out without looking at her I don't really know, but that's what I did anyway.

I stomped into the bedroom and sat there sulking, feeling worse by the minute. Eventually, Mistress came in and stared at me. I stared back. And then I looked down. And cast a glance at her again, and she was still staring at me. Slowly, I was actually feeling a bit more embarrassed and aware of my own behaviour, and a little less obsessed about the complete ridiculousness of her commenting on the way I blow my nose. After en eternity or so, I glanced up again and mumbled "sorry...".

She grabbed my ear between thumb and forefinger and started to ask questions; "who do you belong to?", "who controls you?", "who is it that makes the decisions around her?". My part of the conversations was restricted to mumbling "you do, Mistress" and eventually I asked humbly for forgiveness. She told me to put my hand out, I did, and she slapped me lightly with her own hand three time, and then forgave me.

And I thanked her, a lot. I didn't say it out loud, because I didn't have to, we both knew I thanked her for this time remembering that I am her little slut. Even when my behaviour is atrocious. I belong to her, even when at first glance I seem to act the complete opposite. Usually, a situation like this would have been the prelude to a long, long, bitter fight, with both of us convinced the other one had withdrawn all love and affection and the power dynamic laying in broken heaps around us. This time, only one of us acted like an idiot (that would be me) and she choose to do something different. Something that worked.

She's my hero. She's my hero for so many different reasons, but being able and willing to change, to try new things, to see situations in different lights and figure out what works, is one of the bravest of all the many brave things she does every day. Now I'll try to be even half as brave, and everything will work out just fine.

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.

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.)

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

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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.

Sweet!

Obviously "it was very dark chocolate" does not mean it's not a sweet. My Mistress explained that to me this morning, when I confessed eating it, with the help of a riding crop. So ok, I get that now. That excuse is out.

"It was so small", "I only chewed on it, I didn't swallow" and "it was offered to me" is also out, for similar reasons. I wonder when I will stop deluding myself with this ridiculous excuses? And I also, nervously, wonder, where the punishment level may lay by then? It has been upped from one slap to two, and then to ten blows with the crop. I think it may be time for me to stop making excuses and start obeying.

Perhaps. If I could only remember it when people keep shoving candy in front om my face (or having it in vending machines and in coffee shop and and and...).