aDayIntheLife

I feel as if I am living on the edge of dissidence.  Not a particularly comfortable place to be.  But I am not alone, Master is here with me.  He too feels afraid and yet he is not giving up, retreating, and stepping back to where it feels more secure.  No, he is right here beside me, right here at my shoulder, loving me, holding me, giving me room to grow, knowing that I love him and that he loves me.

Growth is not a comfortable place to be.  No one can predict where the tendrils will lead.  We can place structures for them and hope that they grow up them, we can coax them up them, but ultimately it will grow as it grows.  But, to stop its growth is to stop living.  So we embrace the growth, even in the unknown and embrace life.

A while ago I began going to a therapist.  I seem to be in a season of powerful transitions and thought it wise to get some outside perspective.  Of course the question of my role as a slave came up, as it is central to my identity.  Like many therapists and lay people she really had no understanding about the nature and origins of slavery and masochism, believing, as her teaching had taught her,  that I was probably suffering from a victim mentality.

After a thorough examination of my past and history she was a bit stymied to realize, if anything, I have the opposite of a victim mentality.  I am a wholly possessed person who perhaps believes in myself and my capacity to impact my world and the world at large a little too much.  I tried to explain it to her, and in the explaining perhaps have come to see a little bit more about myself as I journey through my transitions.

I explained to her that the pain a masochist experiences is not a punishment that they feel they need, it is not an act of contrition or shame, rather at the heart of it is control, absolute control.  Each lash of a cane, each bite of a clip on the nipple or the clit, when the fateful cigar came down on my back over and over searing the flesh forever branding me as a slave, it was not a sense of being bad, and needing to be punished that I felt, it was rather a sense of capacity to overcome anything.  It was the ability to take the most focused and directed of pains and power the mind to change that from searing pain to liberating, pulsating pleasure. 

Can there really be any more control than this?  To be able to take pain, relentless, undulating pain and turn it into the most sublime of pleasures, so intense that instead of tears and shrieks it becomes throbbing orgasm?

It is absolute power and control. 

And yet, as I described this to her, and my words echoed in my own ears these many days later, I have come to slowly see that the origins of the need for that kind of power over pain, the pain of life, the pain of circumstance, the pain that I could not control, the need for that no longer really exists in my life.  All that is now left is the structure to deal with that, now, non-existent pain.  So I have resorted to finding those who will mete out that pain, in whatever form satisfies them just to validate the structure. 

I have spent ages looking for someone to validate for me the structure I created as a child, which I needed then to deal with the pain which was too great to endure.  That pain is no longer present, but my need to reassure myself that I could deal with it has become that which has defined me.

Today...today my journey looks so different.  That need seems almost absurd.  On Sunday, Easter Sunday, Master and I came out from our tomb into the light of new life as we strolled through the empty campground where we had spent the night before Easter.  The sun was playing hide and seek, the warmth licking our skin, the sweet breeze encircling us with the expectancy of spring.  No greater representation of Easter could be painted by the earth and its adherence to the season.

We walked up to the farthest picnic table and I stretched my ass across it with my dress riding high over my back inviting him to enter my white exposed cheeks.  I teasingly baited him to find a limber switch to see how many lashes it might take to break it.  He obligingly found one in the undergrowth nearby.  Once, twice, twelve times, the switch peppered my ass, but there was no pleasure, there was no need for it.  There is no longer any need for it.  So he threw it aside. 

Instead he pushed me down, and entered me fully, and deeply.  For a long time he thrust himself fully and at an even pace into my hungry pussy.  The sound of the leaves rustling, the sun peeking through every now and then to join in our revelry.  At one point he reached over my shoulders and undid the expansive bra that hoists my large breasts into the air, and a moment later he had ripped the bra and my dress off of my body and thrown them across the empty campground.

With renewed vigor and enthusiasm he began to take me, voraciously invading my aching pussy.  My nakedness on this Easter open to the pleasure, to His pleasure, to my pleasure, to the essence of new life within me, and from him. 

Copulation, sex, unity, love...

No need for the pain.  No need for the control.  A time to allow my body to just enjoy his.

Perhaps I am a slave no more. 

Perhaps I am a slave of choice.
Perhaps I no longer know.
Perhaps it is now a true journey...
Perhaps

I read the other day in Cosmo that to write or work butt naked allows oneself to be more themselves. So today I write naked, that and it is damn hot in Chicago. Eighty degrees at last check. But I am naked, finally both me and my Master are truly naked before each other.

Journey?no one here talks more about journey than I, and yet, I did not really understand that journey is not holding on to what you believe to be true and going where you think that will be validated, but rather journey is letting go of it all, the pain, the joy, the plan, the expectation, and truly just moving forward together, trusting, believing and accepting it all as it occurs.

I love him. I do. He is imminently lovable, however this is not because of how lovable he is, it is because of how perfectly we fit each other, compliment, complete?or because of how much he loves me. Or, maybe just because I am beginning to really believe he can truly carry the weight of my life, and more than that, wants to. Whatever it is, I do love him, and if that means he has Mastered me, then I am his slave and he is my Master.

silk kiss?.

August already...wow.  May to August, how can it be that I have let so much time go?  But here I am, and there is no replaying all of that time.

I have been Master's slave now for almost a year.  It has been a journey of growth and development for both of us.  24/7 is much more than can be described or related.  Oft times it is the thunderstorms but sometimes it is pure rainbow.  At the end of the day it is two people completing each other and becoming one yin/yang, oh but those rough edges, expectations, needs, and baggage do make it an effort!

I am just returning from a three week trek to the west. Master has decided that I begin a new regime of intensity when I return.  I long for intensity, ache for it even, but know that it is neither my needs nor wants that direct this ship.  It is always and only according to that which my Owner desires and finds useful and amusing.  For now though a season of intensity is what He desires.

He has begun by changing my name to slut, slave caye.  Slut because I am to always be open, wet and available for His pleasure and use no matter what form that takes, His own cock, the cock of another, of plastic, of beast...whatever.  Beyond that, I will be naked always in His lair, peeing only in the can, licking up whatever might spill as I squat over it to fill it.  I will carry it by a string that is treaded through two holes at the top of the can by my mouth to the toilet and from my knees pour it into the toilet, I will not sit on the toilet as a human. 

His urine will be used for my consumption as it amuses, also as my covering, my cleansing both in the shower kneeling before Him and over the toilet as He sees fit.

I will only be permitted to eat from a bowl at His feet while in the lair, and each morning upon rising I will take the time to make myself desirable in every way, showering, shaving, makeup...a feast for His pleasure.

My devotions are simple, each day I kneel thrice and each moment for five moments declare out loud to Him that I am His slut slave caye.  And finally, the holes will once again be stretched each day, upon my return.  It is a season of intensity, one of feasting for me, and one of gratitude.

Each day it gets easier to make requests with the format ?Master is it Your pleasure that your slave _________________?? At first it was very cumbersome. I felt almost silly doing so. And yet I can see each time I do it that it empowers my Owner. I can see a slight shift in the roles and their definitions. I can feel myself beginning to think in a different manner, more and more each time with the paradigm that I am His property, His extension, a function of His pleasure, rather than I am a being with needs and expectations that is looking to be met.

With my Master the development of this is definitely a journey. He is not comfortable with me existing only as an object. At some level it was easier to be someones property and slave when they did treat me as an object, not just at times during play but continuously. To put myself there in that state deserving nothing, expecting nothing, hoping for nothing, being nothing except His property, having no value except where it served Him, it was much easier as an object. But my Master desires a partner, a lover, a friend, a total woman, fleshed out, empowered and emboldened, and yet, within that a slave, at the core of it a slave. So in this state it is easy for the lines of expectation s and rights to get blurred and insistent.

The simple beginning of phrasing has been helpful for both of us to realign. Master has not begun developing a more exacting position for He has been quite sick the last few days, vomiting and expelling water from all orifices, not a place of particular strength and domination. And yet, even in this, in this state of apparent ?weakness? simply holding myself to the standard of making my intentions and desires known in the format of ?Master, does it please you for your slave to ____________? has shifted both of our points of reference.

Yesterday I went to bed quite late and woke up at 8:30 ready to rise. Master was still noticeably weak and bed-ridden. I was going to climb over Him and begin my day. He has me sleeping on the inside of the bed, so I am sort of locked in until He lets me out each day. And yet, while we have talked about my being in my little ?hole? unable to rise without getting past Him, partly because I sleep in a loft, and there is only one side of it that has access to get down, still I have never really felt contained there, until yesterday.

Yesterday, when it was time to rise, I asked, ?Master would it please You for Your slave to rise early this morning?? He said, ?no. I it would please Me for you to remain here and snuggle with me for a while.? It was a simple request really, and yet not a request. It was not a matter of Him asking me to stay, it was a matter of me being what pleased Him, rather than my being about what my agenda was for the day. It was not a request from Him, but rather an opportunity to be defined by Him.

Today Master is nearly better. I think we are going to walk a bit later. I am curious about how our journey will develop as we grow in our journey.

Our journey has not been as I have expected?and while at times I have been frustrated and even angry I was never able to deny that life as Master?s slave, however He defines it, is life, and life as unowned slave is not life, it is limbo.

That being said slavery has been at a place way in the distance. Relationship, family, work, money?these have been in the forefront. And yet, I am no less a slave, and He is no less a Master.

Today, however, He read an essay that was given to me by One here on Collarme about 2 years ago. When I read it, I felt I had one of those ?come to Jesus? moments. I felt as if I had come into the church after having been away oh so long. It described the soul of me. It was a watershed moment, I came face-to-face with myself. It is not for everyone?but it was for me.

When He read it, He remembered the slave that He owns. He remembered the joy it is to own her. He remembered truly the core of His pleasure, which for Him is my joy, which for me is to be a slave.

I invite you to read it. It is lengthy, you might want to print it out and read it at your leisure. It is the beginning of a new point of growth as His slave, His pleasure. Enjoy.

We have finally gotten a hold of the rug protector we were laboring to acquire. This one was hiding under the bed at Master?s house and was ?found? during His move up here. This rug protector is a doozy. It has nubs on it that without any softening easily cuts right into the skin. They suffered a number of cuts as they carted it up here. Now however its sharp little nubs are no longer being held away from the skin but rather they are being pushed ever deeper into the skin.

The first night He used it He had cut off the small edge of it that normally slips up under the desk. This He had at the edge of the loft. After a bit of a lecture I was sent to set my big bottom firmly on the nubs and sit there until told to move. He then had me place my hands behind my back so that I could not use my arms to move about.

The nubs pressed very powerfully into my bottom. The pain at first was very sharp and intrusive. While they were very sharp and penetrative they did not go far only, I suppose, as the nerves set in the skin. It was throbbing and raw. I may have sat there 20 minutes or perhaps only 10, the time was unknown to me, but after a time the sharpness of the nubs did slightly recede.

After serving Master, He had me lie my breasts on the nubs until we had both fallen asleep. My own sleep a bit unrestful, and when the rug protector piece, now affectionately called pods? for points of discipline, there was left all over my flesh both front a back an interesting and pronounced pattern. The pattern of the pods.

Sometimes I do not know what to put here.? Some days Master does not require anything of me.? Some days it feels as if I have nothing valuable to say.? And yet every day I am touched by Him, every day has significance.

Today was a huge step toward Master living with me 24/7.? He is the first one who has ever done so.? Every slave's dream, or at least my dream.? And yet, it turns out it can be really scary to get your dream.? I have only had three men live with me, move in with me.? Each one came in on my terms and lived there for many years, in love with me, committed to me, and yet at my mercy, my grace.

The tables have turned, they have turned so completely that I feel as if I may be falling off of a cliff.? Last night as Master came with His seven boxes of clothes for me to fit into my tight little apartment, I was nearly panicked.? Vulnerable...yes.? Exposed...completely...? In a place I had never been before...

My best friend talked to me until He was at my step, trying to talk me down, trying to talk some sense into me, all to no avail.? Master's first words were to the effect that He had never seen me so frayed, not only was I frayed, but my apartment was frayed as well.

I collapsed into bed, exhausted from the extreme stress I had brought upon myself, only to wake up to the most excruciating migraine I had experienced in years.? I felt as if my own blood vessels were choking my neck.? I could not talk, I could barely walk, twice I ended up laying on the floor trying to get my bearings.? Freaked out does not really describe it.

And yet, Master, simply walked calmly with me.? Neither addressing it, nor ignoring it, just being Master.? Knowing the fear would come once again.? Knowing He was bigger than it.? Knowing it was/is right.? Just knowing.

I do not always know what to put here.? I guess, all that I have is just me, good, bad, freaked out, or otherwise.? Just me, His slave, His toy, His love...me.

Sheepishly looks around the dusty shelves* Feverishly works to pull the small cobwebs that have grown over each of the volumes.

My goodness it has been days and days since I have been here. And yet, I do not feel apologetic, for it has been nothing but life, full and glorious life that has kept my time consumed, kept my fingers from pecking out revelations of truth. I imagine with the coming days and weeks, life will get more involved not less.

Master is coming in about two weeks, to not leave again. My daughter passed through on her way to college. It was amazing to have her approval and affection be given for Master. It was as if some deep intimate part of myself was not safely in His care.

The apartment, tiny as it is, is being re-vamped to fit Him and His daughter into it. The website is moving ahead at full steam. We interviewed one actress and have it set to film her by the end of January. A whole host of others are in the que.

With so many people coming and going Master's play time has been limited, although I have had a number of delicious opportunities to worship His cock at great length. I found great pleasure in that. Last week He did that thing that He does with my nipples and ears and kisses, this gentle and yet entirely controlled touch and He gave to me the amazing orgasm I have ever experienced. Often orgasms feel like this convulsion that is ripped from my being, I have at times described them a bit like what I would imagine epileptic siezures to be. But this one, was wonderful, it was, like soft waves of joy and safety building and building, gently rising to a place that pervaded my whole being, until on the top of this pinnacle the explosion simply erupted from deep within, washing over all of my senses, enveloping me in pleasure and love and security. It was entirely unearthy. I felt as if I had been loved.

Afterward Master had me sleep with a glass coke bottle deep in my pussy, which was slightly problematic as I had worn two golf balls tied inside my pussy all day with my new pussy rings tied tightly closed, laced with a thick white cord. One of the balls had come out but the other was deep in my uterus behind the coke bottle. Somewhere in the middle of the night He allowed me to remove it.

This was the first time He has used a gag on me as well. My gag is a small ball gag. I have had it and carried it for years, but seldom used it. However, my son has been complaining about ?all the noise? coming from my room at night, as Master fists and expands me into deep uncontrollable orgasms. So on this night He tied the gag in my mouth tightly, and while the above describe orgasm did create a very resonating verbal response, it was held within the confines of my throat due to the diligent yellow ball. I think that perhaps the yellow ball and its placement aided me a bit in the overwhelming feeling of safety and security I felt as I released. Nothing else was bound. But my words can be very powerful and to have them held by His will was riveting.

Of late Master has taken to puppy training me. If there are any puppy trainers out there with particularly good training methods, I am sure He would enjoy hearing from you.

For myself, he has been having me eat from dog dishes, pee standing up, and wearing a collar and leash through the house as I work. Also I am doing a lot of barking. I bark when I cum. I bark when I move from room to room, and sometimes He wants me to bark when I am content.

Aside from that often now He has me sitting on a chain as I work. It is a 7ft long chain that has large links about 2inches long. It makes a lasting impression. We met with the man who originally suggested using the rug protector as a seat or kneeling pad, upside down that is, and he has offered to bring one to us. I look forward to that. I think it will provide many hours of play.

Being a part of others play is a stretch for me. I like to be stretched, I enjoy the feeling of sacrifice for the pleasure of my Master. My Master however does not really get pleasure unless my pleasure is immediately evident. However, He is willing to stretch me, and this playing with others is just that. It is not easy to kneel before one you have no submission to. It is not easy to expose yourself, to submit to their touch. I suppose if I had proclivities toward being a slut, it might be easier, it might draw on something that is already in me. However, I am not. I am a slave. The only thing this draws out of me is my slavery.

It is surrender. It is, placing my fears and my feelings on the altar of His pleasure. It is setting aside my human feelings on the issue and becoming only His property, His toy, embodying that truth. That reality. When I kneel before another, not my Master...when I am naked, and exposed, and submitted to their ministrations, I do so empty of myself, and only as His toy. It is to Him that I kneel. It is to Him that I submit. And in that, in that very act of being His, is my greatest?pleasure.

The secret of being a slave, is surrender, given with abundant joy. Thank You Master for opportunities to give You my surrender.

So many days and so many uses. Friday was such an amazing day, it is the one that sticks out in my mind. Master came in early Friday morning, and family and work kept us apart, until late Friday night as we lay in bed. It looked to be a simple enough time with Him allowing me a daily devotion of worshiping His cock, Mr Happy was happy to see me, and just as I was settling down to really focus on the devotion before me, Master directed me to turn my body around so that my pussy was at His disposal.

He did not employ any toys, no insertions, nothing but His fingers and yet, His fingers were nearly more than I could hardly. He did things, he touched places that drove me wild. His fingers were everywhere, they were filling all parts of me. I felt as if I were nearly on a roller coaster of orgasm. Eventually I could not even hold myself together to worship, I tried again and again to bring my body under control, but like a great massive symphony, there was a song it was going to play, and the Master was going to wrench every note from me.

Hours passed, or minutes, or days, I do not know, by the end I was exhausted, I was beyond exhausted, I was consumed. I realize upon reading this that I have revealed so very little, and yet, what is there I can describe. I was in my bed, My pussy what in His hands, and He played me, in ways and with intensity that defy description. Touching, massaging, pinching, pulling, rubbing, parts of me simultaneously, separately, incessantly, finding those points of explosion and then taking them from me until I could barely breathe.

Son is complaining that there is much noise occurring in the middle of th e night. In truth I was so enraptured that I have no memory of making any noise at all. I just recall my body not being my own, but His instrument, played with ferocity.

Saturday morning we had a visitor, it took all of my effort to pull myself out of my slumber, I felt as if I had drunk throughout the night and was laden with a heavy hangover, though not a drop of alcohol touched my system. The vestiges of His use lingered with me throughout the weekend, and finally on Sunday morning we slept until nearly noon allowing our bodies to finally recoup after such mirth.

I am His instrument, played for His pleasure.

However, this woman is not and will never be a slave. Anyone who thrives with responsibilty will never be able to truly live without rights. No where in human exchanges do rights and responsiblites not exist simultaneously and in the same measure. To the degree you are responsible, to that degree you have rights, no more no less. Therefore a Master who owns a slave, to whom all rights are given, has all responsibilty.

I am a slave, not a submissive. Rights choke me, they stifle me, they weigh on me. Each right that Master chooses to bestow on me is heavy and a painful weight I have to carry. Even acts as basic as using the bathroom at will, or sleeping when I want, eating when I want, even these are rights that I have, that He has given me, are rights that weigh on me. In His mercy He has given me the lovely ritual of peeing on my fingers and licking them, then using them to clean my pussy each time I pee, and this line offers me the safety and comfort I need. For in this He has, in some small way, taken my right to simply relieve myself. He has placed His limit on it, His line, and in that I am safe.

When Master says NO, when He imparts His will in any fashion into my life, I am empowered, I am strong, I feel full of vigor and capacity. No is a wonderful word to a slave, it does for a slavegirl what rights do for the average man. In as much as an average citizen of the US would feel rebellious and resentful as each of their rights are stripped from them, a slave feels rebellious and resentful each time one is give to them. In the same way a normal human would resist the word NO to any request they might make, feeling angry and twarted, a slave feels at the word YES.

A slave, does not secretly want rights and responsibilties, they do not want them, they cannot manage them. Each time Master tells me NO, I immediately feel the familiar rush of arousal fill my loins, I feel a deep resonating joy spread through my chest, and my mind is immediately empowered and able to do above and beyond whatever is required of me.

NO...it is a wonderful word.

It is a process, it does not happen overnight, and it does not happen the same way with each Master and slave. For some it is a brutal ripping of the surrender from the clenched fists of the slave, for others it is a deep and arousing seduction, for my Master it is the slow waves of love and challenge that He washes over me continuously.

Last night He took me through both. Upon getting into bed, He softly snuggled up to me, His face in my hair, my head on His chest, His scent wafting over me. Then slowly He reached down my body, caressing each inch as He slowly uncovered me. Finally His two fingers came to rest on my right breast. So easily His hand laid there, as if the two bodies were designed with His hand to fall directly onto my breast, His fingers to close so easily over my nipple.

He began the softest of caresses, as if to slightly tease milk from the nipples, pulling ever so softly as we continued to chat, to discuss that which concerned me into the night. Over and over His soft fingers pulled, I could feel it on my clit as if lips were encasing it and softly tugging the clit from my body, suckling and pulling, the blood engorging it as surely as if there were a tongue on it. My words began to falter and then to slur. And still He pulled, over and over, no pain, no sharpness, nothing but waves of pleasure racing up and down my torso, nipple to clit, clit to nipple.

All of my life, my nipples have only been useful to torture me, a touch like this, this soft insistent arousal would have been interpreted as rancid intrusion, my senses would have screamed for it to stop, my words would have convinced the perpetrator that anything, absolutely anything would be more pleasurable for Him than that.

But Master is not to be restricted by the ownership of others, by the damage others have sought to perpetrate on this property of His. He has restored the buttons that I was created with, rewired the missing links, coated again all of the frazzle with safe insulation, until my body safely responds exactly as He desires. As the pitch grew and the ache swelled, He reached over with His lips and softly began to trace my ear lobe and edge with His tongue, with His kisses, the orgasm swelled and released, I am as powerless to give it or to keep it, as I would be if I were tied to a vibrator. I am held and nurtured in His love, restored and created to be a sweet music before Him.

Later, as I am permitted to suck His cock, He requires that I turn my pussy around, and He places deep within my ass my expanding dildo. A big black monster of a thing. It has an air pump attached to it, like one used in a blood pressure cuff. Without it being pumped at all, it is at least 10 inches long. The base of it where it is attached to the tube that carries the forced air into it, is perhaps an inch in diameter. He lubes the rubber well and slowly feeds all of it into my ass, as I work diligently on His cock.

He pushes it until even the base is deep in my ass, and the tiny rubber tube is all that is sticking out of my ass, and then slowly I hear Him begin to pump. And again, and again. I feel it slide around becoming whole, stretching into its full length. Then ever so slowly it begins to expand. When expanded outside, with no restrictions, the cock easily grows to 3 or 4 inches in diameter, but the bulbous rubber testicle sack at the base of it, like a dogs knot grows to more like 6-8 inches in diameter. This sack is filling my anus just beyond the sphincter that is entirely closed over the whole thing. I cannot push it out even if I want to. I begin to moan as I feel myself growing smaller as it grows bigger, filling me, invading me, taking over my senses.

Until I cry out, His cock slipping from my lips, my lips gasping for breath as I feel as if I am to be suffocated from the inside out. And then, He turns the knob and allows the soft hiss as the air escapes and my body is emptied. I settle down again on His cock, as He softly tightens up the air release valve and again fills my body until I am writhing to breathe, to think, to gasp. I cannot take it and with all of my being I expel this huge testicle sack from my expanded ass, and the rest of the long dildo easily slides out.

He allows me again to get my bearing, until I am suckling with gratitude His cock once more, and then He begins to push an 8oz coke bottle into my ass, neck first. Well lubed it slides in deeper and deeper. Until I feel as if I am to be split. To be impaled by the unrelenting force of the glass deep within my rectum.

Love and challenge, He takes me, every day closer and closer to the intimacy and vulnerability that leaves me His owned property, His slave, His toy, exposed and available for His pleasure in whatever form He chooses to consume it.

It is not a matter of being incapacitated, but rather being so consumed with focus and devotion of Master, that any thing, any single thing that takes me from Him for even a hand full of minutes is seen by me as an intrusion, something to be avoided at all costs. Yesterday I got a text from my oldest son, one to whom I am a best friend. He asked, ?are you still alive?? Anyone, anything, that pulls me from His side, from His pleasure, from His purpose is a sacrifice. To write this, this morning, I rose at 7am, while He is still snuggly in my bed, and I came to get 'er done.

Master has been here since Thursday. It has been a time of deep healing and pivotal emotional growth. On Friday we met with our first couple contact from here on CM. They were delightful, and I am excited to be a part of their journey. We did not play, but rather simply enjoyed the freedom of friendship without the constraints that normally bind us in polite society. We were able to talk about their dogs, my children, Master's move, but we also spoke of clamps and whips and bondage gear. It was a time of unfettered touch of the minds. It was great fun, and perhaps as time and opportunity allows we will develop it to a much deeper more intimate touch.

On Saturday we again enjoyed a visit from yet another contact we made via this journal, though that time from a man on alt. This is the second time we met with him. He is seeking his slave, though each time we meet he seems to be closer to finding what he seeks. He came to my home, and after a lovely visit, we began to explore the different toys that we both have. Master had me remove my top again. This time I did so in a manner that was entirely consistent with His intention, my breasts exposed and clearly ready for some attention.

Our visitor brought out his breast clamp, it is weighted with magnets. It had a screw on it to allow it to be tight enough to keep it afixed to the nipple with the attached weight, but not so tight that the focus of the slave is soley based on the throbbing pain of the bite. Each has its value. At times that searing focus is the point, at times it is the deep arousal that is produced by the heavy weights that seem to literally engorge the nipples or the clit, as it is weighted and pulled down by the relentless force of gravity on the weight. His clip allowed for the latter, less pain, more arousal.

We showed him a few of the clamps we have, and the effect of those, and the difference. He took out a nice length of rope and had me show him how I often bind my breasts when I cam. We placed the bigger 'S' hooks on the clips and were able to hang the coffee cup. However that still needs a little bit of adjustment if the cup is to be able to hold any usable amount of liquid.

Later, he and Master took me into my loft and began to experiment with all the different impact toys that we both had. It started with stingy floggers, one he called a willow that had small lucite bits on its end, that left a nice pattern on my bound breasts. Slowly they worked up to the cane and my heavy leather flogger. Between each implement, he used a very nice leather slapper that seemed to nuetralize and prep my flesh for the next implement.

At one point he and Master were working my front and back simultaneously. It was wonnnnnnderful. I have never experienced that before. It was an excellent first play experience with someone else. It was the first for Master and I. It was the first with him and us. It was respectful, it was intense enough, but still allowed for future exploration and development, it was deeply satisfying to both Master and myself, and I certainly hope so also for our visitor. It gave us good feelings toward the future of our journey, here in CM, and in the BDSM world at large.

We spoke of many delights we would like to explore together as the future unfolds.

Beyond all of that however is the future so amazingly bright. It is funny, I was walking out of the grocery store last night reflecting on the fact that I have no job, no money, my rent is now three days late, my electrcity is on the verge of being cut off, like millions of other Americans the financial straits of the depression are right here on my doorstep. But instead of feeling dread and despair as I scooted out through the biting Chicago cold to my old beater, I was filled with wonder and joy. My life is full of love and growth and delight. I am an owned slave, and my Owner is one in a million, maybe in a trillion.

My life is as the words in the lovely ballad, Dannys Song by Ann Murry,

People smile and tell me I'm the lucky one.
And we've just begun...
And even though we ain't got money,
I'm so in love with ya honey
Everything will bring a chain of love
and in the mornin' when I rise
it brings a a tear of joy to my eyes,
an tell me evry-thing is gonna be alright.

Recently someone suggested that we use a table top that opens for a leaf, and crush my breasts in the two halfs, then come up underneath and apply corporal pain to them as they are bound there. The idea itself had some merit, but from it we have developed a very interesting idea. It goes a long with another idea we have about a poker game with Masters and slaves, the slaves being part of what is bet.

The idea is to drill a couple of holes into the table at the edge where the two sides meet. The holes would be about three inches smaller in circumference than the circumference of my breasts. The idea would be to place the tits in there like a set of stocks.

To begin with the breasts would be bound at the base, not enough to pull in the full three inches, but enough to cause a nice bulge to begin. Next the breasts would be put in the table top, with me bent over the table top and the two halves of the table would be completely closed over the breasts with me bent over the table, my breasts effectively trapping my body in this position, and a caning of some sort would commence, my body completely trapped unable to be wrenched free.

Next the table top would be slid off of its legs and stood up perpendicular to the floor, so that on one side I would be standing, or kneeling, as I am able,  behind the table top and my breasts would basically be sticking straight out on the other side. Then the nipples would be clipped with the clips that have hooks, and the hooks would hold up coffee cups, they would be titty cup holders.

Finally I would be laid down on the table leg structure, probably well bound before hand, and my breasts would be closed between the table halves as the table top was again set on top of the legs. My breasts would jut straight up in the middle of the table effectively making them the centerpiece of the table, and my body would effectively be removed from sight. If we had the poker game, the tits would be available to be tortured or fondled throughout the evening as the game progressed, a tabletop amusement.

A titty table.

Keep the suggestions coming.

It has been excruciating, to say the least. More than that however it is as if my soul is somehow suspended. I have five children and a number of friends who all vie for my time and attention, and when I am in regular contact with Master many of them despair because their time is now limited. And yet, with Him not contacting me, I feel as if I have no heart to speak to them, to open myself, as if the vitality that is me is strangled and choked.

To say I miss Him somehow diminishes the intensity, the passion with which the ache consumes me. It would be paramount to saying I miss oxygen, or sunlight. He is a part of my very essence. I find that the only things I am able to do with ease are those few things I know He desires of me. Beyond that everything tastes and smells and feels like meal. Eating grainy, unsalted meal.

I miss Him like I miss life.

24 hours, it sounds pathetic even to me. And yet, it is true. I love Him. I love Him. I love Him, I do.

He is coming here soon, an d I can hardly wait. Today I am heading up north to pick up an office floor protector, the heavy duty plastic ones. We received a suggestion from one of our viewers of a way to use this while traveling and sitting, however Master has thought of many other interseting uses for such a toy, including some breast clamps.

Once we have it I will post pictures of His creations.

I hope everyone has a safe NEW YEARS!

I began to work it in when son arose. So I thought to put it off until he left for his day. But then a walk came, and time on the phone, and soon it was late in afternoon, almost evening when finally I rode the dildo for 10 minutes working hard to stretch nicely, then easily slid the bat in.

I lay in bed with the bat deeply embedded, and found that my pussy seemed to be crowded around it when I went to masturbate. The sides of my pussy pushed up like a little fat taco, around my clit. I came hard, so very hard. Again I wet the bed when the bat came popping out, as the orgasms spasmed deep within me. However, on Saturday I had awoken with a deep painful headache, one that clearly has some blood vessel swollen deep within the cranium. I took like nine Excedrin, and though I had the pain at bay, the vessel was not really flowing well, this I found out when I came with Master late Saturday night. The orgasm triggered a whopping pain in my head that nearly caused me to black out.

From then to now, the headache has slowly subsided, however, yesterday upon cumming with bat in, the powerful explosion of the orgasm raced to my just barely recovering blood vessel and did a number on my head. The pain was not as overwhelming as Saturday, but it did leave me quite incapacitated for about 30 minutes or so. So as the night wore on, sleep was finally demanded from my body, to try to give it the time and energy it needed to again address the weakened blood vessel.

Or I just came so hard I passed out and did not get to my journal.

Either way, I suggest if you are going to fuck yourself with a baseball bat while masturbating that you make sure that you have no weakened blood vessels anywhere in the system, because the explosive wave of blood that will ensue will leave you reeling!

Last night I was fisted, though my pussy seemed to have retracted just a bit, and I will have to work on stretching this week to remedy that. However as I lay there and the squeals of delight and orgasm were wrenched out of me, I felt no hesistation opening myself, I felt no shame, no fear, no doubt, I felt myself open to Him, giving and wanting only to give more.

I am supposed to write of all of the ways that Master uses me in a day in this journal. Yesterday was full, full of Him, some play late last night, but overflowing with the Man who is coming, coming to be in my life, to live in my home, to complete my existence.

myMaster

He gave me the choice of either a sandwich with 18 strokes of the grip and 18 strokes of the cane followed by 18 strokes of the grip....orrrrr....18 strokes of the cane, and 18 strokes of the grip followed by 18 strokes of the cane. Neither were exactly the recipe I had in mind. The grip is not something I had experienced before. This particular instrument seems to be made of some sort of foam, but it packs a wallop that no other ?foam? I have ever encoutered has felt like before. It somehow manages to penetrate very deeply without actually bruising. I love the feeling of a deep penetrating impact, which I think is why I like the cane so much, however the cane is so much more brutal to the skin.

In the end I opted for the grip/cane/grip combination because the cane is my toy and the grip His, and since it was His birthday, it seemed like the right choice. Perhaps for my b irthday I will go with cane/grip/cane...if the choice is given to me.

After the lovely birthday spankings, Master again chained me up. This time however instead of tying the chain completely inside my pussy and ass, He tied a 7 inch length hanging down to softly fall over my rather swollen clit. Just enough weight and friction to arouse but no real way to satisfy.

He worked my nipples continuously, rubbing them between his fingers. This action has never been one that elicited pleasure from me. I have experienced it enough as a woman, my nipples being the large inviting kind. But throughout my life the act has always caused me to cringe, to inwardly loathe the possiblity, like nails on a chalkboard my flesh would shudder. However, somehow Master has managed to bridge this mental bock of mine. When He rolls them in His fingers, whether gently or with the most tenacious of bites, it is my clit that responds, as if His fingers were there, gently rubbing, insistently rubbing, but never enough to explode, only like the chain hanging down caressing the clit as it passed over and over....arousing and arousing, but keeping the explosion for Him and Him alone, His time, His place, His decision, His toy.

Having the chains within is very arousing. The weight of them, the way they move and fill the cavities is very arousing and causes me to be quite hot. A couple of times during the evening I felt as if I had to poop, but realized it was merely the fullness of the chain. Getting in and out of the car as I went shopping also had its own challenge, not quite able to fully open the legs, at least not at the angle one is accustomed to.

He told me he just wanted me to feel im there within me, and indeed I did.

Tonight I was contemplating taking a walk, though I have pretty much decided it is too cold. However in the morning I may, as He has instructed me to wear my dog chain clasped to the rings. Mine has a small clasp at the end, making it easy to click onto a ring.

The last time Master was here He clipped two clips to my nipples and ran one of the chains between them, per a suggestion of one ofour friends here on CM, He set a coffee cup on the chain. It hung between my two breasts on the chain. This He filled up with soapy water. I was really afraid He was going to have me wash my mouth out with it. I was tremendously gratefuly when that did not occur.

I have some 'S' hooks, but the ones in my play bag are not big enough to hang a coffee cup right from the nipple. However in my tool box I have a series of them that are quite large. Perhaps when we have company again, He can use them to serve coffee to everyone.

I hope all enjoyed their holiday as much as I did mine.

His pet,

pleasure

Master claims I am quite accomplished at this act. And perhaps I am. Perhaps it is all a matter of desire, and the very fact that I deeply desire to suck His cock, that it alone can cause me to cum, that I am filled with joy in the act makes me accomplished, my passion to do so. Perhaps it is because I remain ever focused as I serve. Each time my mouth plunges down onto His perfect shaft and each time I make the journey back up to the top, my mind is there, completely there, it never wanders as I suck. Feeling each bulge of the veins and muscle that define its perfectness as the blood ebbs and flows, making it rock hard, softening it to putty. Feeling the sweet velvetness of the head massaging the fullness of my tongue, then sliding down the tongue as it follows some unnamed path deeply into the hunger of my throat. Maintaining a perfect rhythm, never stopping, never ceasing, never resisting, not for an hour, not for two, knowing that He has all control, and His pleasure will come at the moment of His choosing, not as a result of my efforts, nor devotion, nor even His own hunger, but only and always when He wills it to be.

It is my delight. It is my greatest joy. And yet, He managed to increase oh so much. I went down on my knees, to worship His cock, my head in full effort, when He reached down with His hand and took a hold of my head, grasping my hair in a tight grip. Holding my head completely down on His cock. The head of it deeply embedded in my throat. Breathing an act of extreme will, as my airways were filled with His pleasure. I yielded my body, stilled my fears, and relaxed into this place of fullness.

While there, it was difficult to suck creatively, there was no playing with the edges of the shaft with my tongue, the best I could do was to snake it out and flick the top of His balls over my lips. There was no massaging the head as I bobbed up and down, all I could do was to softly swallow deeply within, so that the muscles at the back of my throat served to massage it from within. The suction was continuous as I grappled with the need for oxygen, suction was nearly automatic. He held me, and as best I could I continued to worship.

A few moments passed, I expecting His grip to lessen. And yet it did not. He did not relent, He did not let me go. I was to worship Him there, completely restricted, completely filled. When the realization filled me, at first I again struggled with the diminished oxygen flow, my throat choked up, my body shuddered, but He did not relent. I was to remain pressed fully into His member, the shaft filling up my throat past the sphincter for as long as it took Him to choose to cum. At least an hour, I am sure, though the exact time I do not know, for time is bent wholly to His will in this.

I was given no freedom for creativity, no license to enjoy, I was bound, held tightly, filled completely, His toy, used in His manner, for His pleasure. A special treat. My joy, Master's cock within.

Each day I grow in my love for my Master. And in a way I had never known to exist before, each day He grows in His love for me.

I realize that love is often not a part of the equation of a Master/slave relationship. Indeed to truly own another human a Man has to possess a certain amount of emotional brutality, to treat a human being as an object, something to be owned, a toy, a dog. How then can a man love a woman, actually truly love, not like loving their car, but like loving their soulmate, their dearest lover, and also simultaneously own her, possess her as He would that car?

I, like most in the BDSM world, did not believe that these two feelings could exist side-by-side, and yet here I sit, in love with a man, myMaster, and knowing, that just as surely as He owns my very breath, He also is in love with me.

Can it be that in knowing this, there exists in me such a huge security that for the first time in my life I truly can surrender the most intimate and guarded aspects of my being. That rather than causing Him to be more and more weak to me, it rather causes Him to have more and more control. That I never have a single day when I vacillate, when I wonder what He wants with me, when doubts on any level of our connection even flit through for the briefest of moments.

I was owned before, twice. And each time I lived every day in that place of angst, knowing I was property, owned property, but struggling continuously to convince myself that I held intrinsic value to my Owner. I knew that I had value as a slave, and yet daily I struggled to truly believe that I was something, someone who was desired. To the degree that this question lingered, I vacillated, I waffled in and out of my confidence in my ownership.

With Master it is all His, every single aspect of me that I can find, that I recognize, that I have control over, because of His love, I am a believer. I absolutely believe in Him. Rather than diminish my ownership it only increases it day-by-day.

I am myBeloveds...and He is mine.

Yesterday we had a visitor to our home. He is a man from here on CM. One of those we have chatted with who is clearly intelligent and charming. Unfortuantely he was a little late so we did not have the time to play that we had hoped to. The cane did not fall, the mouth did not worship. It was none-the-less wonderful. His stories of life and the fullness thereof still ring in my kitchen. It was a delight. Master on one side, me across from Him and our guest at the end of the bar. Chatting, discussing the many years we have in common.

I looked up with delight in myMasters eyes when He silently mouthed the words, ?take off your top.? I look at Him uncomprehendingly....my top??? I mean, this was not play, there was no toys out, we were not even discussing the lifestyle. This was nearly vanilla. Just....take off my shirt???

These words did not come out of my mouth, but they flew through my mind, round and round. Under my shirt I had a camisole. It was fixed so that my ample breasts hung over it. With my shirt off I would be completely exposed. But, what was I to do....? He had clearly spoken, and while our guest chatted amiably on, I had no choice but to remove it. I was shy, I will admit. The mood was not set for this, I was embarassed, and yet, I was compelled.

Like the girl in Flashdance, I surrenpticously reached my arms under my shirt and rather skinned the shirt off of me as gracefully as I could. It was a very small and tight shirt, chosen to reveal most of my breasts while on. But off it came. The conversation did not falter. No one commented, and I felt incredibly uncomfortable. I was sitting in a very low chair to the kitchen bar, so it was easy to hide my hanging breasts under the edge. I crossed my hands and lay my head on the counter.

Our visit lasted about 40 minutes longer. Three opportunities came for me to expose them as Master had intended in the directive, but each I managed to obey without fully living up to the spirit of His direction. Yes I had obeyed the letter of the law, the shirt had come off....but the spirit, exposing myself, this I did not obey.

Master did not punish, nor pelt me with His disapproval, but we discussed it at length. Yes, I had obeyed, and yet, there was so much more I had had the opportunity to do to please Him and instead I chose my own comfort and to indulge my own ego.

I can say, it was extraordinarily difficult. Still as I sit here and contemplate the thought of facing this again, I cower within, my sensibility shuddering. If only it had been a play time, if only the setting had been set, if only, if only, and yet, it was what it was, the opportunity to please and honor the man I adore.

The next time, my focus will not be on my own body, but rather on the body that my Owner owns.

Next time.

He is here.

He is everything. He is my everything. My pain, my pleasure, my companion, my line, my discipline, my cruelty.

He is my time, and it is all for Him.

Until later.

If I can love a PIG does it not fit that I would also love a DOG? Love a HUMAN SLAVE? LOVE YOU as TINA? And if you can love Me as a PIG , can you not love Me as a DOG ,as a SLAVE, as TINA? If those things are true my love then does it not fit that we can and will always LOVE EACH OTHER for who we TRULY ARE? That I REX and you TINA will love each other without doubts, without fear of either of us ever leaving or being discontent?

If we can love the lowest form of ourselves can we not love the highest? If we love walking in the deepest of valleys, can we not also love the view from the tallest of mountains? More importantly can we not then love everything in between those two? For it is the things in between that will occur more. It is the common place that happens most of the time, therefore we need to love through that as well my love. 

Our conversation was not over. I discussed the few things I needed to get done before I would retire. I had a few dishes and some homework to help my son with. Master then informed me that I would be placing the chain in me as I did the dishes. I was to wear a pair of panties with it, moving around the kitchen with the weight of the chain deep within my pussy. It was an experiement to see if I could keep the chain in without problem. If so I would wear it the next day as I went about my tasks in town.

I was dripping wet as the conversation closed. I could not wait to be filled, first with the chain, then into the night with the barbell that would be covered in my cum. Perhaps I would cum twice.

Then...just before bed, I went potty, and my period had arrived. It was all a tease. Not until it passed, Master said. He was not going to allow the possibility of infection. So I sit here tonight, the only thing filling my pussy is my own blood.

Alone. Empty. Needy. Hungry.
Waiting for it to end.

My thoughts...sometimes it feels that He knows them before I do, and at other times it feels as if I am hidden in plain sight. I think to myself, he sees...he sees. I write these words and I wonder, do I want to be seen, do I not want to be seen. In truth, I wonder if I am all He believes me to be. I find myself fearful that He will discover I am not worth the price. There is such a high price, even I realize this. I wonder if He knows that even how I waffle.

He intends to break me down. What if He cannot? What does that mean? What if He does? What does that mean? He has chosen a path very difficult for me. That somehow in finding joy in that path, that I will be able to find joy in any. But He knows I cannot fake it. I cannot fake anything. It is a curse. It is my curse. So tonight, I am to be writing about the weekend, and I find myself edging near fear.

What if He discovers I am not all He believes I am?

And then as I sit here and try to make sense of the fear, I wonder if You already know these thoughts that are coming to me this night Master...do You already know and is that why the path is what it is?

At the end of the day, I know I believe in You. I do. I believe if You think it is time for me to be broken, then it is time. I know I believe if You think You are able to break me, then I will be broken. I know I believe that if You tell me it will make me stronger, more able to please You, then even though it looks so diffcult and undesirable, that it is what I want. In my heart, as I sit here, I am wishing I could have come closer to it while You were here. Not because I want to be a pig. I do not want to be a pig. I do not. And yet, I know You love me. I know it. I know it like I know the sun will rise tomorrow. Like I know I will accomplish the tasks You have set for me. I know it like this journal being written. It is as sure as my own nature, You do love me, and Your love is shrouded in wisdom and care.

I trust Your hand Master. I do. I trust it fully, even now when it leads me where I want to resist going. And in the resistance, lies the seed of fear. Mostly just fear that something, anything, even my own willfulness, will somehow dislodge me from Your hand. That is really the source of my fear, the heart of it. I suppose I can see that each time I begin to take even the tiniest step away from You in doubt or willfulness, in that action, that raising of the foot, as it is raised the angst, the fear begins to grip my heart. It comes in waves, small and incremental. Often it is shrouded in so many false hats, but really, really, it is the fear that I am not where I am supposed to be, and that because I have lifted my own foot from its sure ground.

You tease me about shaving my head. I know I do not want my head shaved. I also know if for some reason You decided it was the next step on my path, I would want to resist, to doubt, to question, and in all of that, I would grow my fear. Until, right up until I laid my surrender at Your feet, and embraced with joy Your will, even the shaving of my head, and then all would be restored and safe in the heart of Your slave.

I obey, yes Master, but even more, each day I learn to more gracefully surrender.

As I stated when I first saw Him He decided to open me up with a baseball bat. It was, is, a standard size bat. It was the large end, the hitting end that went in. The thing about the bat is that it is absolutely unyeilding. While the nerf football and Master's hand, both of which were larger than the bat went in, neither are made of solid unyielding wood like the bat is. In it went however, deep within me, and orgasmic is the only word that can describe it. Earth shattering, life changing orgasmic.

The next day Master began His pet training with me, although it was not nearly as comprehensive as He would have liked it to be. He is going to try to come again for a series of days next week to expand on it. He is beginning by reducing me to a pig. Not an easy animal to embrace when one is a large girl. But this is His will, more than that, this is His wisdom and His pleasure. I have never been systematically broken down as a slave. My former Owner did break me through severe starvation techniques, starvation of His presence and will in my life, not food. However it was neither systematic nor intentional. I am believing that it will take much emotional brutaility for Master to achieve it at the level He is hoping for. But, I actually do not know, as I have never done this to another, not had it done to me, and He has.

To being with I created a pen, a pig pen, under the stairs of my loft. It is a small area, just big enough for me to move forward and backwards in on my knees. Perhaps I could sit up in there, though I do not think so. Mostly it is much like a pen. I can see out through the back of the stairs. He required I go in there after marking my body thorougly as His pig. I made my breakfast, cream of wheat and put it into one of the bowls. The other He peed in. Both were to be consumed in the pen with no hands. It was very difficult, mentally, to do this. The bowls, while the largest I could find at the dog store, still do not really fit my head, so it was only through a series of licking and sucking, sort of a slurping through my curled tongue could I get any of it out of the bowls. It took about ½ hour to consume each of them. I ate most of the cream of wheat then worked on the pee. It was very strong, and each drop had to be consumed slowly and painstakingly. It was very hard. When it was gone, I went back and finished the cereal. The sounds necessary to eat like this very strongly resembled a pig and their slop.

When that was done He had me come into my sewing room and practice oinking. I had to pick up each of the small pieces of stuff from the floor, placing it in a dust pan, and oink loudly as each was picked up. It is one thing to think about this, to fantasize about it, to write about it, but to do it, to audiably allow this sound to come from one's mouth is very hard. Very hard.

He then allowed me to clean myself, and the words washed off of my body. It was a great relief. I was relieved.

Later that day He again used the bat on me, but this time He first filled my ass with a large dildo. I guess I should say he rather ravished it with that dildo. Pulling it all the way out, then slamming it into my ass to the hilt. Ramming it, practically raping my ass with the dildo. When I felt I could take no more then He left it in and began fucking my pussy with the bat.

It was not until the next day that I got my 26 cane strokes on my ass. He left a few for my tits, but actually broke my rattan cane on my breasts. So they only endured the weights with a few small strokes of the cane.

Last night, just for fun He filled my ass and pussy with chain. Each had a long dog chain in them. The sensation was indescribable. The weight of them in my gut, in my ass, it was as if they were embedded into me, as if they were pressing me open from both sides.

Open, that is the word for the weekend, open. I have been opened, and He has come in.

Last night as a welcome home gift Master filled my pussy with a baseball bat. It felt like a watermelon, but the amazing thing was that I came so hard that when he pulled the bat out I literally wet the bed with my cum....I have never thought of myself as much of a slut, perhaps a pain slut, but fucking was never really something that particularly wet my appetite. However I fear my Master maybe turning me into a dog in heat.

His pet,
pleasure

Master has a pet name for His member, it is Mr. Happy, He is Mr. Happy because He is so happy that I belong to Master. He is happy, because I believe that Master's pleasure should remain moist and wet at all times.

Today I wore marbles in my panties all day. It is rather remarkable how wet and moist marbles will keep a woman. Who would have known. They move so lithely, and somehow just barely touch the lips, the clit, and yet in them, in the property of the marble itself is the sense of profound hardness, but wet and slipping through my panties, the hardness just eluded the hunger. My panties were warm and moist when finally they came off tonight.

I wish, oh God, how I wish that tonight as I climbed up into my loft, that Master was there, that Mr. Happy was there, and that my moistness, both in my mouth, and in my body were able to be useful to them.

I leave you with an essay I wrote some time ago, at that time I used to have a profile on here called, Your Css. I thought the name would make perfect sense to all of those who read it, but daily I would get mail asking me to explain who I was, why I was named Your Css. After reading it, you will understand why I miss Mr Happy so much, for indeed, I am Master's Css.

YourCss...what does it mean?
Your cock sucking slave....

Cocksucker....
Such a vulgar and vile accusation that the slur can almost always instantaneously provoke a fight anywhere You might use it. Yet when given the choice of choosing my own name I chose the label cocksucker, for indeed it is at the moment when I kneel before my Lord and am permitted to be filled with the essence of His pleasure that my world eclipses into perfect harmony and completion. I am not just a cock sucker I am a cock worshiper.
To look at me one might not imagine that my greatest pleasure arises from sucking cock. I do not resemble a classic slut. I wear a very carefully crafted costume that presents me to the world as the upright, moral, do-gooding school teacher. Beyond that unlike most women whose persona screams here is a cocksucker where their lips seem to stretch from ear-to-ear, the Julia Roberts and Angeline Jolie mouth. I have a tiny rosebud of a mouth. When pursed into a kiss my mouth could probably be covered by a single quarter.

None-the-less the owner of every cock I have been allowed to suck has exclaimed with such fervor and praise at my capacity that I have come to believe that the size of the mouth, the lip size, is a poor judge of the cock suckers capacity. I have in the past doubted all of the praise I had received at my cock sucking capacity, for indeed when a man fills a woman 's mouth with his cock and explodes deep within the recesses of her being he will always say it is wonderful. However the last Dominant man whose cock I was privileged to suck told me that on a scale of one to ten I sucked cock at a solid ten. Now one might still question, but when given the possibility of grading on a scale such doubts do tend to quell a little.

I have come to believe that this marked ability to suck cock has little to do with mouth size but rather throat capacity. When the cock slides down my throat it is always my goal to stretch my tongue all the way out past my lips and use it to massage the balls at the base of the cock while massaging the head with the vocal muscles deep in my throat as I swallow over and over on it. The action I make to slide my tongue out as it reaches for that soft sweet flesh of the scrotum hanging at the base of the cock serves like a tongue depressor in a doctor 's office. The doctor tells you to stick your tongue out ans say ah. By doing so it opens up the throat and enables the doctor to see all the way down, in the same way it enables the cock to slide all the way down.

Yet in the end none of it has to do with physical ability at all. This slave's capacity to worship a cock begins and ends with its Owner. Therein lies the magic, therein lies the power, the capacity, the transformation. The first time this slave met her Owner in person He allowed her to taste the seed of life, the second time He withheld His precious gift. He took this piece of clay, this mouth, this cunt, this property and He changed forever its constitution.

When I kneel before my Lord, His pants closed, only His smell penetrating my senses I lose all sense of myself. Normally I am a being who relentlessly thinks, thinks and thinks and thinks. I observe, I analyze, I compare and conclude, but in the split second that I go from standing before Him to kneeling at His crotch, the bulge of His cock softly outlined by His fine business suit, not one thought can be maintained in my mind. It is as if my mind truly becomes a gray mass, a gelatin mass that no coherent thought emanates from. I am reduced to a slave, to His absolute slave. I am consumed with the smell, the presence, the closeness of the very source of His most intimate pleasure. I exist there, suspended, lost in Him.
He denied me orgasm while maintaining high levels of arousal for weeks and weeks, months and months. Never once did He use my cunt, my ass, only the fuck hole in my face did He ever enter, did He ever fill. As the days turned to weeks, that turned to months, slowly the nerves and sensations of my cunt became inextricably connected to the nerves and sensations of the walls of my throat. As He thrust Himself deep into the crevices of throat I began to actually feel it in the walls of my cunt, literally, as though He were thrusting Himself deeply into my cunt ripping it open with each thrust. Until the day came when from deep within me the orgasm peaked and ebbed. It was not permitted to explode, I had no such permission to allow its release. I remember the day well. I remember rising from that place awash in the glory of His cum filling me, my body shaking, quaking and trembling, the need to release reverberating through my being. All of this only from worshiping His cock, from sucking His cock, from becoming the receptacle of the very bread of life, His seed, His cum, the ultimate communion with Him. Not once was my cunt touched, I remained fully dressed, no other stimulation occurred, just sucking, just sucking cock, just sucking His cock.

Eventually He permitted the orgasm, two, three times I would explode each time I was permitted the privilege of worshiping His cock. The shudders the release, the spasms absorbed into my being so that I could remain sucking, worshiping, uninterrupted, focused on that which was vital, central, His pleasure, His cock. A circle of sensation, mindless devotion, eruption and focus, flowing through me and in me, filling me and at once emptying me.

And then...then, the day came when He no longer needed His cock in my mouth, all He had to do was say the words, suck, and suck, and suck. The thought, the image, the power of it held all of me suspended in that moment. Like a pendulum each time He spoke the command I felt the power of the explosion rise up inside me that much greater, until when He commanded His slave to cum, my body against its own volition obeyed, it squirted my orgasm out without even touching Him, without touching me, only through the thought of His cock buried deep within my soul.

What does cock worship mean to me? It is not cock worship, it is Owner worship. It is communion with my God. His piss, which comes from His cock is my wine, is the blood, and His cum is my bread, His very flesh. Into me He fulfills my destiny. I have no mind in that moment, I have no thought, no thing that comes between He and I, there is only completion, there is only mercy, there is only a hole and that which fills it. I am His hole, and I exist in the shape, His shape, the perfect shape created to be filled perfectly with Him.
There may be many cocks that go into this mouth, maybe one, maybe ten, maybe even 100 in one night, but each one is only there by His will. It is for His honor that I suck them. It is worship...it is honor...it is what I was made for. Obedience, surrender, worship. 

Finally my dildo was ridden up my ass. Sticking straight out from the edge of the table, I backed into it and rode it until my hole was opened as much as possible, then moving to a second leg, I backed up into a waiting round hair brush, its bristles poking the tender flesh of my opened hole. Then taking a deep bow on my knees, I exposed the openess to all and concluded the show.

An hour at most, more like 40 minutes, for those who graced my screen.

All grace to be His toy.

I am surprised at how tired I am. Master woke me this morning to make it clear that there would be no more procrastination in the life of this slave. Clearly defined objectives and directives demonstrated to me His absolute determination in this. However, it was not simply the slap up side the head, no, it was the intense rejoicing that I am growing and becoming His. That each step of revelation and understanding takes me that much closer to our pure intimacy.

While the slave in me cringed as I heard His directives and determination to leave me no possibility but to face fully the truth of my short-comings, the woman in me was loved and cherished and imbued with hope for my future as the true yin to my Masters yang.

In one of Master's first letters to me He wrote of yin/yang. He said, ?Without darkness there is no rest, there are no stars to gaze at, no star to wish upon. There is no comfort of holding one close on a moonless night feeling the warmth from their body against yours. Feeling their breath upon your chest as they sleep.

Without the dark how can one rejoice in the light of day, taking into one's eyes all the splendors it beholds? Seeing the beauty of the one beside him gleaming in the sunlight. Watching her naked body rise from him and move away in all the glory that God himself first made. Yes ying /yang is what true M/s is, a taking and giving of each parallel soul to one another.

To truly understand that, although Dominant I have no more power or am of no more value than the submissive kneeling at my feet. The same holds true for the submissive, she has no value to her Owner if he gives her none. No matter how much one submits to another if it is not accepted nor cherished, where true value is placed on it then it is like sand through ones fingers. It may feel warm or gritty for a second but that is as long as it will last with little meaning. But hold that same sand in your hand cup your fingers around it . Place value on it put it in a kiln heat it and it can turn into a work of art, a glass so beautiful one cannot remove his eyes from it. That is how M/s should work a relationship nurtured to its fullest. Where submission is viewed as the truest form of love to one's Master not just as mere indulgence to be shooed away whenever one feels like it. But instead embraced and held close and realized that its value is priceless. Yes the Ying and the Yang , the swaying of two souls back and forth each bending to the other completing each other, incomplete without the other.?

Today was yin/yang. It started with my being chained to a chair to remain so, sitting my naked bottom on a handful of pearl-sized beads, my pussy full of marbles, my ass full of a Vicks covered golf ball. Sitting writing, researching, completing my tasks for the day.

Then when removed, my pussy so wet from the marbles that my panties had to be inserted for the next few hours to stop the leakage. In that state I went about the business of the day, my son here, calls there. A call of dire reprecussions, deep pain shooting through my psyche. Master's calm voice holding me steady. No dear one, you will not slip back, I am here to hold you. You are moving ever forward, ever toward me.

I pulled the dry and scaping panties from my pussy when I got home and began the arduous task of trying to get transportation across the country to try, to try, to redeem the irredeemable. I am a mother, and as such will always believe in my children, will always go the extra mile, even if....even if it looks as if there is no hope. A willingness to sacrifice it all, Christmas put on the altar, the brothers and sister sacrificing everything for their sibling. And then Grandpa unexpectedly comes through, he will pay my way. Relief floods us all.

Through it all, each call, each feverish search on the computer, Master is there. Bringing the light. Holding me close. Remaining calm and steady. Unwilling to compromise on what matters.

And then....then....late tonight, when it was all resolved. The tickets purchased. The arrangements made. The innocent protected. Then He admitted the depth at which He would miss me. That He too needs me, as I desperately need Him.

In my history, such need would have scared me far, far away. I would have seen it as weakness, rather than the truest of strengths. Today I read His words, I hear His words, I know His words, I love you, my pleasure. But mostly I receive His words.

I am loved. I love. He owns more of me than any human being ever has. He owns more of me than I knew could be owned.

He has given me myself, that I might be able to give Him all.

And now I go to ride my dildo far up in my ass, for 10 minutes this night. It will be followed for 10 more minutes by the small, sturdy water bottle. Finally for the show tomorrow I will try to work into the gaping hole my ass, a round bristly brush. I will do this with joy and thanksgiving. No greater thanks can be offered than my own for His becoming the yang to my yin. Completing me.

His toy.....

What surprises me most about it is how easily I can see it in myself. I mean, it is hard for me to accept that I have really so well hidden my own faults and weaknesses from myself for so long, for so, so, long. In the past I would have seen the problem, but I just would have assigned the responsibility of it to another, somehow in some way.

Because of my procrastination I had to pay 360 dollars to fix my car, well, that is an extra 360 dollars, because I also had to replace the alternator, which was 70. Of course if I had just addressed the alternator problem promptly that is the only thing I would have had to pay. Indeed I myself changed the damn alternator, and if only I had been willing to bend, to yield, I could have just bought the alternator and 45 minutes later been on my way. But no. Not only was it 360 dollars that will now not be spent for Christmas, but it was almost an entire day of myMaster's time and presence with me here in Chicago spent going back and forth in His truck to my broken down car trying again and again to get it started. That being even more precious than the wasted money.

Master has kindly chosen to give me one stripe for each of the 10 dollars wasted on my procrastination. When He comes I will be taking 36 full stripes of the cane. 26 on my ass and 10 on my presented breasts. While the thought is painful and daunting, it is daunting, for His strikes are full and true, still, retribution, relieves, it cleanses and finally it frees from the shame. Thank You Master.

It took all of today and most of yesterday for the Mechanic to figure out what my electrical system had burnt out after I ran the car dead. As I was trapped in my apartment waiting for my car to be revived Master decided it would be a good time for me to feel the power of being chained. He had me dig my 7ft chain out and attach it to about 15 feet of thick rope, and attach that on one end to my waist and the other to the radiator.

He told me of this last night, before going to bed. That I was to have it on before I called Him this morning. When He described it to me last night, I was rather excited, in fact I asked to masturbate after hearing about it, so excited did it cause me to feel. That mercy was granted and I slept soundly, however this morning when I again realized that I was to be bound to only the kitchen and bath I felt a small panic race through me. Limited, staid, held, no longer in control of my own body. Physically limited by His will, completely and without question. You can walk this far and no further. I procrastinated as long as I could without causing suspicious and called about 10 minutes past my normally expected call. But I was bound, chained.

The chain was very heavy on my waist. I wished it were on my ankle. I felt drug into the chair. I did not want to rise at all. Not at all. I wanted to remain fixed there until I was released. I knew I had permission to remove it once the car was fixed, so I sat and watched the clock waiting for the time I expected it to be fixed. Grounded because of no car, and now grounded because I could not even go and lie down in my bed, could not sit down on the couch.

The time for the car to be fixed came and left. I looked around me at all I needed to complete but I resisted. Finally an hour later, I got up peed and went to the furthest reaches the rope would allow and with my finger tips got a pillow from the edge of the couch and a blanket and took them and lay down in the hallway to wait for the rest of the time to pass. I knew I could remove them before my son got home from school. I slept intermittently. Resisting. Procrastinating. Bound.

When Master called at 2 I admitted I was feeling very rebellious with the chain on. Feeling like I wanted to pull against it. Even though there was no pad lock on it, I could no more remove it without His permission than if it was padlocked. So powerful and yet so simple.

Master spoke to me in volumes today. Words that even now confound me. He is here to care for me. To actually care for me. Not just care about me...but to care for me. To own me, to own me as fully and with as much, no, with more attentiveness as He does His new truck, His home, His toys. He will care for me, for my weaknesses, for my brokeness, for my lacking. He is here for me. Such words, yes, but to be demonstrated in actions. To be shown time and time again that He takes care of me. Literally, truly, with abandon. I am confounded. I am.

He knows I need the pain. It brings me to myself. It arouses and strengthens and empowers me. Tonight I wrote to everyone with a clip on clit. It was not to be removed until each person had been addressed. None overlooked. A clip on the clit, a place, for me, of devotion, of focus, of gratitude.

It is easy to imagine you want to own a slave, but can you even own a dog? Can you feed them every day? Can you get them to the vet? Can you pick up the poop from the yard each night? Do you want to? Do you imagine that there is less responsibility in owning a human slave than there is in owning a dog?

I am owned, precisely because my Owner shoulders the fullness of the responsibility of that ownership in every single way. He is my better. He is more than I. But beyond that, He chooses to pay the price to own a slave.

So I am His toy,
His pleasure

Today, a man said he wanted to play with me, but did not want to meet my Master, did not want to know about Him. I was dumbfounded. I realized that this man imagined that these journals, the pictures, the sharing of my service, of my pleasure, of His toy, that all of that was some kind of kink for me. That somehow it was a fulfillment of my will. The absurdity of this assumption was stupefying to me. How could I respond? It is like asking...the age old question ?when did you stop beating your wife?? To which there is no answer if you have never done it.

The point is, none of this is my will. Except that it delights Him. I would never, I have never chosen to put myself, revealed here on collarme. I have never displayed myself so wantonly. I have never chosen to seek the use of others. Never. I have searched for an Owner using this site for at least five years, and never, ever did I do this. All of it is only because I am His puppet. I am His toy. This occurs each day because of Him, not in spite of Him. This is not His indulgence of me, this is my indulgence for Him.

He came this weekend, and He used me beautifully, fully, deeply, penetrating all of me. Getting the football completely inside of me, striping my ass, my breasts, my tummy with my cane, fucking my ass deeply with such force, using my biggest dildo, clamping my nipples until they ached the next day, and the next, hanging me from them, on my knees, on my toes. In and out of me, using me. Using me. I am valuable because He uses me. It is not because I am valuable that He uses me.

HE is the center, He is the purpose, He is my fulfillment.

myMaster, is unlike any who have ever owned me. His greatest delight is my pleasure. HIS greatest delight is MY pleasure....It is so profound, so utterly unthinkable I can barely conceive of it from time-to-time. It is like hearing some fantastically complicated mathematical algorithm...that is profoundly simple. You look at it, and it simply boggles the mind. However, even if it were not, even if His greatest delight was my utter anguish, if He owned me, and He does, so totally, but He owns me, then I am exactly what He desires. I am the fulfillment of His desires. I have at times been garaged, for days and weeks and months, by a former married Owner. Left on a shelf without the slightest of nods. Sitting in utter preparedness, aching to be used, to have value assigned to me. And even in that state of perpetual limbo, that was His pleasure, therefore it was my pleasure, my purpose. And while such a state diminished and ultimately damaged me, for I am a living property and as such have to be fed to remain alive, it was His will, therefore it is how I was defined.

As I look through the photos of His use this weekend, and I see all the places where we connected, I think about crawling in here on my knees with the cane safely in my ass, like a drooping tail to be presented for my caning; as I think about kneeling deeply under the very desk I sit, so that the cane would be presentable for Him to reach; as I think about the edges of this desk becoming the sides of my confinement, the place where I was to take that caning; as I think about the intense power in which He chooses to strike, no warm-up, no play time, just reverberating strokes that reach the gut; as I think about later lying in His arms, up in my loft, discussing the caning and bondage, and His comment that I need not be bound for I am mentally bound, I am held there on my knees for His pleasure, for the cane to strike and strike and strike....as I think on all of that I am filled with deep contentment. Contentment that cannot be put into words. In all of that, I am His pleasure. I am His design. Yes, I love my cane. Yes, I dream of the strokes on my flesh. Yes, I delight in the power with which He delivers them. That each one is sure, that not one disappoints. Not one misses the mark, that each touch my soul...in all of that I do delight, and that delight brings Him great pleasure. Yes for us it is the perfect yin/yang. But even if it were not....even if were only living on a shelf, unused, undusted, unfed, if that were His purpose, and He my Owner, then that is where I would be, and want to be.

No, there is no play without His pleasure. Perhaps without His presence, but only and always because it delights Him. All of this, all you see of me, all you know of me, all of it exists here because and only because it is His pleasure that it do so.

Because I am His pleasure,
Master's toy......

With the mountian tops come valleys.

I suppose that is why mountain tops are often avoided.

 Happy Thanksgiving All

I do not know.

I hope everyone enjoys a great Thanksgiving.

pleasure

Today, I felt so knit within Master. So magical.

Family, choices, difficulties, they all still exist and yet He, like a comforter, soothes all of the ragged edges.

He allowed me to worship His cock until He came four times while He was here. I have to admit I am a greedy slave when it comes to cock worship. I am. I have been trained to cum while doing so and until now Master has required that I ask permission before releasing even when sucking His cock. The first time He allowed me to kneel and receive Him this time, the arousal was so intense, so feverish, that I did cum without being able to stop sucking long enough to seek permission.

He knew immediately. He knew. He knows me so intimately.

But now He has changed that. I am now permitted to cum freely while worshiping His cock. At will...as if it were of my will. It is not. It is merely the physical representation of my emotional ecstasy at the experience of being full of His pleasure, completed within it. No, it is not at will, it is simply being true to the immensity of the exchange.

I admit, I miss the feel of Him deep within me, the softness of the flesh, the scent, the taste, the power pulsing within my very being. I consider it the greatest of gifts, of grace, His grace to me, to allow me this, to give it to me, to bless me with it.

And He assures me that His cock misses me as well. Is that not wonderful? Is that not simply the fullness...?

myMaster chooses to disclose His feelings, His pleasure, His joy, all that He takes delight in from me. He does not keep me at bay, but rather chooses to include me, to reveal His own vulnerablities to me in the face of my own toward Him. Perhaps this is why love has become the central cornerstone of this enslavement. Because we each are revealed to the other.

my Master's toy.....pleasure

The perfume of the garden blows
Fill'd full with scent of musk and rose;
The little bay beneath us here
is like a woman's jeweled hair,
Studded with sparkling shafts of light.
Reflected from the diamond's height,
and somewhere in the grove is heard
The passion of some love-lorn bird;
And you, my dear, beside me here,
with joy around us everywhere.

William Stanley Braithwaite

My loins weep even now as I think of the precious moments I spent simply lying next to my love, to my Master, high in my loft, rapt in His scent, in His taste, in His pleasure.

The summer is the season of my days now. The beginning, the bright sun, the new warmth, the many birds celebrating love, life, and passion. The ocean roaring, the long summer nights, the stars clear and vying for your eyes. It is summer in my life. Spring was vibrant and full of promise, and now I here in summer. All around me winter shows its signs, the stark, black, trees naked in the cold air line the trees of my street, and yet my life, my heart bursts with the fullness, the abundance, the joy of summer.

Life comes in seasons, and this one is one of great delight.

I am loved, and perhaps for the first time of my life, I am open to being loved, to receiving His love.

He opens my pussy, He opens my ass. Four fingers He pressed deep within my ass hole as I worshiped His cock in rapture and release. Four fingers today, a fist next, and all the while opening not just my physical being to His pleasure and purpose but my heart and soul. Reaching deep within my very being to the source of me, opening me to vulnerability, to desire, to need, to want, to the truth of who I am, in my fullness with no flinching, no cast down eyes.

I offer my holes, opening them, stretching them, willingly, wantingly, feeling Him enter me, feeling my body exploding in pleasure, feeling Him deeper and deeper within, feeling His hand on the very pulse of my heart. Feeling His joy completing my soul. Because He loves me, He needs me and wants me as dearly and as passionately as I Him.

Fearlessly we traverse on this journey. Our faces warm in the full sunlight smiling down in its fullness on the lovers, on the slave, on her Master, on the friends, on the man and woman who explore each other, who open to the other fully, without shame, without fear.

I have written thousands and thousands of words describing my journey. Years and years I have expressed my heart, my reality, the vision that passes across my eyes and never have I been here. Never.

Master slept in my bed all night. He is the first to do so in my home with my son since I left my husband. And yet there was no angst in my son. There was nothing stressful or uninviting. It was right. It is right. He is the One.

He took some pain from me, some crossing of the back with flogger, with cane. And yet of now, what He seeks from me is the openness to pleasure, to tasting the fullness of experience. Not just the safety of the heat of pain, but the bubbling joy and vulnerability of pleasure, of openness, of raw hunger for the soft, patient touch of a lover.

The clips, yes they bit into my nipples, the weights hanging, as I watched the movies and the girl also endure the deep bite. Yes, my head swum that familiar creek. Yes, I felt You Master, as the ropes cinched tightly the two orbs on my chest, set a high for Your pleasure. But I too felt Your lips and tongue circling them, tenderly through the night.

Perhaps I write a bit intoxicated, and indeed love leaves one that way....reeling, smiling, delighted.

His pleasure....His wondrous pleasure

In addition to that he has a business opportunity for me. He wants me to assist him in getting a BDSM membership website up and running, one that depicts movies, movies he will be making. It is very interesting, and quite challenging. One of the jobs I will have is recruiting actresses. So if anybody reads this and is interested in being a paid actress in a short BDSM movie, contact me. You need to be in pretty good shape, specifically quite limber.

But, the process, the process I am embarking on to accomplish this objective has been illuminating to me as well. He left me with two videos of short movies to watch and learn from. I am watching them for cinematography, for an understanding of lighting, of camera work, of the need or lack of...plot. The truth is that while I experienced much in my decades as a slave, watching movies is not one of the major things I have done.

So yesterday after he left I spent most of the evening watching.
Watching.
Watching.

These movies were the...cream of the crop. There was a set I recognized labeled "cow". I had never seen the movie, but I used to have a Master who loved to send me porn, and I used to get 6 or 7 emails a day with 8-10 attachements from him. Most of it did not really do much for me, but at one point, these pictures of ?cow? began to arrive. I found those incredibly erotic, and saved them, all of them. Indeed I began looking for those when he sent me pictures. So when I turned on that movie and began to watch her...in the very positions the stills had been taken from, I was mesmerized. I imagine she must be a BDSM star. She was/is quite amazing. Really.

But through watching these movies, something else grew within me, an inkling, a slow beginning at an understanding. An understanding about my own journey, about my Master's direction and purpose. Master very much wants a slave who is whole, who enjoys all things. I am not yet whole. I have always been a masochist. It is easy for me to enjoy pain, and watching those movies had me deeply wet, throbbing wet. However, I am not good at pleasure for pleasure's sake. I am great at giving it to others, but I have always avoided it myself. Indeed for years the sensation of having my pussy licked was interpreted by my mind as the same sensation as hearing fingernails run across a chalkboard. It was excruciating. But it had never been a problem. Most Masters, even most men, vanilla men, have no real need to make a woman cum, they are happy with their own pleasure. They see it as an obligation, and some Masters see it as another source of entertainment, but the vulnerablity, the trust, the surrender that a woman goes through to give her orgasm freely to another, that I go through to have to give my orgasm to another, has never been something my Masters wanted, or needed, or desired. If they wanted me to cum, they would tell me to masturbate. I was happy with that, it was my hand on my clit, my control, my release...yes, they ordered it, but I controlled it.

I had a Master who trained me to cum on command, and I hated it, god I hated it. But again, it was violently ripped from me, quite unwillingly. It was not me trusting, it was not me surrendering, it was not me being vulnerable, it was Him taking from tightly clenched fists, ripping it from me.

Master however, will have nothing if He cannot have it all. All of my emotions, all of my weaknesses, all of my vulnerablities, all of my love, all that I have hidden from everyone including myself. If I cannot open my legs and release my pleasure to His touch, trusting Him, feeling Him fully, feeling His pleasure, as pleasure, all of me, He wants none. Taking pain from me is academic. Any Dom worth anything can do that. I have gone to visit Sadists, strictly there for pain, that is easy.

As I watched the movies, I saw these women, these slaves go deep...wholly within themselves, to give everything, to take everything...and then in the pinnacle of their pain, when all vestiges of endorphins had been depleted, when their consciousness was a thin thread holding them to their bodies, then...then the Master would fixate on their orgasm. Then when all pain had been wrenched, when all of that had been tapped, and not one more drop remained, then they gave their true release, then they were brought to orgasm, slowly, and without malice. Until, the pain became only pleasure, until all sensations were knit together in utter release.

As I watched I began to understand what Master wants from me.

Last night, I spent a bit of time in a small cage in my kitchen, just 15 minutes, with my ass filled with two golf balls. Fifteen minutes of distance from humanity. I felt myself slipping away from humanity, feeling my range of vision change, my perspective no longer from the top looking down, but rather from the bottom looking up. I felt the limitations of my movement, unable to rest all of my muscles at one time, having to choose which would be relaxed. Understanding, just a little, what it meant to have my humaness taken from me. And as I did, and I considered what I had begun to understand from the movies, I realized how important it is for Master that I be whole, completely whole and healthy, a vibrant and full human being, because only then does he get the full measure.

If I am already less than human in my own eyes when I climb into the cage, I am only giving him a partial portion of my humanity. I am only giving part, for I only possess part. If however when I climb into the cage, I am fully human, then each moment I am there and am reduced, and He recieves that humanity from me, He is getting a full measure, He is taking all that is human about me.

If I am unable to enjoy pleasure, then when he takes pain from me, he is only getting a part. He is only going as deep as the pain goes. The deeper well is not accessible to Him, because it is dammed within me.

No, in order for Him to own me, to possess all of me, then I have to possess all of me. If I do not, He cannot. For if I do not have access to it, He cannot get access to it. It is only as I have it and surrender it that it is able to be laid at His feet. That it is given to Him.

My former Owners owned all that there was of me. However, I see now, that was a small part of this slave. Much of who I am, the fullness of who I am has been heavily protected. This due to good reason, pain from abuse...the mind's way of learning how to continue on. It is not a bad strategy, but once the abuse is gone, if the strategy is not undone, then from that juncture on there is an emotional line of what will be allowed within the pyche and what will not. I was not wrong to create the line at the time. I just need now to see it no longer has a function and remove it so that all can be accessed. All of me.

Pleasure for pleasures sake.

I am His toy, yes, but I am His pleasure

The day is warm and full of promise. A little cage time I think.

His toy,
pleasure

On Sunday, Master gave me mercy and decided to hold me responsible for the weight loss of my son. He is a minor and has struggled with his weight for a few years. I have sought various counsel and aids through the last few years to help me with this problem. I myself am a large woman, but have always been so. I am rather comfortable in my skin and have never been a dieter, unlike many large people. There have been a few times I have had food restrictions placed by my Owners for various reasons, though I am not sure that weight reduction was necessarily one of them. However, I have in the last few years sought the discipline of my Owners in this area to aid me with my son's discipline. However, it was not successful. It was successful in helping me to control my food, but it did not translate to help for my son. . .until now.

Last week starting Sunday I am now taking the weight of both my son and myself and submitting it to him. And He has decreed that each week I would be responsible for a net loss of two pounds a week from us, combined, not four, but either one each, or two from one or two from the other.  So if son gains five I have to lose seven.

 At first this directive threw me into quite the emotional tizzy. My weight is deeply connected with the protective covering and strength I feel I have to have to deal with life and the pain inherent in it. I felt as if all of my coverings were being pulled away from me. Indeed they are. He is burrowing deep within my heart, He is seeking my vulnerablities in all things, in all areas. I wept and panicked. I called my best friend and spoke thoughout the night, however my speech was broken and halted. My fear nearly paralyzed me.

That night Master sent me the most beautiful of love letter I have ever read, not only to myself but to anyone anywhere. It was; is utterly exquisite. It more than took my breath away, it stupified me. I was spiralling beyond control. Emotionally I was falling down a chasm I had not seen for decades. But the morning came, and Master expertly reached way down into my soul and grabbed a hold of my slippery fingers and carefully and with full control slowly brought be back up, back into the light of day, back into the truth, back onto the solid ground of His ownership and my safe place there.

So we have begun. Together our combined weights are 567, clearly much to lose. Yesterday however, I was so tried I did not rise to make my son breakfast, and he managed to leave without accomplishing his morning jump ropes, and I confessed to Master that I felt like a bad girl in this. He immediately took that for what it was and gave me an appropriate punishment, and after making my own breakfast, a warm bowl of oatmeal, and obediently peeing carefully into a cup, I fixed my oatmeal with the regular butter, cinnamon, and sugar, however instead of pouring milk on it to cool it, it was generously coated with my own pee.

Then I was required to place the wide bowl on the floor, and with my cam on, to lick the oatmeal out, without using my hands. When all of it was licked clean, I then poured the remaining pee into the bowl and licked it out as well.

This was hard. It was. And yet it was not vile. It was not depraved. It was Him caring for me, freeing me from my burden of guilt, empowering me, giving me power to rise early each day to care for my son. It was a gift, for He allowed me to complete it on cam, for His pleasure, which He took.

Soon after that I found myself intensely aroused and per the direction Master has now instituted, I was given permission to masturbate after a short devotional, where I kneel down on the floor, my face into the floor and my hands reaching back around me to open wide my ass cheeks. I hold that position for three minutes then I am permitted to masturbate. Yesterday however, He wanted me to work on feeling comfortable masturbating to orgasm on my knees rather than on my back. He had my breasts nicely bound, not too tightly, but enough so that they stood straight off of my chest while still allowing for a reasonable amount of blood flow, so that they could be that way all day.

Therefore when I was kneeling in the masturbation devotional my protruding breast pressed hard into the floor. To aid my comfort when masturbating I placed my shoulders and bound breasts on my bed. My bed is a loft, with a wide landing just next to the mattress. It was on the landing that I knelt. However, after 20 minutes or so of masturbating very close to orgasm I could not quite bring myself to release and finally turned over and came very hard, my eyes fixed on my breasts jutting up off of my chest.

There was one other devoiton that Master allowed me, this the night before. He had come last week and finally saw my loft and so now has a clearer understanding of its usefulness. It has a large 2X8 beam that runs the length of the room as one of its sides. I have holes drilled through the length of it for various I-bolts to augment bondage. The I-bolts are not kept in there continuously, but the holes remain. He had me go and run two strings through the holes, then fasten a weight on the end of each weight, and while standing affix the strings to my breasts with yellow clamps. The rope was taunt running from my nipples up through the holes, then down the other side to the weights that just sat on the floor. Then He had me slowly kneel down on the ground. This caused the weights to slowly rise up in the air, pulling on my nipples so that they bent upward in supplication to Him. The weights hung off the floor about two feet, the height of my knees. I remained there on my knees, with my legs spread wide, and my hands resting on my thighs for seven long focused moments. I had set my phone alarm so that I need not focus on the time, but rather only on His pleasure and my function.

Today, Master has asked very little of me. My period began yesterday and nearly knocked me out. It has been a very heavy flow these last few times. The combined stress of the period and my piercings really put me out yesterday. Today I am up, but taking it easy. I find that I have to keep my legs well apart to keep the 6 little bars happy and not aching.

He has instructed me to write Master's toy across my chest each time I am to be useful for the service of others, and now each morning I am to dress as that toy before beginning answering letters and such.  Today I chose to wear something festive.  For the holidays. 

Happy Holidays!

His Toy,
pleasure

It is difficult to form thoughts to be shared. The plain facts are that Master came to see me yesterday, we both came, and I was pierced. However the emotional impact of these three occurrences is indescribable, even to find words for it is escaping me at the moment.

Master is cultivating my heart. Successfully cultivating it. So when I see Him my emotions run wild. I know that all slave's are thrilled to see their Master, and I always have been, with all of those I have served, but not with this emotion. Perhaps a word picture. In the past when I saw my former Owner, after a bit of an interlude, I would feel like a child being taken to a long awaited fair on opening night. My heart would race, my eyes were filled with wonder, I was fed delights and I went on rides throughout the night. The experience was delicious, and yet it was over too quickly, I was always left hoping for just a little bit more.

Seeing myMaster is much less climactic initially. There are no bells, no whistles. He does not start out with a command, or some expected protocol. He gets out of His car and kisses me. He holds me and we begin. It is the feeling one has of going to their grandmother's for Thanksgiving. A favorite grandmother, the kind who knows everything you love and manages to get it to you throughout your visit. Your whole family goes, it is cold outside but warm and wonderful within. The rooms are filled with laughter and love and games and smells...oh my God my Master smells so good. You begin feasting the moment you arrive, treats are everywhere. Deviled eggs, stuffed celery and fresh baked cookies adorn the little tables, fruit punch in little glasses with sherbert balls floating in it. The smells massage and grow within you an unquenchable need for the big table. Everyone comes. Everyone is there, you feel wholly a part of this family, needed, valued, cherished, loved. You feast not only on the food, but on the connectedness, the closeness, the laughter, the antics, the pleasure, it is the pleasure of life, of living.

This is what it is to see myMaster. This is how I feel. He climbed into my bed, my loft and we snuggled. I took in His aroma. I touched His soft t-shirt. He stroked my hair, my neck, my shoulder, my back and eventually my breast and nipples. After a time we began to kiss, my hunger riding through me like waves. He played with it in my kisses, through His kisses, squeezing my nipples until there was release, my tongue dancing in His mouth as the moan escaped my throat. And finally He allowed me to worship His cock.

I have been trained to get so aroused when sucking cock that I cum, without any stimulation to my pussy or clit. However Master enjoys arousing me. I cannot cum, of course without permission, and perhaps it would be smarter of me to ask that permission before ever taking the cock into my mouth, because once there I do not want to remove it for any reason, not even getting permission. It is quite the struggle for me as my body quakes with the unreleased orgasm, and my mouth pines for that which fills it. Often I will come to the head of the cock, thinking to remove it, to ask, when I simply find myself plunging yet again, not able to release His pleasure from my mouth. But ask I did.  And granted He did. I came quickly the first time. Master placed one or two fingers in my ass, and it being so very sensitive, I was easily brought to orgasm.

When this occurs I have to be careful not to bite. The body, or at least my body tends to tense up, almost like a huge muscle spasm, one in which I would normally clench my teeth as it explodes, so I am excruciatingly conscious of not closing my mouth when it is filled with His cock and my pussy is contracting out its pleasure. It is a very conscious act. However yesterday Master was really enjoying playing with my ass, opening it ever more. Two fingers, three, I think, one remaining in my pussy, jiggling, pressing, arousing....AROUSING. And then I came really hard, really, really hard, I felt myself slipping, when suddenly, completely unexpected by me, Master filled my throat with His pleasure. My body racking in convulsions as He expertly wrenched a deep and powerful orgasm from it while simultaneously cumming deep within my throat. It was magical, spiritual, it was euphoria, and I did not think I could get much higher. I did not think anything could ever take me closer and make me feel more intimate than I did as a result of that, but the day had not ended.

Yesterday, we had the distinct pleasure of the service of a young man who offers free piercing here on Collarme. He came to my home, and His service was more than professional, it was exquisite. He asked me to rate Him, and at the time I could not really put into words what had occurred, indeed I am not sure I can still. But Him, His work all alone was spectacular. I felt as if I were in extremely competent and caring hands. He was and is amazing and I consider myself a fortunate human for having the privilege of knowing and being marked by Him.

I have long desired to wear a chastity piercing. I have attached a picture of the chastity device I have wanted. Master however, enjoys the idea of the pussy being opened and exposed. So He sees the piercing as a latch...an clasp, to open and close the toy. This way of thinking about my body has helped me immensely. The thing is that I have been an object. I know well how to arrest my feelings, shame, pain, and simply be what my Owner desires...whatever that is. However, myMaster wants a woman, a lover, a passionate human in love with Him and with life, and I have had a very hard time awakening the immensity and at times uncontrollable emotions that comes with that, then trying to navigate objectification. To be here on Collarme a toy, available for the pleasure of others, exposed, exhibited, available for amusement. It has been confusing for me. Master, however has addressed that, even as He described the piercing. I am here, His toy. Master's toy.   Each time I come and write or serve as His toy here I am marked down the front with this label, to help me know my place.

As His toy I am here to be played with. To be admired. To be coveted. To bring Him pleasure as others also enjoy, as He shares. His toy.

His toy has a latch, as well, as most toys do. A latch to close it up, when He is done playing with it, and a latch to keep it open so that He has continual access. His toy is open when He wants it so, and closed when that serves His pleasure. He told me today, He may tie it closed with ribbons for the holidays...smiles* Green and red ribbons.

The piercing....Oh my God...it was, how can I explain it?

The piercing.

The piercing. . . I have thought about for years, through two Owners and now with this Master. I have fantasized about it. I have masturbated thinking about not being able to touch my clit. I have imagined various configurations of it. I have gone to tattoo shops and priced holes and jewelry. I came very close to having it done in Florida with a male slave who I owned for a season. But in all of that, in all of those visions, never did I ever come close to understanding what happened yesterday. Indeed I am not sure now that I can make it clear with the limited English language. Even as it occurred and I was there, and He was there, I could not speak, for even one syllable would diminish the perfection. I think of the movie Amadeus, where Salieri is attempting to describe the music of Amadeus and he says, ?And music....finished as music is never finished. Displace one note and there would be diminishment, displace one phrase and the structure would fall. ... Here again was the very voice of God.?

I will simply convey the details, and not attempt to explain the emotions. Master came, and we lay together for a while, then I rose and made him a small meal. While we were dining, the Piercer came, and had a small bite to eat with us, a moment to orient ourselves, to break bread together. He teased me a bit, worked to build up a little fear. Then we agreed I should lie on my counter. It is a high one, it is like a bar, but broader. It was the perfect height for His work. At the top of the counter is a mirror, and it is possible to walk on each side of the counter. Initially Master had thought to take pictures of the experience.

I lay with my legs apart and my feet on the counter reminiscent of stirrups at a doctors office for a pap smear. He poked around a bit, marked me, and there was a bit of small talk between Him and Master, and then the coolness of the alcohol indicated to me it was almost upon me. The first a bit like a bee sting. No sound escaped my lips, but my toes curled and my fists clenched. myMaster moved from my nether regions to come and stand just to my right. He did not reach down for me. He did not peer into my eyes. He simply was there. He saw me, all of me. He opened Himself up to me. The second through, 1/3 of the way, the third...the third hit a nerve, and I cried out. He held my hand. He gave His to me. I did not want to hurt Him in my squeezing, He did not take it away, He did not force me. He came into me. He was all that there was. I saw Him. I felt Him. I felt His pleasure, I felt His pride. I felt as if we had suddenly become one on our journey. It was transcendent. The intimacy of our connection at that point surpassed all connections I have ever had with any human. Truly I was in Him, and He was in me. It was as if there was a vortex of energy flowing from Him to me and back. The pain, the gift, the strength, the courage, the pleasure, the joy, all of it, continuously.

Because of the pain, of the concentration I could not speak. A few times my Piecer asked if I was okay, and I had to travel back out of myself to my lips to respond. I had to travel out of the reverie. I had to come out to do so. But within the space of no time, I was again within my Master, warm, held, suspended, sustained, His pleasure, my purpose, all fulfilled. All connected.

Afterward He kissed me. When the Piercer left, moments after it was completed, I fell into His arms, and He whispered to me of the power, of the intensity of the connection that He felt, that we felt, that was, that is.

I am His pleasure and He is mine

Who is this man? Do they really exist? I have sought an Owner for years. Twice I was owned, twice I had a Master. I have been a slave since I was 23, that was 23 years ago. Never have I encountered One so, not just genuine, but truly profound. He is the absolute ideal. Not just for me, but for any slave. I state that without trepidation that I might overstate the truth, for I am extremely critical. I am not one to ask an opinion of. An ace is an ace to me. I own no varnish. Beauty is beauty and ugly is ugly, and there is no beholder nor eye to soften that truth. No, I do not offer my judgment of myMaster lightly, He truly is what every slave hopes to find...one day.

I had decided some time ago that His words are too wonderful to be only read once or twice and then saved in some electrical data base in the stars, so I purchased a journal and am slowly transcribing each of His missives to me with pen and ink in calligraphy, so that I might truly seed the truth and beauty of His words deep within me.

These were the very words He sent to me. From here He invited me to a conversation. This is myMaster....

Submission- the act of giving one self's over to another. 
True submission - The act of giving one's self to another not because it is asked or demanded of them but because it is what they must do to feel complete as a person. The act of the submission to their Master's wishes is the necessary foundation of who they are as a person. It burns in thei heart so deep that they cannot refuse for if they do they understand it takes away from who they truly are.

A Master understands this and uses the act of submission to him as a generating force of power to make his slave feel complete , loved, and cared for . He knows that If this happens the bonds between M/s will not be broken but only strengthened . Doing so leads not to separate bonds  one of Dominance the other of submission  but of one bond shared together so entwined with each other that neither could survive without the other.

Both knowing that without Dominance there can be no submission, without submission there is no Dominance . Both working to make sure that the two always occur for that is their life together. 

myMaster is building His life in me, and I in Him. The foundation is love. The structure is Dominance and submission and the heart of it is life. What a lucky slave I am!

I obeyed each thing He asked of me. I rode the dildo and inserted my bottle for 10 minutes. It was at the top of the hour so I masturbated with the bottle in, as I had the privilege of masturbating for 3 minutes at the top of each hour. Yesterday I put 3 golf balls in my pussy, this at the suggestion of someone here on Collarme, thank You Sir for Your contribution. It made for a total of four, for there was one in my bottom also for the hour. I bound my breasts and clipped them, that was also for a request here, and sent the photos on. I did not make it to the alt room, but will try to do so today, to wax.

But mostly I missed my Master. I feel silly admitting that, for I spoke to Him in the morning, and in the night, it is just that I felt His absence and it changed the way the unfolded.

His pleasure

A wooden spoon quickly replaced the banana and soon I was cooking with its long handle battling around my legs, they served to massage it within my pussy as I walked to and fro with the cookies. It remained in until all of the cookies were cooked, and then licked clean upon removal. I scraped the sides and edges clean as well so no juices were wasted.

Master says that the pussy is like a fruit tree needing to be harvested, its juices consumed and relished by myself and Him when He is with me.

When I got back from delivering the cookies I cleansed my ass with my pee from the morning with a piss enema, but I used the funnel. Master likes the funnel for its aesthetic value, but has agreed to let me use an enema bag in the future as the open edge of the funnel allows the fluid to run back into it. If anyone has a different suggestion we would appreciate it. For now though I will be using the clear tube with the enema bag for my enemas. I will still use the funnel for the mouth and pussy holes.

I picked up son and took him to his class then came home and rode the dildo in my ass for 10 minutes, which I described here already, followed by my bottle then a very deep nap. I really wanted to cum at that point and asked for permission but fell asleep before getting it. I woke up dripping with hunger.

Master had me begin a profile on alt yesterday and last night we had our first online session. It did not work perfectly. I had about 100 viewers, but I could not seem to chat with them. I wore my mask and Master spoke to me in my head set. He had me bind my breasts, wear weights and fuck myself with my dildo for a while. It was a short session. We are hoping for suggestions for use on cam. There were no letters in the box on alt. We would use the cam group here however His computer does not seem compatible with anything from Collarme except letter exchange. Some computers are just like that. I am Yourpleazure on alt, if viewing is something you want to enjoy. I am not sure when I will be on, but if you have any suggestions for use they would be appreciated.

It is now almost Saturday. I fell asleep on the couch after dinner and woke up with a start in the middle of the night because I had forgotten the hour of my golf balls. I have them in now...just a few more moments and back to bed with me.

Enjoy the day,
pleasure

I opened and opened, and knew Your pleasure. Slowly the head opened and opened and then receded as the shaft narrowed and entered, deeper and deeper.

Master, I want to be Yours. Not a part, not most, but completely filled with Your will, with Your pleasure, with Your love.

Utterly and without reserve.

The bottle went up to the label, pressing, pressing, thinking of Your pleasure, of Your delight when finally my ass takes Your fist. Wanting to stretch, to suffer, to enjoy, to delight, to become for You.

Your pleasure

The journey here is primarily spiritual growth, hard to see, but infinitely easy to feel. Profoundly easy to feel. Growth by nature is not a pleasant sensation, generally it is quite painful. However it is a pain that as humans we crave, for it confirms our existence. It is said that when we stop growing we have begun dying, and since dying is universally something that is resisted, we crave the feeling of growth in our body, mind, and spirit.

Yesterday began with my admission that I had not stretched my pussy on the dildo the day before. I suppose I had hoped that Master would allow me to do so the following day. Until the day before it had been up to me to accomplish...the timing. He had simply given me a 3X a week mandatory dictum. However, I had suggested that since I was now stretching both pussy and ass, that it might be smart to do one on one day and the other on the next, this following a rather sore first day of both. He agreed, but then the day got by me, being the habitual procrastinator that I am, and it was not until the wee hours of the morning that my balls got in, and I was just too tired to stay up for the stretching.

Well, disobedience always, always, carries a much worse price than simply staying up a few minutes later and getting it done, or even better getting it completed early in the day when there was p[enty of time and energy. The worse price, of course being, myMaster's displeasure, which acts like an acid on my stability all together. It eats away at every aspect of me, burning me deeply and relentlessly. And his dissappointment and displeasure was readily noticiable early Wednesday morning when I made my admission. "Since I was not wanting to ride the dildo once in my pussy," He said, "I would get the pleasure of riding it three times in my ass yesterday." Three times defined.

They were hard to do anyway, but doing them while generously coated in His displeasure caused them to be nearly excruciating. However that was not the end of the day.

By the time I had completed two and the day was nearly over we had a small conversation late last night about weight....mine, my sons, control, concern, direction, expectations, and somewhere in the midst of all of that I was gone. The pain of facing this with full emotional brunt plunged me right over the edge. I was in tears by the time He was off the phone. I was trembling and reeling. It was not losing weight, I have had food regimes in the past, it was facing all of the immensity of what makes me big, what made big, what created this in me in the frist place. Facing this with my newly sharpened and acute emotions. Facing food restrictions as an object is easy. It is merely obedience. Open mouth, insert food, chew, swallow, offer thanks...do it all again. Or, no food at all every Monday, every Thursday, nothing. Simple.

But this, no, this was all of it.

By the time I got back online late last night having completed my last 10 minute ride 2 minutes before the deadline, I had decided I could not speak to my Master first thing this morning as I do every single morning. But there in my mailbox was the most profound letter of value and appreciation, of love anyone has ever written to me. Indeed I did not know letters like this existed. There was no way to not speak to myBeloved in the morning. Instead I went and panicked to my best friend for the next hour past midnight, then exhausted I fell into a fitful sleep. Waking just late enough to barely get son to school, and then finding myself afraid to go home, just unable to face the vortex of emotions that awaited me there.

Master called, as He does each morning, and it was a portion of a second before He was digging, trying to get at the source of my extreme discomfort. I became paralyzed by the surge of emotion. It was so much...so much. Three phone calls and 2 hours later He had taken me gently by the hand and walked me back to the safety of His arms.

As Sara Mclaughlin sings

He is for me the arms of an angel
He helped me to fly far from here
He pulled me from the endlessness that I feared
and I found comfort there,
in the arms of my Angel

He did not leave me there however, once he had brought me back from the edge again He took me the next step. You will bind your breasts as you work today, then you will devote your pussy to Me by annointing it with your piss through the funnel along with all that I require from you daily.

Today when I rode the dildo in my pussy, such relief filled me that I easily could have cum, and today was the first time I struggled with that. Thrice I felt the line so very close, once crying out thinking I had gone over. The binding of the ropes was not just tight but rough and chafing. I have changed the profile picture to reflect the bindings of today and added a picture or two of the rope, as it was approved by the webmaster.

Mostly though I took one step closer to the One who owns me in a way and at a depth that has never happened before, not by either of my vanilla husbands, not by my two former Owners, not by any of the many lovers I have enjoyed, never. He will have all of me, but not because He is ripping it from my closed hands, but because He stalwartly works tirelessly with me to help me to open those tightly clenched fists...not just open but present.

Here myMaster, Here is Your pleasure, please take me, please take all of me.

Your pleasure

It was a hard day today....His voice displeased, my failure displayed. What more is there to say?

Today we experienced puppy play. In many ways I feel as if my Master is perusing my capacity as one might peruse a full and abundant smörgåsbord, or feast. He walks by this plate and reaches His finger in and takes a large scoop and fills His mouth appreciatively then He moves on down the table and sees another treat that glistens with delightful beckon and then He possessively pops that into follow the first. Day-after-day He tastes of the richness of what this property He has been given has to offer.

Puppy play, certainly something I have heard of, and thought about and I will admit I have even masturbated about. I have gone so far as to contact and chat with those who are seeking a slave who seeks to become a dog, and yet, I have never had to speak, or squat to pee, to lick myself clean. To wear a collar, as a dog, a collar not as a slave, but as a dog. And perhaps if my former Owner had required this, I could have moved into that place easily for I have well accomplished the skill of disassociation, of separating myself from the shame or emotional response in my mind, in my body. And yet that is exactly what Master will not allow, even more than that, it would dishonor His pleasure and purpose in ownership. No, I am speak...to bark like a dog, in private, in public, and to feel, to feel fully the heat rising to my face, pulsing in my cunt. To feel the eyes of those around me, to feel my own embarrassment at being a dog.

When I peed today I did so over a low long pan, first barking once to indicate the need to relieve myself, then again when it was complete, then finishing by lapping up all of the pee. I have been consuming it via a cup and even a funnel, and yet, it was not until today that it was so very bitter going down, so hard to swallow, to be a dog. To be  a dog. Not to play at it, but to enter it as His pleasure, and feel all there was to feel there.

Even now my pussy and ass are full of the golf balls, the devotion He asks of me each day. But more than all of this is the willingness to step into my heart, to release all of the locks, to allow the chains to slip out of their clasps and to stand by while I become aware, I embody the intensity of each experience, fully and without hesitation. To love, and be loved. So simple to state, and yet so very foreign to this girl. To love and be loved. To be cherished, not because I am pristine, but because I am willing to cherish fully and without pulling back from even the deepest recesses of depravity, to feel fully and to experience it all. To not live as a husk of a slave, the outer body going through the motions but the inner self safe and untouched.

Puppy play, it almost sounds vanilla, but for me, this day, was truly a surrender to His voice.

Thank You my Master, indeed I am Your pleasure as You are my own.

Your pleasure

The day held all of its regular devotions, scrubbed clean nipples and clit. As I scrubbed dutifully each nipple for 60 seconds and then held back the labias and scrubbed with the toothbrush my clit I thought about how each day the outer most level of epidurmis is removed from these sensitive areas, all dead cells, everythign that would stand between then and total sensitivtiy. Each and every day they are scrubbed.

I did not have to wear my golf ball, because I stretched both my pussy and my ass today. My Master revealed that He bigger goal is to double fist me. To that end I was doubly stretched today. Stetching my pussy was remarkably easy. The dildo slid in and the bottle went all the way in, the bottom first and my lips and sphintcter closing completely around the top of the bottle. However when I went back to the post to ride the dildo in my ass, I was much less enthusiastic, my energy level subdued. It went in to the hilt, but there it mostly stayed with a soft almost imperceptible rocking for the 10 minutes.

As I rocked I thought of the details of the story I am writing for my Master's pleasure and the thoughts of it cause me to become particularly aroused as I stretched. So upon ending the stretching I called my Master to ask him if he would give me permission to cum. He said He would generously allow me to choose, I could ride the cock in my ass another 10 minutes and cum, or not, as it pleased me. Of course I chose to ride. However this time because I knew I was to cum following it I could not help myself I truly rode, humping and bumping as if it were a small presence in my pussy. But no, it was not, and afterwards and throughout the day I felt the presence of the dildo in my body.

I was very dutiful to allow my pee to wash over my two fingers each and every time I peed, and placed the clips on the outer lips each time I peed to remember not to forget my fingers new place in the process. However by the end of the evening I could feel the lips becoming sore and worn from the bite all day combined with the slight amonia residue that would fall onto the clips. Even though I would remove them as soon as I was done cleaning my pussy with my fingers, and then wipe the whole thing with paper, it was long enough to begin the slightest of irritations, therefore my Master gave me permission to remove the clips from the process.

Today I also began making arrangements to be prepared by another for my piercing on Monday. myMaster kindly agreed that I could employ the use of a submissive male to wax me and service my feet. My first choice was not available but one of the boys from this journal offered his services, so I spent some time forming the details of that service. While it is not a cuckold service, for he will not be preparing me to be fucked, it is close to that, for he is preparing me to be used for myMaster's pleasure through my piercing. He will suffer with me as I am waxed, and he will massage the raw skin with the softest of touches. It will feel good to be so prepared. Everyone should have a servant boy to help them ready themselves for any eventuality. He will be here either Friday or Sunday...I will share the details of it then.

Mostly though I feel as if I am beginning to see through the fog to the structure He has in mind for me, and I am grateful, so very grateful.

Your pleasure

Today I write with my pussy easily filled with my little water bottle. It is entirely within the growing cavern of my stretched walls. On Friday He put a full size one within after the fisting, easily it slid in. Today He informed me that we will begin stretching the other orifice as well. 10 minutes riding the dildo in the ass, and then the beginning effort of the entry of the bottle. The goal to be double fisted. Smiles* a goal I had never dreamed of before.

My thoughts yesterday centered around a meditation He gave me. He allowed me thrice to worship Him, to become one with His pleasure, to take Him within my mouth and to open my deepest recesses to His life-giving seed. His control is perfect and it was a long and deep meditation and devotion He afforded me. While I was in the throes of the act the second time He chose to fill my mind with words with images. He told me that the letter ?P? powerfully represented His property. 

P for pleasure
P for pussy
P for prick
P for property
P for plunging deep within
P for pressed tightly against Him
P.....
P.......

The words even now elude me, but the power of them, the forming, the shaping that He did as I so yielded opened myself to His prick deep in my throat and to His power deep in my mind. There were no walls, no questions, no resistance, just the desire to be filled, filled ever more by Him.

I am being formed. Formed into a place of perfection, of joy, of purpose. I am being formed for Him.

His pleasure

Myself I have questioned this since I had reason. My questioning started at 12. I remember approaching the teachers in my Alternative Highschool. I was admitted although I was only an 8^th grader because my mother was a teacher and persuasive. I have followed her in both of those paths. I questioned and questioned, why...?who....?how...?what??? Still I question.

myMaster listens to my questions, he is not afraid of them, he does not shrink back, and while at times he asks me to walk by faith for a season, he promises that in the end I will have the answers to my questions. If not, then is he really myMaster? And if I do not walk in faith can I ever learn to trust? If I do not learn to trust can I ever really be owned? If I am a slave, a human born with a slave nature and I live unowned because I cannot trust, then have I really taken the journey I was born for?

myMaster predicts my path, he sees it before it unfolds for me. He tells me of the twists and turns that come just beyond the bend where neither of us can see. And yet he does, he does see. More than that, he chooses to reveal the path to me sight unseen to help me, not only to prepare me for the twist that is to come, but also to earn my trust.

There is in me a bit of shame I carry that I have to have my trust earned. I am a slave. I have only the rights that are granted to me. How then can I need my trust to be earned? How then can I make such a demand? But there is the true power that myMaster has over me, He chooses to earn my trust. He choose to make my path easier. He chooses to ease my day. He chooses. It is he.

He warns me, has warned me since the first moments of our journey that journeying with him is a grave danger to me. He will take from me all that I offer, absolute obedience, limitless pleasure, unspeakable depravities...He will take all of these easily as I give them without reserve, but there is no risk there for me, no, no danger. The danger is much greater than any of these. For He will also take from me what I have never given, not to him, not to any. However he will not take it until it is placed lovingly and with total trust into his hands. He will take my intimacy, my heart, my love. He will patiently peel away, gently and without harm, each layer of protection I have forged throughout my life. Day-after-day, step-after-step, the journey we are one will take us to a place of utter honesty and devotion, a slave to her Master, and a Master to His pleasure.

The time I spent with him cannot be put into words. There simply are no words. As I lay next Him after being fisted, after being wholly penetrated I tried, even in that moment to form words to describe the sensation and it was impossible. There are no words, there are no words.

It is taking a woman, a slave, a human to the ultimate sexual and sensual height, but doing so in the fertile ground of unrestricted intimacy with every moment and breath pregnant with value and esteem. As His piss splashed off of the funnel by my shoulder, spilling over on my cheek, shoulder and breast as the rest cascaded down the tube into my pussy, slowly dripping afterwards down my legs, I felt his warmth, his sweet spirit coating me, anointing me, nurturing within me the seed of affection and love, yes love. His scent, His bodies fluid, His presence on me, over me, in me, through me.

Yes, there was all of those things that we define as BDSM. There was the cane, bound and purple breasts, there was lashing and fisting and worship, cock worship... But the acts, the truth of the acts were danced to the dance of purity, of truth, of pleasure, of trust. Every moment was pregnant with significance and value. Every act an act of releasing that which binds me, my fears, and a reaching out for that which desires me, Him.

My journey today is a journey I did not know could exist. I did not know. I did not.

You can describe the color red to a blind man, you can put his hand on a hot metal plate, you can let him listen to a mad man rage, you can describe, using all the senses, the ways that we see red, but until that man is no longer blind he will not understand red.

Questions and answers do not make the journey be. Only one step after the other. Just the step in front of me.

I did not know.  I still do not.  But I do choose to trust.  You.

Your pleasure

Until now.

The truth is, myMaster confounds me. On one hand this is a man who not only understands absolute ownership, the reality of one human being owning another. But He has the capacity to Master me, and that is no small capacity. There are numerous components required to Master me, intelligence, intuition, a ruthless adherence to one's own self, all things many believe themselves to possess, but in truth are very rare qualities. However, while it is true that He possesses all of the qualities necessary to own me, He is unlike any other Master who has had these qualities. He takes His pleasure from my pleasure. This simple truth, stated in seven little words is one of the most difficult concepts for me to accept. My pleasure has always been incidental in my service. It has never been the purpose or the function of anything. To say this is uncomfortable to me is like saying the sun is warm, the sky is up, the ocean is water. For it is uncomfortable, but it is oh so much more than that. This small truth has me at the edge of my comfort zone almost continually. What a funny way to be stretched, to be stretched because you have to own your own desires and submit them, and face them, and own them, and yield them to the pleasure of another.

This morning I woke knowing that when I called Him I would have the water bottle already in my pussy, stretched and tight. I was also preparing to masturbate upon the commencement of our conversation. This knowledge had me deeply aroused all morning as I waited for the appointed time for the call. He had me write to Him to describe how I felt about the funnel. The writing of that, of the sense of being stretched open, of my holes being beyond my control, of the control of my throat being taken from me, prompted me to relate to Him one of my long time fantasies, and when I did finally call Him I was nearly cumming I was so aroused. It was almost effortless to insert the water bottle. I came in only a few moments. He had me remove the bottle and lick clean all of the juices, not wanting any of me wasted. Then I put it back in for the duration of the call. When I removed it the second time the juices were actually beading up and dripping off, again I dutifully licked it clean and shiny.

Later I had to hold the pee for a while and release it into my pussy via the funnel, followed by a water cleansing.

Because my juices are not to be wasted, and yet only so much can be consumed in a day, there were a few times that I was only required to hold my two fingers out under the stream as it entered the toilet and then after licking them dry, used them to clean the wetness from my pussy lips, wiping it with them and then again licking the moisture off, much like a cat using my paw to clean my body.

As the pee gushed over my waiting fingers the first time I released, I realized just how conscious I was of the release because of the presence of the fingers. The tips of the fingers are the primary location of the nerves that accomplish most of our sense of touch. While the whole body has a sense of touch, it is the tip of the fingers that are most used for this purpose, to feel the pee cascading over them brought the reality of it right home. I felt it everywhere. The sense of it was palatable.

After the flow was completed, I bought my dripping fingers to my mouth and suckled them. Dripping wet, and pungent. Somehow much more than I anticipated. Twice more I wiped the juices from the swollen pussy lips with the two fingers, then followed that up with paper. The taste of myself lingered in my mouth and in my senses throughout the day.

Just before speaking to my Owner I inserted the golf balls for the hour, and tonight I will have to be punished. Because this discipline of using all of my excretions for His pleasure is so new to me, twice now I have run to the potty, released my pee, and was wiping away the vestiges of that experience before I realized I was no longer allowed to do so. The first time I confessed this to Him, He granted me mercy, the second however came with a further discipline and a punishment. Until I can remember each and every time to pee over the fingers and use that first to clean, I have to place a clip on each lip as soon as I need to pee, to then only remove them after I have peed as described. That is the added discipline that I employed five times today.

The clips are to be washed each and every time and treated as one might treat jewels. For they are there to teach me what a pleasure, what a jewel I have in my fingers and the use of them for His pleasure. They are to be in my possession continuously.

The punishment is that my release of pee is limited this night. For a number of prescribed hours I will not be permitted to pee at all. When the moratorium is up, I will pee into a container, then using a wash cloth, I am to use all of it to cleanse the disobedience and negligence from my being, washing my face and all of me with it, taking a sponge bath in it. Afterward, before I begin my trip to see myMaster, I am permitted to wash again with water.

I did finish a new toy for Master. It is made from black rubber bungee cords that I cut into thirds and fashioned into a flogger with a pink handle. Picture is attached.

Tomorrow's journal will be withheld until I return from Him.

His pleasure

He spoke to me at length about the value of my excretions, and as He spoke I grew aroused and asked permission to cum. He allowed me to but when I had done so He required that I take my fingers and lick the juices. We will not waste any of you pleasure. Not any of you. All of you has purpose and value in my pleasure. He then instructed me to wear my golf ball all morning as I worked as a volunteer at the school. This would compensate Him for the pleasure He gave me as I came for Him this morning. In addition to this, I would not be permitted to pee until I returned home. Nothing of me was to be wasted. I am a valuable property and source of pleasure for Him, and He is not willing that even one drop go to waste.

When I arrived home from school and some errands, I had needed to pee for about 2 hours. I sat on the potty and released the pee and golf ball simultaneously. However the pee was caught in a square plastic Tupperware container. The ball plopped out into the clean water of the toilet. Per His instructions I took the pee and after inserting the tip of the tubing of the funnel into my ass, I slowly poured the pee into the funnel and sunk deeply on the floor in front of the mirror and watched the pee slide into my ass, as I felt it slowly fill me. At one point it did not want to go in, unlike an enema bag there were so suction to create a vacuum, instead after leveling out it began to work its way back up the tubing. I had to squeeze it down. Once completely inside, I obediently held the pee enema for 5minutes and then released. I found myself swooning with desire. I had just cum a few hours before and now I was throbbing.

The day got a little hectic and it was not until late afternoon that I was finally able to place on my nipples my weights and my bells on my labias. He allowed me to do this in His presence. It was a 10 minute devotion, but I was utterly focused. Utterly. It took almost 2-3 full minutes to release the clamps onto each nipple, my hand kept wanting to hold off the final bit of the bite, but finally I was clamped and listening to His voice as again and again He instructed me on the truth of His ownership, on the reality of His way, of His purpose, of being His pleasure as I became pleasured. It was nearly intoxicating.

Then later in the night, I was told I would again hold my pee until it was ripe, then I was to again employ the funnel but this time it was to go down my throat. So many holes, so much cleansing. This was quite a bit harder than I had anticipated. The funnel acts as this instrument to go in and hold open. I became exposed and open for His pleasure.

Because I wore the ball earlier I did not have to wear it in the night.

It has been a powerful journey today. Tonight He granted me permission to cum before I sleep if I put the bottle back in and masturbate with it in. It is an amazing feeling to do so. I think I may do just that. He left it as a choice, but, I am pretty hungry after a day of enticements.

His pleasure, tina

So I have agreed to take some of it on faith. To simply believe that in the end I will be not only more valuable to Him, but indeed more valuable to myself. I suppose if there were no point where I was being stretched, being illuminated, if no angst existed then I would not really be with One who could own me. But damn it is hard!

This morning I awoke to an interesting breakfast, not oatmeal and banana, but banana was definitely involved. I was required to place a peeled banana in my pussy, then to take a cucumber and fuck myself with it until I came, no easy feat. I woke feeling out of sorts, rebellious, anxious, and cumming was not something I wanted to do. But I laid back on the pillows, thrusting my ass up so I could navigate the cucumber into my pussy, mushing the banana in, the softness causing even more frustration. At least once during the process I thought about how much easier this would be if I had at least even the smallest modicum of pain being afforded me. Something, somewhere, but that was not His pleasure. He is training me to enjoy pleasure for pleasure's sake. Truly an admirable goal, especially for a die in the wool masochist as myself.

I did cum. It had to be pulled from me, but it was. Then the banana was expelled onto the foil. Afterward I was instructed to use my fingers to wipe out all of the clinging pieces from my pussy and eat it clean. Finally I was permitted to scrape all of the banana that had oozed out into my yogurt bowl and mix it with the yogurt and enjoy my juice ladened breakfast.

As simple as this little exercise was to describe, the doing was exponentially more difficult, this primarily because tina had a bad attitude upon rising this morning, and every step of the way was a fight. Obey she did, but willingly was not part of that obedience.

Throughout the day the discussion raged. My sharing my feelings, His standing His ground. I wanted more control, more pain, more will, less choices...please oh please, less choices. Patiently and repeatedly He explained that He was not going to yield, it was going to be His way, now and forever. The process He has begun me on will be continued on until the end. I will learn to trust, to enjoy, to be free to fully explore all aspects of myself unhindered and unfettered from the chains of the past, that no part of His pleasure was going to be restricted from Him because of past sins. These sins were to be healed. I was to become whole, and in the end I would be a slave worthy of His ownership.

In the end, I yielded. I obeyed. And I felt shame at my resistance. Even still I am cloaked in that shame. He offered me sweet value before He headed off to work, softening my heart yet again toward His beauty. The beauty of His soul. The one true joy I have, to be of pleasure to Him, to be of value. He affirmed my value, then left me to face myself.

Aside from the delicious breakfast, I also was privileged to clean out my banana coated pussy with my first pee of the morning via the new funnel. I would have been filled and anointed any number of other times this day, but my attitude prohibited all but the most repetitives of devotions. I placed the golf balls in at 7-8 as I cleaned my room, and scrubbed my nipples and clit with the toothbrush after the piss douche early this morning. I feel as if I have stolen not only pleasure from Him today, but from myself because of my on-going resistance. I am regretful of that.

I did get my tickets to see Him this week and will be going there on Friday. I am both excited and anxious. Not only will this days emotional whirlwind lie between us, but my disobedience and lie from a few days ago, while forgiven still twinges my conscience, and since I have not seen Him since, I have not had His hand on my head assuring that forgiveness I am anxious about the trip. Why oh why do I make it so very hard on myself?

He assures me we will operate one day at a time. I look forward to the journey of tomorrow.

His pleasure, tina.

He enjoys playing with food and I have purchased both bananas and cucumbers. We have been having extensive debates over the bananas. He claims that it is normal to eat bananas with oatmeal and cream of wheat. I claim I have never heard of such a thing. If you have a moment, please write me and tell me your opinion of this combination....oatmeal/cream of wheat with or without bananas?
Thank you.

Just before inserting the golf balls, I cleansed the pussy with a douche of my own pee. myMaster sees my pee, His pee, the composition of pee as a purifying agent. He has instructed me that I will no longer be wasting it unused into a toilet. He has explained that not only do I have three orifices that can receive that cleansing throughout the day, but I can be anointed with the rest, that neither my own nor His shall ever be wasted again, that my mind and body will become and remain utterly cleansed.

To that end I purchased two funnels today. Actually I used two that I already had, but purchased clear tubing for. Picture is attached. The clear tubing is nice because it allows me to see the piss flow into me, into my prospective holes, feeling it as it fills either my throat, my ass, my pussy, or over my head into the toilet, yes feeling it, but also seeing it as it inches its way down the tube into the willing receptacle, the chosen place to be anointed. This devotional was completed today for the first time just before the balls were placed.

He also had me resume the stretching of my pussy. He wants very much to regularly fist me, although He is adamant that my body not be damaged, so He is working me open very slowly. Every other day I place my largest dildo into a leather casing and screw that onto a beam. Once it is there projecting from the beam just at pussy level, I slowly back myself onto the dildo and ride it with lube for 10 full minutes, thrusting it harder and harder, pulling myself fully from it and impaling my widening pussy completely over the engorged head to the bottom of the shaft for the full 10 minutes. Then when the alarm sounds, I take out a small water bottle that was filled with hot water, cooling slightly as I ride the dildo for the 10 minutes, and when it is also nicely lubed, I pull out the dildo for the last time and then insert the bottle. Initially the bottle went in with the cap first to sort of ease it, but now I can take it with the bottom first and it goes all the way in with my pussy lips closing around the little protruding cap of the bottle. This for another 10 minutes, every other day. Though myMaster did suspend the stretching during my period, it has commenced again today.

I was permitted to cum today, though He required that I do so twice in succession. I had sought permission to do so, not to relieve stress, but only because I find myself deeply aroused. He spoke to me a number of times today about feeling His cock deep in my throat. Describing the sense of going past the small bump in the recesses of my orifice, and the pleasure He takes as He holds my head all the way down. Hearing such words, writing them now causes my pussy to flair in heat, in hunger. The masturbation was very fast, the two came within seconds of each other. My former Owners preferred the training of denial. For many years I masturbated and was kept on the edge of orgasm, for weeks and months at a time. When first encountering Him I found it quite a mental exercise to go all the way, to release and release freely. Day-by-day He claims and reclaims the working of my body for His own pleasure. For I am His pleasure.

myMaster likes cleanliness. Because of that I offered to shower twice a day and will do so today. It had never been my normal behavior. He has the peculiar expectation that if I offer something it becomes a part of His expected service. This expectation of His is a little bit hard for me. There are any number of things that I find difficult in the service of myMaster, areas I feel a bit out-of-control. He assures me however that He is completely in control.

There is with Him an entirely different approach to ownership than any I have experienced before. Perhaps it is not that different from many, I do not know, I know for me it has never been the way of enslavement. He had warned me repeatedly in the beginning that perhaps because of this, His way would not be my way. And perhaps that challenge in itself is a bit of a hook for me. What is amusing is that I do not think He meant that statement as a challenge, rather as a sincere acceptance that we may not quite meld. However we do meld, or we do have that rarest of qualities, deep, deep chemistry.

You see, He seeks my heart. My heart. He does, no, He is not willing to conquer me, to bind my will so tightly that I have no option but to surrender. No. Rather He has an absolute standard, that I only hold interest to Him if I am willing to fall utterly and completely in love with Him, becoming enslaved from within, from the deepest vestiges of my heart and need, not because He has taken my ownership, but because I have given in, achingly given it. However, the difference does not end there, because He too desires to be in love with me, and frankly that has never, ever, been a part of the equation in my slavery.

I have many who love me. Many who have been in love with me. But, this is an absolute unknown. It is an area that is, or was, off limits to me in my particular paradigm of slavery. In many ways I feel as if there is no fence, no border, no boundary. Of course, there are any number of physical ones, but I have never considered physical boundaries to have a real capacity to define me. I am submissive by nature. To be told to submit to this or that is not a challenge, it is not a stretch, it does not limit me, even though I suppose it does, and perhaps it is in the end the only way any limits are ever truly enforced, on the physical level.

The thing is that I do feel the invisible marionette strings attached to my arms and legs, however rather than being made of steel, if they were based on will, they feel as if they are made of elastic since they are based on emotion, controlled, directed, growing emotion. And that elastic at times makes me feel as though I am flailing, falling, seeking the boundary, the end. And yet, He has told me plainly, there is no fence. No fence. If you want to leave, the door is open, you are free to walk away. I will not bind you. And yet, it is in being binded that I feel safe. He responds, yes tina, as I told you, I am not safe. For you I am not safe.

Remarkably He is, day-by-day gaining my affection, my adoration. The path is being followed, and yet, the fear, the angst of living without that fence it is a constant companion as well.

He has given me a nick name. I have not had one of these before, a nick name. I have not had many of the trappings of slavery before. We often, even daily occasion upon yet another thing I have not done before, and this is quite amazing since I am a very seasoned slave. My nickname is profoundly appropriate, even my many vanilla friends and family are amazed at how well it fits me. He calls me *pleasure* I am His pleasure. I give pleasure, giving pleasure and finding ways to so is the core of who I am. And yet, to be called this causes me to blush ever so slightly each and every time. It is like being undone, being revealed, being caught with my hand in the cookie jar.

pleasure

It is an interesting thing to have these kinds of acts to obey, difficult ones. Once they are complete I feel such relief. As t he day passes and I have not accomplished them all else seems inadequate. My value, my sense of wholeness is dependent on accomplishing them.

I did try to insert the ball with the arrow, but the suction cup was not strong enough to hold it, so then I spoke to myMaster about it, and He suggested using some PVC pipe. A balloon, some lubrication and a 2 foot length of PVC pipe later and voile in she was. Since then I have been successful each day in this task.

In any case for a few days I did put them both in, the golf ball in front and the plug in back. MyMaster did not give me a time that He wanted it completed by, so I found myself waiting until later and later in the day, until quite late in fact. Until finally on Tuesday it got so late, and I was so tired that I convinced myself that I would just do it the next day, but this was not before myMaster had asked me directly if I had put it in, to which I complained again about not being able to get the ball in, I told Him I had gone back to review the original directive to see if there might be a loop hole and that I had purchased a toy bow and arrow set at the dollar store with the thought that perhaps I could put the ball on the suction part of the arrow and use the rest of it to push it in. I said all of that, and then again He asked, ?so did you wear it for the full hour??

?Not the ball,? I replied, but I wore the butt plug and the ball in the pussy. Well, now I was stuck. However there was another thing I did not do that day, I had been told to bind my breasts tightly for 30 minutes, something I actually wanted to do, and had looked forward to a few times during the day, but had no real chance to get er done. As I lay there, after having told myMaster the lie that I had, I convinced myself that I would rise somewhere around 3am, almost still the day before and complete the two tasks then.

The next morning around 7 I finally rose from my slumber and got the child off to school. The entire rest of this day I spent thinking about how I had lied to Him. At one point He had some discussion with me about something else, but right in the middle expounded on how there was nothing we could not share with each other, nothing that we hid from the other. Finally about 6pm or so, I texted Him and confessed that I needed to confess. 30 minutes later He was on the phone with me requiring that I give Him that confession.

The confession occurred during another very emotional time for me, and I ended up bawling. Being the Master that He is, He took care of my woundedness from the other matter, then assured me that the discipline I needed was to be sent within the hour. He stated clearly He was not pleasured by my actions, and in some way was perplexed as to why I would choose to lie to Him about my transgressions.

Thursday began early, about 6:30 as I rose and made breakfast for the child. Quickly they were out the door, bemoaning their fate to be without a ride, but on this I was not yielding. I had tasks to complete. The first order of business was to label one boob DECIEVER and the other LIAR, because that is what I had made myself in His eyes. This I did with a permanent marker, and found the words to be quite painful to see. I bound them tightly with two sets of ropes, the first a slightly stretchy nylon string. I made a loop and lacing the end of the string through it cinched tight the left one. Then when it had a really good bite on the skin, I proceeded to pull it around and around the first until it was quickly turning a ripe pink. Then up around the back of the neck and across the other, binding it as least as tight as the former. Once each boob seemed to float high on my chest with no apparent support, I took out a ½ inch bristly coarse rope, this too I wrapped around each of them, binding them tightly with the bristley edges of the rope chaffing the tender skin.

Thinking to kill two birds with one stone I placed my largest dildo into the leather case, and placing a copicious amount of vicks along the shaft, I backed my pussy into it and began to ride the dildo as it stuck straight out from the wall. About 10 minutes into it, I realized I had begun without my mask on. The dildo came out with a little pain, and I went to the kitchen to take a picture to send Him of the bound breasts. When the 30 minutes were up, I removed the rope, massaged the breasts a few moments to encourage the blood to fill them anew, then I went back to the ever ready dildo and after again coating it with a thick coating of vicks on it I backed my bottom right onto the erect dilldo.

15 minutes of riding it in my bottom followed by 15 minutes of riding it in my pussy. I knew I would be sore, not because it was so much, but because it would be 30 minutes without me enjoying this use. I had dishonored Him and broken His trust and this was not an act of pleasure but of retribution. !5 in the back first, then 15 more in the front. By the time 12 minutes had passed, alone in my apartment I cried out, I begger, literally begged, to whom what I begging, for what? These had no answer, because I was wrong, because it hurt, because I wanted the alarm to free me. My mask completely covering my face. Alone with my thoughts and my shame, and the pain of the plunging of the dildo as I rode it each of the 900 seconds.

As soon as I pulled the dildo completely out for the last time, instead of plunging my sore hole back down on it, instead I inserted a small water bottle, the cap end out. The water had been hot when I filled it up, but now, after all of the riding, it had cooled down to just above body temperature. For the first time ever it slipped into my open pussy with no resistance. The normal spincter that it usually has to be pushed over, simply was no longer there. Pushing the bottom of the bottle deep into my open pussy was easy.

I climbed up into my bed with the bottle deep within my uterous, and was overcome with desire, the heat of it igniting the Vicks that lined my walls. I began to masturbate, a strange sensation with my pelvis so hard as the fill water bottle pressed against it. I had not been granted permission to cum, therefore I did not, but rub it hard I did. Twice I came as near to orgasm as one can without doing so. The blood fought to fill my loins.

And the 15 minutes were up. I squatted by the bed and popped out the water bottle. After this I took a small nap. But not before calling myMaster, who was pleased that I had completed the first half.

At precisely 1pm, I peed in a cup and used the toothbrush to easily scrub the filth off of each boob. Next I used my pee to clean my teeth, two minutes of brushing lies from my teeth, two minutes from my tongue, and the rest of it went down my throat and into my being to completely cleans me from my transgressions.

My thoughts are varied and many as I consider His grace and mercy in granting me this retribution, but the hour grows late. Today has been very simple, I will use this opportunity to reflect on my punishment tomorrow.

1:28 am (nearly an hour and almost time to take the ball out.)
Good night.

My duty is to report each day, His use and training from the day before. To leave the entries open to suggestion, and to then feel free to share anything else I might fancy. Since yesterday was such a full day, I will begin there.

Yesterday was a difficult one in our journey, for both of us I believe. I disobeyed myMaster. I have been owned twice before and had two other Masters as well. I am inclined to believe that neither of them would really believe that this One owns me based on this admission. They...would say that if I disobeyed Him, and lied about it, which is true, both are true, that this Man clearly does not own me. But I suggest that perhaps He is seeking to own at an entirely different level than they ever sought. And in that level there has to be a place where a slave can at least once feel safe enough to disobey, knowing she will reveal it, knowing she will disappoint herself even more than He, but knowing that somehow in this place it is all so much more real.

I can see time slipping away from me, I will have to return to complete this journal. The act, the omission, the lie, and the consequences will all be here in tiny little keystrokes for You the reader to witness and pass judgement on. There is no question I was wrong. I was. The judgement I suppose therefore is not about the right or wrong, but perhaps more along the truth of the entire experience, that in this Owner, this Master I have found more than an absolute cage that allows nothing but unmitigated obedience...rather here is a place where surrender must be given, it will not be taken.