Getting out of bed isn’t so bad.

It’s been a good day. The morning is a bit odd. There exists a twinge of compulsion from Isa but I push it back. I’m forcing her to break protocol and in essence disobey. I refuse to allow her to submit again. It must go though me to her or not at all. As I am the highest authority in the system anything less is counterfeit and will be removed. I had to express that. It tastes bitter on my tongue still even though it’s been a good day. Better than good, actually.

The daily routines are holding well. Adding limitations was the trick. She would work until hospital standards were met. Her body would collapse long before that was achieved. In many ways she has no concept of when enough is enough or when to stop. I exist as her limiter, then rules, then what is physically capable. sigh I feel her behind my eyeballs at times. She’s given me a bit of a heart by sharing with her. It hurts now to be the bad guy even when it is necessary.

Our husband brought us home a bike. It’s nice. I haven’t ridden in over 20 years and I still got on all shaky. Now we are a biking household! Four bikes, four folks and plenty of time in the sun. This feels good. More inner-connection, more shared activities. And Saturday, I’ll fire up my Minecraft server and we’ll all play together. I may even stream that. Maybe. I’m undecided.

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I rarely talk about my relationships here. My boy Aries, oh he demands a lot of me! Long distance relationship though but we’ve known each other for a long long time. I provide for him what his wife does not, acceptance without judgment and control. (Now, you in the background who just choked on your drink, I see you.) He had chased me down for decades to be my slave. I had refused him so many times. How can I, do him any justice as a Mistress? How is he able to accept me switching out? How do I do this ethically? I still have a ton of questions. After I decided I would accept him, I called his wife and had a long chat and her blessings. There will always be limitations on this relationship because I am not a dick and have no intentions of destroying what he has.

And I have a ton to learn. I picked up Vile’s “The Breaking of Sabrina” ages ago. Fun read but more like a primer of everything not to do. I grabbed Malkinius’s “I Can Do This” and read it in a single night. That one left me with a lot of chewing thoughts. I found OWNING AND TRAINING A MALE SLAVE By Ingrid Bellemare and have been giving that look over. It really clashes with everything I believe about consensual enslavement. Oddly I don’t have a problem reading works set for Male dominance with female submissive and I think that’s because my boy is a bit gender-queer, kinda like me. I’m not finding much of value in Femdom and that’s perhaps I am revolted by the philosophy that our boys are worthless worms who are inferior to their Mistresses. I have learned to respect the strength of will it takes to be a slave.

Aries’ depth of patience and trust is incredible. It was him whom convinced me that we could do this. So he is mine and I do not take it lightly. So much more to learn and unlearn. I am learning to include him in my life on a daily basis. We are teaching each other. He needs the contact and I need him to be pleasing when he does as well as me being receptive to him in my life even at that level. He needs that touch of control more when his life is spinning out of control. I’ve seen how it calms him. And I still chuckle and shake my head at how all this has turned out. Aries was Isa’s first natural Dominant. He awoke in her the calling of her submission. And now I own him and he kneels for me. And who woke my inclination towards dominance: kindergarten and then in third grade a freckled red-headed little boy.

Life is indeed strange. I’ll be around more often. I may keep Isa devoted to poetry for a measure of time. We’ll see. wink

Hard Limits

Another lovely post neglected in my drafts folder sense Nov 18, 2018. 

I realized I’ve never sat down and written them out. Oddly, after receiving a few emails here, I need too. I doubt that this will prevent those kinds of boundary crossing emails but at least I can point to it and say, hey, they were listed in the profile if you bothered to look. Having a relationship with me or even playing with me is high risk. I have more than enough trauma in my past that I am still finding triggers. I have CPTSD and DID. It’s more than enough trouble to deal with on most days.

These are my hard limits.

Oral sex – I am not into receiving oral. I don’t have issues giving blow jobs.

Cum on my skin – Inside of me or not at all. If it gets on me, you better get it off quick. This will not change. I have attempted behavior modification and this will not change.
Peanut butter or similar consistences on my skin – yes I am a tyrant about the peanut butter knife in the sink. If you eat peanut butter, keep your items clean.

Scat and vomit play – no, just no.

Force feedings – Don’t even try it.

Attempting to startle me – will end up with a punch in the face and me looking at you like you are stupid. I have CPTSD.

Knife play and Gunplay – is out. Again, CPTSD.

Face slapping – again, I have CPTSD. I really don’t want to have to take you to the hospital afterward.

Choking – again, I have CPTSD, so no, don’t do it.

Any form of blood play – You are not using mine and I don’t want someone else’s on me.

Deep bruising – This is out for medical reasons, high blood pressure that’s medicated and the fact I have factor V Levin, a blood clotting disorder.

Purple body parts – Medical. Seriously, don’t disrupt my circulation.

Nerve tingles/prickles – Often in the joints due to pinched nerves so avoid.

Hitting Aiming for the Sciatic nerve – WTF Asshole!

No physical blows above the shoulders – Do I have to really explain this one?

Drinking and drugs – I don’t drink socially and I don’t want drugs anywhere near me. Don’t push me on this. Again, CPTSD.

Using the term ‘Daddy’ – just no. I am unable to reconcile my childhood sexual abuse with this term.

Using the term ‘little girl’ – just no. Same as above.

No Tequila ever – seriously this is big bad juju.

Yelling – Don’t be a yeller in an argument with me. Everything falls apart and is super hard to get back on track, this goes back to childhood abuse.

Asking me to find another slave for you – No, no, and no. I am poly but that is a giant fuck no.

FinDom – Forget it. I work, I get paid. If I don’t get paid, I ain’t there.

Drinking urine – This is out for medical reasons. My kidneys are not your play toys. They are my blood filters and they have more than enough to deal with.

Forced Vegan – No. But I do love eating my vegetables.

Forced to change religion or political stance – No.

Mind reading Doms – I see in your future plenty of disappointment. Just don’t.

Expecting me to submit to a woman – This is not in my nature, not even to please my Dom, Master, Top, Husband, what have you.

Sailor Moon, Barney, Sponge Bob Square Pants and PewDiePie – are words of giant disrespect and not tolerated at all.

Singing the Peanut Butter Jelly Time song – will earn you singledom as I walk away.

No Cam, No Pics – Don’t ask. Don’t beg. I roll my eyes every time I get this and yeah, I don’t give this shit out.

Black and White thinking – The whole my way or the highway thinking rubs me so wrong, if this is you, save us some time, keep walking. Don’t even go with the whole, that’s what a Master is either.

Taking everything personal – If this is a constant trait, I will be gone. Then you can take that personal.

Have I misunderstood degradation play?

I’m not normal. I tell you that right off the bat because it’s utterly true and I need to erase what you think is the typical response. I need explanations, not stereotypes.

Have I misunderstood degradation play?

Call me a worthless cunt. If I smile, it’s because I believe you don’t believe the words you say deep down. It’s become play for me. Call me all sorts of filthy things, a pig, a whore, a slut, a bitch in heat; get creative and call me something flirty and fun-flea shit, cunt cake, the list goes on. How many other vile words can you say that will make me hot?

As long as I am safe in believing that those words, those vile words are not how you deeply view me, I can happily play. I can see those vile words as terms of endearment. Those words will make me burn.

As long as those words are not used to beat me down, as long as those words don’t belong to the list of vile things I believe about myself, as long as those words are profoundly absurd, I can dive into the deep pool of depravity with you and smile as if you let loose enduring vowes of faithful love.

But I wonder, have I misunderstood degradation play?

A True Story

Every morning she opens her computer and searches for his profile just to soak in what words he may have penned. Every morning she checks. Every morning she cries. Four years and the feelings haven’t changed. Four years and she’s still wrapped up in torment. Four years and she still feels as lost, lost to time’s ravages, lost to a broken heart, lost to having loved and lost.

Reading other’s poetry is hard to do. One poet has caught her attention and his words are salt on her open wounds. She feels the green rise behind her eyes and screams. Why oh Why is she so insistent in having what she wants? Oh, the Sun shines his light on all, freely and yet her heart beats and screams held in a cage that only one person has the key. Why does her heart only shine for one instead of all?

A beautiful poem she read and it broke something inside of her. She wanted those words for herself and sitting there with tears she blessed those who those words were for, knowing they were never meant for her. It was right there, what she wanted for herself but it was missing one so very important thing, those words were meant for another. She’d never felt the green gaze behind her eyes so keenly before. She recognized this for what it truly was, a lack inside of her.

To be loved all truly want deep down inside. She wanted to know it, to feel it, to have that connection and it was that which glared in neon as missing. She searched her memory and could only come up with one time that she felt that deep connection to another person. But she had pushed and pushed him away and ran. Instincts told her feeling that deeply was dangerous. Experience taught her later that it was already too late.

The connection had been forged and the more she ran the deeper it went. These were the consequences, to be torn open, her heart beating empty and alone. She could see and feel other’s love, could taste it metaphorically now.

Her personal God had banished her to the wastelands, in silence. Like a petulant child she kicked and screamed vile words, anything to get a reaction but was met with nothingness. Just to hear his words over her soul, she opened Pandora’s box, a special folder that contained all of his words, all of her thoughts, everything that was him without being Him. Consumed in pain, she read.

It had been years but it still felt like yesterday. There was no goodbye. In it’s place stood “Fuck off.” At what point does one say all is broken and walk away? What of the ground work of their relationship? The more she tried to be obedient, the more it tied her into knots. Facing the fact she had been abandoned tore at her mind. She rolled the options she saw around in her mind, tossing them off one by one. She was truly stuck, good and well fucked. She could well admit when she makes mistakes but in this perhaps not? Oh, what a load of hubris and yet what if she was right and yet wrong all at the same time? She made a good choice and fucked it all up.

She was alive under his hands and his words. A burning flame of passion and desire. It is so hard to go back to a life without that. She’d tasted ambrosia of the Gods, how was she to live a mortal life after that? You have no choice kept ringing around her mind but He’d taught her otherwise. There was always a choice even when it felt like there was nothing. She didn’t want to taste ambrosia one more time. She wanted to swim in it! She wanted it everyday, any day.

Closing Pandora’s Box left her unsettled. As she gazed out the window she wondered what this choice would cost. There was no way of knowing. If she continued to hold on to Him, she’d shrivel and die of sadness. Wiping away tears she murmured “I will always love Him” and nodded once to herself. Pity the mortals who’s loved the Gods. There is no going back to a mortal life after that. Most fall, few rise. Now was the time to find out which she was. Now.

Starset – Love You To Death

This song right here makes me think I should make a playlist for listening to while browsing Collarspace. I know. I know. I broke down and joined it. I’d rather visit the dentist every day of the year than do Collarspace but here I am.

Enjoy the song.

Jaymes Young – Tied Down

This ought to be the theme song for all the rope Masters out there just because anytime I hear the phrase ‘tied down’ I tend to think of flying rope bunnies. Maybe that’s just me? Besides this is packed tight with hot male vocals! Awesome!

Casting my eyes behind me

Old threads that pop back up tend to bring back a ton of memories. So, here I am perving on Fet and I run across an age-old question: can slaves have hard limits? What a cluster-fuck.

Basically, there are two camps; one says, of course, there are hard limits and the other goes well, I don’t impose any hard limits. Both sides go to verbal blows over this, cause frankly, one side is in denial or if they are telling the utter truth, they are super scary as fuck. If you can’t tell by now, I am in the camp of yes, I have hard fucking limits.

But I wasn’t always this way. Once upon a time, I was in that other camp. I didn’t want to impose limits on my Master. I had an inkling that there was something fairly tricky to all this slave business with limits and the removal of limits. And there is. There is a way, it is very possible to be that person who becomes a no limit slave. They do exist and yes, I find that scary as fuck.

I am a greedy person. I know this fact about myself. I want my cake and eat it too. Most of the time, I do. But in this, I don’t know. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to do that with this lifestyle. I thought it would be a piece of cake, pardon the pun, to find a Master who naturally had the same limits that I do. Yeah, um, I’m still striking out on this one.

And then I met Dreamwalker. I broke my head attempting to work my mind around being anything he wanted, that in being anything meant the elimination of all limits. It is far easier to love the whole world than to accept and take responsibility for being anything and everything. Oddly, both are deeply interconnected. You can only love what you understand and you can only understand that which you are….so yeah. Very mind tripy and extraordinarily painful.

I take words and promises very seriously now. I’ve learned how important that is, the hard way. Yet, I sit here chewing on obedience and what it means to a slave, to me. On one hand, there is a sense that a Master could or perhaps better said, should not order something they know cannot be obeyed. Yet, on the other hand, there is a daring that pushes against that, to hold obedience as the highest virtue, order and purpose. The only way for me to split the difference, so to speak, is to find the extraordinary.

I’m not even looking. I didn’t find it in the first place. But that’s a side tangent, back on track. Both camps are telling the truth from their own perspectives. It’s uncomfortable to look deep and explode this to its logical conclusions. It kinda ruins the magic when you look at how it’s all framed together. And I’m willing to bet, there are few slaves out there that were able to find their extraordinary. Or at the very least, their extraordinary hasn’t been put to the test, so the magic remains.

I want to say for me it’s impossible because of my issues with trust. But then why does impossible say I’m possible?

Yet, I know it is possible. I know all it takes is a fusing to two into one. That’s it. Fait accompli.

I just have no roadmap to this.