Destiny Awaits

Why did it take so long for me to realize, my collapse, my stuttering, my moments of dear in the headlights was a fear response, primal, instinctual, frozen in the moment brought on by the yelling, by the cues that told me you were reaching anger? I’m angry. So angry that after the fear fades, that I was there, back there, again and worse, I am being blamed for it, for being human, for being me, for having instinctual responses, for failing to control it. I’m angry that when I reach out once the fear faded I’m met with failure and disgust. And three words repeated suck the life out of me. ‘I don’t care.’ Three damaging, damning words I grew up with constantly…when I was desperate to be loved, desperate to have worth in someone’s eyes even if those eyes were those of my abuser.

With open hands, I return and all I receive each time is ‘I don’t care’ and I collapse. If you don’t care, why should I? If you don’t care, why should I continue on, with you, with that relationship? The wind’s been blown out of my sails. I’ve run aground. You don’t care. It’s the only truth I can hold on too. You don’t care even when I do. You don’t care because it’s always been my problem. You don’t care. That’s all I know. It’s the only truth I know. You don’t care. And I stayed, working on myself, suffering the silences, begging, praying and worshipping a shrine of love that never materialized. Not from you. You don’t care. I sure as fuck do.

I care that my needs were ignored. I care that I settled for less than I deserved. Oh, did I settle! A lifetime, I wanted a lifetime. It was a part-time job (what relationship?) on my knees singing your praises. Each one of them honest and heartfelt but it means nothing because ‘You don’t care.’ I wanted so much that I allowed myself to settle for far less. I am unable to say I was blinded by your light. I know you, what and who you are. I wanted you, all of you, the good the bad, the flaws and foibles. But you don’t care and that’s the most important part to all of this. I’ve heard it said by lesser men like my father. I’ve heard it said in disgust. I’ve heard it and now I know the truth of it after all.

I care. Always have and now it is my turn to care about me and to make sure my most important people care about me as well. ‘Cause if they can utter those three words to me, about me, about us, then they have zero place in my future. Because I care!

Explanation owed

I knew one day this day would come where I’d see your nations flag as a visitor. So I know its time to confess my sins, those that have been so freely spoken here.

I wanted more, that you know. But what you don’t know damns me. I never fall out of love. It never fades, at least not for decades and so far not even then. I just keep tight control on that emotion. So how have I done what I have if I’m still in love? I ask this often and I have no easy answers.

My devotion consumed me. The distance and lack of consummation burned me. I tied myself up so tightly to you that release almost killed me. I think I took it way to far, this submission of mine. Frightened, I pulled away. And then he came into my life. All your lessons and my sins were heaped on my head, unable to serve two Masters. But one was closer and promised more, at least for a time. Yes, he did go too fast, too soon.

I broke trust with you and felt I didn’t deserve to stay so I banished myself. I was selfish and needed you, still, need you, so I stayed silent. I knew this day would come. The piper would call and I would tell all. Some say Second Life is a game but I saw it as a place where I could be all that I am without restrictions placed by life’s demands. I still hold tightly to the lessons I leaned kneeling at your feet.

I was selfish. I wanted more control and outside of Second Life. I knew my wants went against what you felt was proper. I understand why now. I am dealing with scars earned justly. With you, it was easy to submit. It still is and I know it will remain so. I have a wayward mind and that’s always been the trouble.

When you found your bride…hurt and happy in equal measure. I grieved the loss of an impossible hope. But by then, in that gap, he…I made a choice. I wanted to experience this in real, to be real and not some dearly held unfulfilled dream. So I quietly vanished. It does help he, in essence, banned me from SL which caused me to limit my visits. Guilt doubled sucks.

I know my attempts to tell you were very poor. This isn’t something to fault yourself for not knowing. I’ve stayed open here in hopes of one day all this would explain.

And now its all crashed on us. Lost him for I failed to be consistent, to keep my word. It’s an ongoing problem. I feel there are justifications but there are none in our mind for you. I am guilty.

In many ways, I used SL as an escape from living. I would sit and wait day after day. Nothing around me mattered and nothing got done. I wrecked my health sitting in that chair, I’m sure. And I would do so again if I returned. Your absence made me live again as I hoped your bride brought peace in your life. You are still very much a part of me. I took bits and made them mine. Your language soothes me even still. Your principles I strive to follow. It’s your footsteps I place my feet in even when I fail.

I found a lot of what I was looking for out here. Pain and danger too. I found that peace, that inner devotion, that acceptance of what I am, a slave inside. It moves me and keeps me active when there is a whip. You were right. I do need the stricter structure. SL can not provide that.

And yet I failed here too. Maybe its guilt eating me. Maybe it’s fear. Maybe the trust is too broken. Maybe… I have no answers. All I know is I need and have nothing to show for it beyond the lessons I learn so slowly.

I think of you often and am glad you have your girl. I smile knowing you are not alone anymore. There is a small hope that you will understand but I’m afraid. I’m afraid to hope that you were in love with me as I was you for I know how much being distant hurts on top of what I’ve done.

I’m afraid I will never be free to be this part of me for real. I keep failing. And I’m left to wonder how this dream, this need may be possible. I was always looking for a lifetime and real life. I knew that was a need. I thought I could keep Sl and life separate. I didn’t know I would fall in love in M/s. I failed to consider the implications. I love rarely but deeply. That is why this is so difficult.

I want him even still after saying all this and I feel unbearable guilt. I’m afraid I made a fast choice without knowing why. Every time I feel the chains tighten as I weep. And I weep as I refuse him over and over again. I’ve made a mess of all this. I don’t know how to fix any of it. I’m almost sure none of it can be fixed. Live and learn.

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

Attribution Error

Healing comes from the inside, born of love and forgiveness.

On Silence and Threats
I can do a decade standing on my head.
But we both know that’s a lie.
I’ll be standing on my feet the entire time,
slowly snowed over with Kleenex’s.

Finely solved the whole dream issue of why it hurts so much to not have a Master…
because I had not stopped to look at what I have and to appreciate what I do have. Instead I stared long into the past and let that pain eat me instead of looking forward to building my future.

And I’m weird. I have everything I need to keep and enforce boundaries yet I step aside to allow Isa to be what she is, soft hearted. But I am the core of steel that protects her. A Master must be my equal or better for anything less will continue to cause Isa damage. There are a few odd rules involved. I’m not interested in changing the person. I will deliver a hearty smack down to idiots that cause harm but that’s punishment. If the person is to change, they must do it on their and for their own reasons. I’m not buying the idea that we change because we want the other person to love us more. Just, no.

I don’t tend to peep up and ask questions. I prefer to record and observe. This leads to many interesting observations and unusual conclusions. Which means I need more communication that normal, openness given results in openness returned.

And from now, that have to be able to deal with me. On my level. Isa might/may be their slave but I am not. I’m not always out because I am cleaning up another mess. I am capable of playing nice and acting as support role for Isa. But if I keep getting dragged out on clean up duty, then something is Fucking Wrong! Sense I am not going, I get to take the garbage out. Just don’t be garbage. Easy.

And I’m tired. Tired of prying Isa’s fingers off time and again. Tired of what I know comes after. Tired of being the bad guy, every time. Tried of doing what I know is right. She makes it hard to stay in the front. And today is one of those days where I wish I could just separate from her, like conjoined twins having surgery. There is nothing I know of that can do that. And stop right there, integration is not the answer.

It’s funny, the more I get to look at all of this, I just want to slap her. It’s so obvious that he doesn’t love her like she feels for him. She’s probably nothing more than Replacement Object #4,635; just another voice assigned with the same name, same duties. So she lied. Yup, she lied big time. No, we are not all in. It’s just her. Me, I’m tired of the cycle. I’m tired of being monkey in the middle. We gave integration a shot a long time ago and when it broke, things were worse than before. He has failed to prove he knows how to deal with all of us. All I can say to that is this; there are easier fish in the sea.

Owning a slave that has DID is a pain in the ass. I know because we are a lovable pain in the ass to our husband and boy. Twenty plus years with both of them, they’ve been there from before knowing and stayed and supported us after knowing. They did the work to gain a relationship with me. They did the work to earn a measure of trust, with me.

The buck stops with me, no matter how many times I am willing and happy to step back to let Isa just be. I don’t have her innocence or joy. I don’t have her starry eyed enthusiasm. I don’t have her child like wonder. I don’t have her sensuality. I don’t have the depth of her emotions. I don’t even have her laughter. What I do have, is an appreciation of everything she is and the will and strength to protect her. Even when it’s gonna cut her heart out again.

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.

Chewing on things this morning.

It’s strange. I look back in my folder of all the things that are Him and I end up crying. I’m not sure why I am crying anymore. I fought so hard to get away and I succeeded. I should be celebrating, be happy. For the most part, I am. Mostly, I’m not stressed out. Until I open that folder and read. Then I weep. It threatens to drown me even still. And I opened that folder today and read.

I remember the terror I felt and still feel from reading his words. I couldn’t communicate that properly. It felt larger than life, realer than real and it was wrapped in confusion. On one hand, it was erotic and a bit of a turn on and yet the other was a terror that wouldn’t go away. I couldn’t reconcile the two. Reading it now, maybe the fear was the erotic element. I know the physical reality would be disastrous.

I keep going over one scene, one where I was instructed to crush my nipple and masturbate at the top of the hour for the whole day. Ended up about eight hours, so eight times. By the end of it, I could have cheerfully killed him. I was angry and in pain. For most folks, it may have been a walk in the park. I have limitations and this one is in my arms. My tendons are too tight, too short with limited flexibility. I am unable to crawl on my hands due to them, unable to type at professional speeds and even a light masturbation session leaves me in tears due to my arms screaming in pain. Through some kind of bravado, I completed the task assigned but my tongue was rather sharp, rude and cutting. I still have no pride in that accomplishment.

I don’t understand why he wanted me to focus on being happy that I accomplished the task or that I made him happy for doing so. I don’t understand why I was admonished for feeling the pain. I can transform most pain into something else, either I do not feel it anymore or I can turn it into something erotic but there is a limit to it. Some pains cannot be transformed and this one, I couldn’t do anything with. I had, through the process, transformed the pain but in the end, I had no choice but to feel the full effects of it. Oh, I found my physical limit that day! Both arms ended up swelling and needed ice packing. The next few days I was left with limited mobility and pain that lasted a while.

There’s no pride there for me. None. I have no desire to be covered in bruises. If anything, I’ve spent most of my life avoiding bruises of all kinds. I don’t even like hickeys and it was fighting words if a boyfriend ended up giving one to me. It deserved a punch in my book because I was clear I don’t like them and they weren’t to be done. And I did punch back when it happened.

Looking back, some of the most painful things he said, kinda blames me for him leaning towards treating me harshly, as if I was a masochistic slave. Like he’d say, paraphrasing here, ‘he didn’t know why, he’s not normally like this, but with me, his mind drifts to darker places’. I remember clamming up, unwilling to talk and to share my thoughts and fantasies least he uses them against me. I would only answer a direct question but I no longer volunteered information.

I think when I look back and cry it’s because I know I gave my all, did things that were so far outside the norm for me, became something I no longer recognized and all I had sought was being given to someone else and I felt abused and couldn’t shake it. Agreement or not, slave or not, I felt abused. And even that confused me, scared me. He once told me that if I ever felt trapped then it would be over. But the thing was, I had felt trapped from the beginning and was fighting that feeling with everything I had. I kept my mouth shut. Every time I attempted to express it didn’t go right and I ended up being told it’s my fear that was holding me back and that I needed to embrace it, embrace this like it was a process that had a happier ending at the end. I believed him.

I lost something with him that I had cherished. I had believed I was a slave, someone who was happiest being directed and told what to do, how to be and how to live. I’m not sure I can be one. I’m not sure I have the personality of one anymore. Though this all, I’ve discovered the saddest two words ever; ‘If only..’. If only, he’d stop hurting me. If only, he cared. If only, I could make him see what he was doing to me. If only, I could be a better slave to him maybe he’d stop hurting me. If only, if only I knew what to do. I did know what to do as it turns out; run. So I ran. So I fought. So I wore him down. So he let me go. So now I stand without yet looking in.

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?