feel good? think again.

"She likes to race my motor
Then slam my hood
She makes me feel good
She makes me feel good..."

-lyle lovett, "she makes me feel good"

in the confusion and chaos of the upcoming move, i forgot to do something. now, i've been doing this particular task for almost a year, so it's not like something changed and i'm still working it into my routine. i just - forgot.

and then forgot again, when reminded.

yeah.

orgasm control is something we've been doing for a very long time. it's almost as if my body totally understands that they do not belong to me, in a way separate from my brain. i suppose that's what behavioral modification is all about, and i do have concerns about what would happen should i ever have to do it on my own again, as unowned, and if i even could. but anyway.

orgasm denial is a whole other thing. there was a full night of torture regarding this (and no relief in sight, may i add in the midst of this very stressful time).

that's as far as i'm going to go with this, because begging and pleading and tantruming i know damned well will only make it worse.

and i do not want it any worse. because every time i imagine things could not get worse, the man keeps finding ways.

me no likey.

nothing changes

you know nothing changes, don't you.

yes, sir.

you know you're a cunt, an owned cunt.

yes, sir.

you know i own you, and you will obey.

yes, sir. please...

you want to come?

yes, sir.

why?

because you're fucking me, sir.

do you want to come because i'm fucking you, or because i'm telling you what you are?

...it's the same thing, sir.

yes, it is.

the very definition

ob·scene: (ŏb-sēn', əb-) adj. 1. Offensive to accepted standards of decency or modesty. 2. Inciting lustful feelings; lewd.

last night when my owner was fucking me on the floor my face muffled unforgivingly in the rough carpet, my arms pinned down and my feet mercifully loose but trapped by the position, he firmly lodged the laptop on my back and continued his conversations pausing only periodically to lodge himself further inside me or to force my face harder into the carpet. there were small noises of pleasure, but i think they were mostly because he found his conversation partners charming. due to an incident of forgetfulness earlier in the day, i was (am) on orgasm restriction until further notice.

it was a long night.

shy

i used to really like being on top. not dominant, but physically. on top. riding, so to speak. it was the best, easiest way i could come, a sure-fire way to make everyone happy when the time arrived.

i belong on the bottom. not the top. being ridden, used, dominated, works much better, i've found, these days. in the animal kingdom, the stronger one is always on top - the physical sensation of being overpowered has an emotional effect in our subconscious.

so when you tell me to get on top, i'm dismayed - it doesn't fit me anymore. it's not appropriate. but i know what you want, i know what you want to see, as you rest your head on pillows and watch. it's hard to let go when someone is watching you like a movie, custom-designed. you are interested, aroused, sometimes amused. but you never smile.

This house is a broken palace

"As a slave, without choices, rights or anything to my name, the only thing I thought I have is my pride. Without it, I'm nothing. But is it his plan to take that away from me as well?

Is a slave nothing without pride or should a slave have nothing including pride?"

- a subtle slavegirl


a tension-filled weekend. not bad, actually, a lot of fun. but so many things and pieces of our lives turned into confetti and co-mingling and i'm not very good at filtering through it all on-the-spot like a grown-up should, so it all gets prioritized and can make one crazy with too many things to think about at once. i'm a grown-up, yes, but your girl, your little girl, too.

i mis-read something over your shoulder and thought i'd read instead a title - This house is a broken palace.

no i never needed to be broken but i break into pieces like confetti at the slightest word from you.

you close me off from air, from orgasm, from pride and from shame simultaneously. somehow you manage this without turning me into an empty husk but instead full to the brim with thoughts and thinking and a tightly closed mouth.

photo credit to AsIFearTomorrow on deviantart.com

hood

lately i've been including hoods a lot in my fantasies. maybe slut on display started it up again, but it's always been part of my schema.

the extreme de-personalization of it strikes a nice balance, i think, with the fact that you don't have be turned into a piece of furniture (something i'm decidedly not-turned-on by) to achieve it. sometimes i don't want to be your girl, i don't want to be your cunt, even, as much as sometimes i want to be a thing, an object, with no voice and no face, just a useful purpose. and i'm selfish enough in my fantasies to imagine exactly what that purpose *is*, and it ain't a table. when you throw in a perfectly casual conversation about nothing-in-particular while i'm *wearing* the hood, well, then, i'm off and running. so to speak.

you asked me what i was thinking about while you made me come for you. nothing much more than your voice, at the time. but later, later...

a hooded thing on a leash, ignored and crawling behind you. knowing i'm being watched. sometimes discussed. conspired against. dragged. clamped, tied, teased and hurt to screaming.

just a thought.

shocked

i'm a gift, a sacrifice, a negotiation. a solution. a puzzle to be solved, passed from hand to hand until someone either figures it out or sets it aside. never sure if it's something i want - to be given away - you neatly removed me from having to decide. i hadn't gotten far enough to notice the choice was even missing.

does the jealousy alchemy solution work towards me as well? because one puzzle may be solved, but i'm made up of parts to a whole. there's more to solve, and more hands will be at work, i'm guessing.

[photo credit to Una Ros "missing piece"]

little knives

sometimes the things you say to me slice me open, and i stay raw for days. wounded, or broken, or aching. you carry those words with you - "never", and "thing" and "mine" and throw them like well-aimed darts, just like the knife you carry always in your pocket.

you, painfully deep inside me and holding my chin to face you and a knife in your hand. we both watch you cut me, and mark what is already yours. and then, then i want to come, to give you thanks but what you take is the denial of pleasure, which is what you want more. there is nothing in the world like your face when you take and do not give.

The Big O

O words i am now very conscious of: opportunity. owner. orgasm. oreo cookie. obedience.

submissives/slaves tend to think about the transitions between states. when one is completely in sub mode versus when they are - not. in my relationship, this translates more as tone than submission - i am always his property, that doesn't change. what changes is the formal/less formal way i behave. more often than not, i follow his lead regarding the tone of the moment when i need to determine how to behave. i can tell by the look on his face, the things he says (or doesn't say) whether or not i'm on the right track. occasionally i get a slap (literal and/or figurative) for not picking up on the correct tone, but i try.

i'm conscious that i've been getting a lot of opportunities lately for things i don't normally get to have. my owner is busy, and feeling somewhat beneficent, i think, and i'm not complaining. but in discussing this recently, i realized that while for the most part he doesn't change his mindset or tone particularly, and i'm the one that follows along with the "adjustment", this is the one area where the opposite happens.

whatever he gives me - cruelty, rewards, distance, affection, tokens or restrictions, i take them gladly. whatever his motivations (and i love hearing about his reasons, although i don't always get to hear them) i'm just the recipient of his choices, his mindset. luckily for both of us, all of the things he gives me i'm grateful for. i don't change my behavior towards what he gives me depending on what it is. if he struggles with whether he's being cruel enough or caring enough or honest enough, those are struggles i can't assist with, other than hearing them out if he chooses to share.

but i will always take what he gives me and be grateful for it. it's just how it is.

exhausted

i have a fairly busy, fulfilling life. and while it's got it's ups and downs, as all lives do, i've made peace with most things and get a good night's sleep most nights. which is a blessing - it wasn't always like that.

but last night, i slept like a rock, leashed and bound. and this morning, after going through the motions of the usual morning's responsibilities, i lay down and - napped. out cold, snuggled under the afghan, eyelids fluttering by the woodstove.

why? because yesterday was a revelatory day.

yesterday, i discovered the wonder of multiple orgasms.

yes, ladies and gentlemen, i am 38 years and old, and i'm figuring this out only now.

my back is bloody, my thighs are wobbly, my brain is all a whir with endorphins, and my cheeks are chapped from tears.

oh. i *get it* now. yes indeedy i do.

and yes, Sir, i also get that they are not mine. which is the sprinkles on top.

picture of cupcakes and sprinkles in honor of D, and because it's the closest i'm likely to get to processed sugar any time in the forseeable future.

corrected

Dear readership:

as Lord Zondar correctly pointed out in his comment on my last post, today, i am happy, the happiness experienced today did not detract from the ordeal experienced just prior to said happiness. in fact, the verging-on-horrific ordeal experienced most likely enhanced the cheesy glowing feel i had in the morning.

it was pointed out that i don't often fork over the gory details. i'm not so great at those parts - it's hard for me write about incredibly intimate physical details without it sounding like a clinical manual of "how to hurt the girl". luckily, i haven't been directed to do exactly that - it'd probably be my most boring post yet, despite the graphic nature.

but that being said, here's a few small details of what the ordeal consisted of: vulnerability, extreme genital torture resulting in enough lubrication to compete with the tears that threatened to choke me when his hands weren't doing that instead, all resulting from a dirty little secret he knows i've carried around with me most of my life.

yeah, hot. but that's all you're gettin'.

-love, luna.

never

is a long time.

how much freedom do you give a slave?

when you chip away at the pieces i've come to take for granted, or the things that i cling to, or the things i've until now assumed are inherent to who i am, i wonder, sometimes, what will be left when you are done.

or maybe you're not looking to be done. now, that's a thought.

what it's like

when it thunders through my skin right after i'm pricked by a thousand needles and i'm not sure i can breathe, every muscle in my body pulls tight.

sometimes you watch me. sometimes your bright eyes fasten on my face, an invisible leash pulling. your breathing is quick and untroubled, you watch my cheeks flush and neck arch. i still don't know what it looks like. i never watch myself then, unable to bear witness to that intimacy of myself, the orgasm. as much as i'd like to say each one is a gift for you, it's not. you force them from me, and take them away - my version of bon-bons, i suppose.

i want to tell her that that's what it's like. i want to tell her that the release following, when your body expands as far as it will go and holds there - the beating of your heart a sonic wave that roars out everything else...

the letting go. letting it happen. letting it happen *to* you. there is no longer a sense that anything belongs to you, even of the things you don't want to happen, the things you are most afraid of.

you don't allow me to filter what i'm thinking - there is no privacy. i may not have walls up, i may not be secretive or private or choosy with my words.

i want to tell her this: that if she is yours, if she wants this, she will have what she wants and craves. and also,

everything she doesn't.

photo "the art of losing", credit to kaddy courtesy of flickr.

what will i do with my time?

(image from Gary Voth photography)

it's been a while since i had rules to operate under that were not of my own creation. i don't pretend to imagine that right now it's more than an exercise in self-restraint, but i'm intrigued and challenged enough by the rules, restrictions, and consequences to see what happens next.

i don't know that i've been removed from porn before. this'll be interesting.

- clothes shopping
- resume updating
- strolls around town
- finger- and toe-nail painting
- book reading
- vacuuming
- laundry
- car inspection

all things i can think of that may kill time between now and when i am able to consider porn again.

hard peeling

i got overwhelmed by the amount of layers that got pulled off. i don't think you ripped any on purpose - mostly it was my own doing. i don't have an excuse for my disobedience, although i know any excuses are irrelevant anyway.

sincerely,
onion, stewing in it's juices.