fear, and where it lives

i'm not shy about saying that i am actively afraid of my owner. i am not afraid of my own strength, my own emotions, or my own ability to make sound decisions, but i am sometimes afraid of him. not his decisions, or his emotions, but his strength - both physical and emotional.

i am afraid of consequences if i fuck up. this is primarily why i try not to fuck up. i wish i could say it was only because i live to serve, or because i'm a "born slave", but really, it's a lot because i'm scared of him.

it's not like he's given me any reasons to be afraid. his responses to my behavior, both good and bad, have been exceedingly appropriate, given the nature of our relationship. he's never given me cause to think his reaction will be "too much", or that he will ignore something either positive or negative that i have done.

but i am afraid. i don't clearly understand why, but it is also an integral part of the dynamic, and i know it simply wouldn't work without it.

a day in the life

copied from my response to a thread on fetlife ('cause i know you're wondering how we're doing):

typical day: alarm rings at 7:15 - mostly to get kids on the bus in time. i usually set the coffee to go off at 7:00 so it's ready when we get up. if i haven't, i'm expected to get up and make it before anything else, including going to the bathroom. if he's awake, i have to ask permission to go to the bathroom - if not, i have standing orders to let him sleep and do what i gotta do on my own.

my owner works out of his home, so sometimes he'll get up later than that, sometimes earlier, but usually around the same time. early morning activities are mostly a joint effort - getting breakfast, kids' stuff together, fires lit. we've usually discussed the night before what needs to happen that day, so by the time the kids are out of the house we're onto that plan. more often than not he'll make breakfast for both of us while i'm doing other stuff, and we'll eat together while finishing up the final plans for the day.

i rattle off my list of chores/duties/errands i'm planning on getting done, and he'll either nod or nix as needed. he tries to keep my time away from home to a minimum, so if i can coordinate errands to keep the time down, i do. i usually get a to-do list to add to my own at that point. then the morning's business begins. i usually ask him if he's hungry mid-morning and then again at lunch time, prepare the meal, and then clean up all the detritus from the morning/lunch. if i've been out, i'm expected to get it done sometime in the afternoon.

afternoons usually include some sort of outdoor activity - working on firewood, shoveling, gardening, whatever's seasonally necessary. kids are home around 4, so i'm back to the business of that until dinner time. very occasionally he'll take a break from work at that point and join in the food preparation (it's fun - not an obligation for him), and then we'll sit down to dinner around 6:30. if he's still working, i try to give him a heads up so he can join us.

our bedtime varies hugely - sometimes very early, sometimes very late - usually dependent upon his workload. i do not go to bed without permission, and that usually doesn't happen until he's ready to go himself. in warmer weather i'll curl up at his feet while he's working, in colder weather, he lets me stay on the couch by the fire. sometimes i'm instructed to handle the firewood before bed, sometimes he's kind enough to do it himself.

our out-of-the-ordinary time is usually mid-week when there's a small lull in his workload. i do try to ask to plan it if possible - i love spending time with him. sometimes just a drive through the hills, sometimes something more kinky at home.

boring. nice. works for us.

breakdown

there are two things that happened.

one, is that i got my feelings hurt.

the other is that i realized my feelings are irrelevant. just something else for you to examine, toy with, abuse and change, if you feel like it.

except it doesn't work like that.

in other dynamics, egalitarian ones, one could have an expectation of hearing something like, at the worst, "i think you're being pretty ridiculous about this, but i'm sorry if i hurt your feelings."

i am trying to remind myself that a) this is not an egalitarian relationship, b) apologies are not something i can expect, and c) how i felt about any interaction we had isn't your priority.

you have work to do.

one of my primary rules is to never filter how i'm feeling. but that's an awfully hard thing to accomplish when the thing i am trying not to filter away from you is something you disregard as irrelevant. perhaps i should have kept it to myself.

which isn't the right answer either. it's not up to me to determine what is irrelevant and what is not.

all i know is that i am confused and wary.

off leash

not exactly. that's never the case. i suppose it's more like "longer leash" rather than off.

my owner is gone for a few days. sort of planned, but some unexpected changes. we've been almost constantly together for almost three weeks, and it feels very strange to be alone again. i went out to do errands, forgot my cell phone, and realized i was out of touch for the first, longest time since we met. i felt lost. i felt a little panicky, and my agoraphobic tendencies tried to take over, but instead i finished what i was doing and calmly set out for home as soon as possible. i had a long list of chores waiting for me when i got there, so i managed to keep everything choked down successfully. a little wood stacking, a little lunch, a little sweeping (i swear, my new name should be cinderella), and it feels a lot better.

i had not anticipated the utter isolation.

i don't have a lot of friends these days. the few i had that i was geographically close to are now, obviously, not, and the few others i have that are close to my heart were never living nearby anyway. once in a while i talk to them on the phone. i'm usually too goddamned busy to spend much time on the internet, either, and anyway, the satellite system goes down pretty regularly. we live so far from our closest neighbours that it's not like i'm seeing anyone at all very much.

but i'm not lonely. not yet. and i don't plan on being lonely. i have so much on my plate, so much to think about and physical activities to take care of that i had briefly thought about settling in for some tea and an old movie (no television here in the sticks) and remembered the other chores that needed to get done before the sun went down. these few moments recording this spot in time are all the free time i'm going to get today.

i think i want to nickname my new home "oz". he's the wizard. i'm dorothy. it's very much like the '40's.

(that's not meant to imply my owner is some weird hairy short guy behind a curtain hemming and hawing about the truth. not so. more like the fiery god-like wizard dorothy initially meets. you know. the scary one.)

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.

responsibility

not surprisingly, one of the biggest reliefs of this relationship is having someone else responsible for making decisions. i'm not saying that i abdicate responsibility for my life, the things i do, and the repercussions (although it would be far easier to do that), but that the complete stress of making important decisions on my own is eradicated.

maybe it's not any different in egalitarian relationships. which i know very little about.

the weight of what my owner has chosen to do for "our" future is pretty big. it's not just me that's making changes, big ones, in order to accommodate a potential future together. it make me that much more wary of fucking this all up, because i know damned well what he's prioritizing, and while it's flattering and special and etc., it's pretty damned scary, too.

i'm overthinking this. he is, too, i think.

everything is almost packed. i can't find the cheese grater. here's a pic of what it looks like, if you find it.

up down up down

for the most part, this week hasn't gone any better than last week. i go through daily cycles of panic/nausea/relax/numb over and over again. during one of those cycles that almost brought me to tears, my owner calmly told me that he demanded that i show grace under pressure. no exceptions. it worked.

i don't know how dominants do it. i need this. i needed that.

Outside In

as a companion piece for friendly and my owner's post "Out in the World", here's my take on being outed:

the thing is, it's one thing to out yourself to someone you know, who you know fundamentally loves you. it's another to be outed by someone else. mind you, i'm not in any way saying my owner couldn't have or shouldn't have (in fact, i'm awful proud that he's done it), but it's an interesting place to be when that process includes their knowledge of *me* by default.

kind of like something is being done to me without my consent, or cooperation, even.

so i end up having mixed emotions about it - on one hand, i'm thrilled that i don't have to do the tedious excercise of "hiding" something perfectly natural to myself. on the other, it's a bit perturbing that there are now people in the world who's opinion of me is highly valued that now have information about me i didn't intentionally share.

and on the third hand, it's awfully hot to be used.

i think i'll stick with the third hand.

(photo credit: "insideout" - a stunning painting by deborah poynton.)

choices

there are threads flying around on fetlife about what choices are possible for slaves. and threads about control, and how much control a slave can have. and threads, also, about definitions, labels, communities, and wrongness.

some notes about how it works for me. so that i don't have to say it again, i can just link to this later. and because i like lists.

1. i do not live with my owner, and there are no current plans to change this. this does not make me any less dedicated, owned, or enslaved. all it means is that i live somewhere else and miss him more. while i am ambivalent at best about this situation, i feel there are both positive and negative reprecussions. but the decision is not up to me.

2. i don't like to use the word slave, although arguably the word "property" isn't a hell of a lot different. i believe that a slave is a person who is actually enslaved - either physically or emotionally. sometimes i feel it, sometimes i don't. but what i am called is not up to me.

3. there are issues in our world that require decisions that are not sexual. they are not about who i fuck or don't fuck, not about how many orgasms i have, or about how i wear my hair, even. voting, career choice, weight loss, are all significant issues that have very little to do with sex as we usually know it. these issues are often designated to me to decide, but the final choices are still not up to me.

are you getting a general theme here?

i never said everyone had to be TPE, or that it was "better" than anything else. but it's "total". not "part". or "mostly". or "except for...".

entrust this.

conversation with a friend the other that was basically about the nature of trust, especially when starting a new bdsm-related relationship. especially when you met online. and especially when everyone knows we're not laughing about it.

when i met my owner for the first time, it was in public. a dark groovy bar, sure, but in public, where the bartender knew me. we had already spent weeks talking - mostly about sex, but also about who we were, and what kind of people we were, and what kind of people we wanted to be. we both had parts of ourselves that had to be protected, but small verbal risks were taken.

we met in the bar, and i already knew his name. i already knew his face, and some other significant details about his life. he told me later that he'd deliberately done this, so that the risk i was taking by even meeting him in the first place did not put me at some obvious safety disadvantage. a few weeks later, when we met for our first official "play date", i trusted him enough to go into a locked hotel room and hope for the best. i don't know that i would have done that without all the prior information and meetings and obvious chemistry.

but all that being said, there was a point at which i had to let go of protecting myself. i do not advocate risk, but i understand it. there's only so far one can go into a power exchange relationship without deliberately letting go of control over it. when you know what you want to do is to surrender, it's very hard to take the smaller, protected steps beforehand.

i was lucky, and i still am. i never forget that.

let me explain why you were uncomfortable

the event played out unexpectedly for me. i was distracted with other thoughts and worries when he picked me up, and when i asked in the car "should i be nervous?" before we met, he said "yes." and then my world tipped sideways as i slid my panties down my legs and over my boots. we went in.

it's not that i don't like girls; i do. i love having girlfriends, i love the way they look, the things they say, the frank discussions and tight clothes. i love the comraderie and the understanding that our bodies work (mostly) the same way, and not like those aliens we call "men".

i've never been a toucher, and i've never been a good touchee. i don't like it when people touch me in general, and i don't like it any more when it's a woman. i could not look at you, i could only look at my owner, indignant that he was allowing it, encouraging it. wanting it. i did not hate him, and i did not hate you, but i did not want what was happening.

i did it because i am owned and because i did not have a choice. not because i was happy or comfortable or wanted it or turned on. because i saw the look on his face when he knew i did not like it and it solidified there as lust.

the finer details

in response to my earlier post all the time, i got some lovely dialog going (on my other blog, mostly identical to this one). to clarify one of the responses, which said (and i'm taking out of context, but...) "Essentially you could say, 'I'm sick of this shit' and walk away. "

"when D and i ended our contract, there was a strange nebulous time when we didn't know what was going to happen next. i was no longer his formally contracted submissive, and technically i had the option of not being that, or anything else, again. for me, there is one huge primary difference between being a submissive and being a slave, and that is that as a slave i cannot say "i'm sick of this shit" and leave.

i mean, i could try.

but i have agreed to give him the right to not allow that to happen.

he might allow it to happen, if he was sick of it, too. or if he saw that it simply wasn't healthy for me and he wanted me to be healthy. or he himself might end it if he was sick of it, even if i wasn't. all of those things are possible (and currently undesireable, i believe, by both of us), and i don't think i'd have entered into a M/s relationship with him if i didn't believe he could make intelligent decisions about all that. (yah - the "trust" thing).

but ultimately, it is not up to me. and that's what makes me a slave, and that's what makes this an absolute relationship. which is what allows me to trust him, which is what makes the sex hot, which is what gratifies me on a spiritual level. it's that simple fact."

distracted

my new job isn't just about work, it's about a whole different way of thinking about work. i'd become very comfortable in one of two formats - working so i could live, and then not working so i could live. i hadn't ever considered the option of my work being a part of my life.

and there you have it. seamless, so far. i'm learning, i'm doing, i'm contributing.

sounds like life, doesn't it.

thank you, Sir.

his puppet

a huge, huge stroke of luck this week. my impending career change has manifested, and with some trepidation i'm moving forward. it's hugely exciting and scary and i kind of feel like i'm out of my league with this, but it's something i've always wanted to do, so it's the right choice.

"the right choice," i just wrote. and i wonder how much of this is a choice. this whole career-job-changing process exemplifies the discussion i always seem to be having about TPE relationships and the "total" part in particular.

you know those stupid questions about "what if you had to disobey your Master to protect your children,"? no matter how many times you try to explain that you wouldn't ever have to make that choice, the question materializes "hypothetically" about once a month in some format. i'm so sick of that question i could spit.

giving my owner control over my life's work, my career path, income, financial stability - yeah, it's a big one. but like the "Master or kids?" question, it's kind of a moot point, because i can't imagine him making a choice that would be ultimately detrimental to me. in fact, the choices he's made and the pushes he's given and the directions he's pulled me in have only given me the strength to go down a career path i'd never have the guts to do on my own. i'm hellaciously nervous, but he's absolutely right about this: it's something i've always wanted and will ultimately make me a person who lives fulfilled and with joy.

he's also right about something else. he called me his puppet, and i am. can't you see how that's the right word, and how it's not a choice, and how questioning that is just ridiculous?

("puppet master" by Michael Parkes)

cheesy ode to ownership

i don't have anything sexy to say. no big scary scene to report, no emotional access gate openings.

what i can say is that daily, i am impressed by my owner, just as a person. just who he is, what he's about. the cool thing is that he's one of those people i just - like to be around. makes me feel good about myself, and who *i* am. i'm so over not feeling good about myself, and i can't tell you how nice it is to wake up every day and recognize that he has, actually, made me a better person by simply being who he is.

i'm lucky, and grateful, to have such a person in my life.

the multiple hats of luna

i'm having a hard time writing about this issue, and i kinda know the reason. i'm having a hard time because writing a blog is like writing on a circular stage, with the audience ever changing. the "characters" in the blog, including myself, my owner, the him's, and the her's, have their own identities somewhat separate from the realities of who we all are. i'm a writer, and i can't help but try to present consistency in the characters i'm presenting.

so i don't like to present issues that fuck with that consistency. that's kinda vague, but for better or worse, this blog ain't so much interactive about that.

i wear a lot of hats in my relationship with my owner, not just the one i call slave. i think i really do prefer the label property, if i get to choose, because that implies so much more, i think, than the restrictive "slave" label. no, i never get to choose, i don't have any privacy, and the only things that remain under my control in my life are the things my owner has decided are best that way, with the understanding that said issues are under my control are a privilege, not a right.

one of the hardest hats i wear is idea-bouncer. it's not the most disliked (that's my hat called "official floor cleaner"), but it's the hardest. i know my owner trusts me to present not only the truth at all times, but to be proactive about it when necessary. every time i speak out of turn i'm taking a risk that it will not be acceptable or appreciated. if he didn't ask me for my opinion, i'd better have a damned good reason for saying it.

i am always aware of this.

don't get me wrong - i talk a lot. a *lot*. and often proactively.

so yeah, i take a lot of risks, even when i speak.

that's me, risk taking owned bitch. livin' on the edge.

(image author unknown, found on the blog "the tempest files".pretty, though, ain't it?).

caught

there are two types of fantasies i incorporate.

type 1: things that actually happen, things i replay in my head. things that could actually happen. people i know, have seen, have touched me or used me.

type 2: plotlines. sometimes from stories i've read, sometimes horrifying conglomerations of images i've seen. inevitably they are impossible, due to the characters involved, or the setting, or the fact that i'd probably be permanently injured or die somehow if it actually happened.

used to be, the people in both types were foggy - their faces blurred, and there was the stand-in generic "scary man", or "dominant woman". sometimes i could pinpoint the color of their hair. or how tall they were.

my owner now has the starring role in pretty much all of them. it's been a long time since a fantasy i had did not involve him personally in some way. mostly, i think, his eyes. pale blue, they pin me down like a butterfly under glass. i can't escape it, and most of my fantasies involve his eyes watching me somehow. he witnesses who i am far deeper than anyone has, and it's not always a pleasant feeling. more than his rules, his expectations, or even his hands, his eyes hold me locked down. inescapable.

slice of life

emptied from my handbag upon returning from leg #1 of summer vacation:

- tootsie pop (unopened, melted)
- gas receipts totaling approximately $125
- .75 lb in change
- black signal whip needing conditioning
- pink lace panties
- business card for bee farm
- four tubes of half-used blistex/chapstick
- tissues, in both unused and used condition (multiple, too many to count, with varying body fluids attached)
- wine bottle corks (2)
- dinosaur stickers
- replacement batteries (can be used for vibrator or battery-operated pokedex)
- conch shells
- yellow rain ponchos (still in package, 3)
- sand, sand, and more sand
- gardenia-scented lotion bottle
- "young ranger" coloring book
- four rubber bands (blue, extra wide)
- 7 hairclips (can be used for pleasant hair-styling purposes or mean skin-clipping ones)

...and there's still over a month to go...

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

the whole brat thing confuses me. cuteness, i get. whip-smart i get. i even get i'm-not-actually-submissive-but-i-am-a-slave. but i've never been able to wrap my brain around the brat concept. i mean, i get it from an intellectual standpoint (gosh knows you'll never find me saying something is *wrong* with it), i just can't seem to put myself into that particular role with any success. it doesn't come naturally.

i've been up and down and through all the thinking about why i do things my owner requires or directs when i don't want to. big things and little things. (last night, for example, he added more vegetables than i wanted to my plate. i ate them.) i don't think i'm in a place yet where i never ever consider not obeying - i can't claim internal enslavement. there's often a brief second or two of "but i don't wanna," before i do it.

so why? it's never been about love. it's sometimes about trust, but that's not really the constant.

i think the reason i do it, for him, is respect. every time i obey, even when i don't want to, it's about showing respect. he deserves that, i think. if i *don't* do whatever-it-is, then i am actively disrespectful. *that*, i don't want to do. i can't bear to think about how he would feel if i were disrespectful. and i guess in my twisted brain, brattiness is the ultimate show of disrespect.

no disrespect to anyone who likes brats, of course.

annifuckiversary

i just want to take a moment or two to make note. a year ago i met my now owner in person for the first time. a drink or two, a hot stare between barstools, and some time fogged up in the car. a lucky friendship, more than anything else. it's been a tough year, but an excellent, excellent one.

thank you, Sir, for one of the best years of my life.

happy annifuckiversary.