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.

choosy bitch

"do, or do not. there is no try."

-yoda

the nature of choice is a weird thing. i'm not so sure it's the same thing as free will. the concept of free will seems to imply that one is able to make any number of choices, from any number of options. in an M/s relationship one has choices. but not free will.

i can choose to obey, or not.

i can choose to sit down, take a breath, or wait until he begins eating before i do.

this isn't instinct, this is choice. maybe it's different when one is "internally enslaved", but since i'm not, currently, everything is a choice.

i'm a stubborn bitch, so i'm obedient. i'm hellbent and determined to make this dynamic work, so i... try? no, i choose.

every time i disobey, it's a choice. i know that. the choice isn't always based on the best intentions or motivations, and sometimes my reasons are stupid. once, i ate a scone, a sweet treat, when i was not supposed to. my owner was furious. when asked why i did it, i stammered something along the lines of "not thinking. don't know. just did it." and he rightfully pointed out the distruth of that - i was thinking, i just chose badly.

it's very trying.

the chances we take

how many times, do you think, does someone get another chance before the chances are all gone?

just a thought.

(photo credit: little green man, quilt by vanessa brisson.)

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.

verbalize me.

things i am not allowed to say:

nevermind
oy
no i will not (to my owner)
his name
please may i come
i want

things i am required to say:

may i
Sir
yes, Sir
of course, Sir
with all due respect


i'm thisclose to an actual punishment for something off the first list. it's a verbal tic, something i say all the time, and half the time i don't even hear myself say it until he's pointed it out. the first time he put a simple word on the forbidden list i was out of my mind with anxiety - it was a verbal tic as well, and i can't tell you the number of times my face was slapped as a result.

i learned.

i'm not as worried about this one, although i've been pushing it lately. i'm running out of my "warning" zone and into my "punishment" zone. it reminds me of a conversation about punishment i read somewhere - is it right, or fair, to punish your [slave/submissive/cuntpet/whatever] for something as arbitrary as a verbal tic? but it's not really about fairness.

i recently asked my owner whether he thought i needed to be broken. he saw right through me, as usual, and wanted to know if i was envious of other slaves that had been "broken" by their owners. yes, of course, i suppose i am. i need that ultimate pent-up energy unleashed all in one swoop kind of stuff. doesn't everyone?

no, he said. you came to me already broken in. you've been in a constant mode of training ever since.

i'm not sure how that makes me feel. like i'm missing something?

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"]

tossing and turning

it is a kind of hunger, i suppose, but needled through with desperation and the beads of sweat that sometimes runs down my back in summer when you beat me outside with branches torn from your trees. i'm the one who opened the door, stepped through, and made my choice. i'm struck, always, by the way i keep turning to you in the night - the tugs on my leash are no longer necessary.

in the worst of moments when i'm cold and dreading what i will say next, i sometimes forget why i'm here. why i am so hungry for you, so open and always waiting. then i remember, when your fingers tangle in my hair or drag across my cheek or i see you watching me in my dawn struggles for air. there are still tiger scratch marks on my thigh you left weeks ago during something akin to rage but closer to possession.

photo entitled "open door" by panspics

discipline

Dis·ci·pline:
1. training to act in accordance with rules;
2. activity, exercise, or a regimen that develops or improves a skill;
3. punishment inflicted by way of correction and training;
4. the rigor or training effect of experience, adversity, etc.;
5. behavior in accord with rules of conduct; behavior and order maintained by training and control;
6. a set or system of rules and regulations;
7. Ecclesiastical. the system of government regulating the practice of a church as distinguished from its doctrine;
8. an instrument of punishment, esp. a whip or scourge, used in the practice of self-mortification or as an instrument of chastisement in certain religious communities.

Dis·ci·ple: a person who is a pupil or an adherent of the doctrines of another; follower.

Ad·her·ent: bound by contract or other formal agreement.


it all sounds so very clinical.

all i know is this: the resolution of the cane, the closure of the whip, and the reinforcement of my place.

the return of polly

polly's been a returning, recurring theme, one that i've found to be pretty disturbing to a lot of people. since posting the original story, i've had a number of explanatory conversations with people, to provide some context. no, i'm not obligated to do so, but since polly's hit such a nerve, i thought it worthwhile.

as a comparison piece, here's another version of polly:

---------------------
_proof_

you're tired of talking about it, and i'm tired of wanting it. her spectre, ghostlike and without detail, floats around and between us. it doesn't matter who she is. it doesn't matter what she looks like - i've said it before she arrived and i'll say it again - there will always be a polly.

so one day, in a quiet mood, your fingers slowly grasping tighter and tighter until round red ovals appear on my hips, you slowly tie me with the soft ropes we've come to love. softness and tightness together. it's excrutiating, the time it takes, and i'm hot from the fire you've built, unable to wipe the sweat starting to roll down my skin.

slowly, slowly, and you're not speaking until you've got me placed exactly right, immobilized, your favorite knots in all the places you wanted them, pressuring me in the places you intended. my mouth agape, my eyes glued to you, not as much locked down as held, the ropes extensions of your arms. you watch me, taking small sips of your wine, watching my skin turn pink and my breath come in gasps in the firelight.

there's a knock at the door, and my heart jumps. you watch my reaction, with that look on your face somewhere between lust and fascination, until you answer the door. i hear her voice before i see her, and my panic rises. but i'm remembering your words, that everything will be okay, and i choke back my tears and fate.

she's not talking much, but i can hear her happiness tumbling through the small words she uses. you've got her in a grip, the one i know, the one i can feel even when you're not there. her head down, until she catches sight of me in the corner of her eye, stares, and gasps. there's only silence for moments, only my harsh breathing.

you push her down to her knees, facing me. you strip her clothes from her quickly, grasping and squeezing. she's trying to turn away, trying to not watch me, and her protests land like pebbles on me. eventually you're inside her, and i don't know who's crying first, but i can only hear your words, telling her to look at what it really is, this is the proof.

polly

it was brought to my attention that while i've referred to "Polly" a great deal, and she's quite a character who's come to represent a whole thing about jealousy and polyamory all mixed together in one warped package, i've never actually posted the story i wrote about Polly.

Polly didn't exist when i wrote this, sometime last summer, way before even the start of my contract. i don't really feel like defending the difficult parts of my psyche that produced this, so if you're thinking i'm way too sick and twisted because of this, then, well, don't worry too much.

i already know that.

Enjoy.

**edit** i posted this the other day in my other blog, forgetting to put it here as well. the response there was hugely dramatic. apparently the polly story touches quite a nerve, almost like my anger post a while ago.

i never said it was pretty, living inside my head.

-------------
_rules_

"That's the door. Go get it." I quickly glance at you, I have no idea what this is about. I go to the door, and let her in. You're smiling - you're happy. That makes me nervous, when we play.
"This is Polly," you say, looking at her, smiling. I think, who the fuck is Polly? I'm quiet, I'm down. I'm not sure what this is about, but I know that it's a surprise meant for me, and you like surprises. I don't.

"Polly's here to teach you a lesson," you say. My mouth drops open. We've talked about this - while we've agreed that there's no real limits, I'm surprised at the girl. You laugh. "No, no. Not like that," you say. But you're practically giggling, and I'm still a little in shock, because I don't know what the hell is going on.

Polly does, though. Polly's cute. Polly's clearly in the know about the situation, and she's looking at me with a mixture of naivete, lust, and curiousity. She's happy, though. I look down at the floor. You grab my chin, pull my head up to look at you. You say clearly, "I want you to get a good look at Polly. Polly's here tonight because of you. Polly's going to teach you a valuable lesson." You let go of my chin, but grab my hair, twist it around so I'm looking at Polly - her mouth is open, wet, and she's watching me, and her breath catches. "Get a good goddamned look at Polly." you say again.

You bring me to my knees by my hair, and push my head down to the floor, and then get down next to me to whisper in my ear. "You thought I'd forget about our conversation, didn't you. You thought I'd forget you said you'd lied." My heart pounds, my mouth goes dry. You continue to speak in my ear. "You thought I'd think it was no big deal, with your big speech about no punishment and no rules." Your hand pushes on my neck down so I'm mashed into the carpet. You speak into my ear, quietly and carefully. "You thought wrong, you little bitch."

It's much later, and I'm bound tightly to the chair. My legs are splayed out, my arms snug, and you've shoved a gag in my mouth. I'm crying. Polly's been watching me, but now she's more interested in you. You've gotten her to strip, you've put her in her place, and now she's facing me on all fours, on the bed. Her face is a perfect picture of lust as you play behind her, smacking her lightly while she groans. You're watching me as I weep. I can hear you speaking to her lightly, and she twists and bucks against your fingers. You push her closer to me, so we're almost face to face, and then you're speaking to me.

"This is your punishment." you say, as you ram into her while she groans and yells. "Watch this," you say. "Watch what's happening, what's yours, what you wanted." The words are spinning in my mind I'm sorry I'm sorry stop stop and I'm watching you fuck her harder and harder. "Don't you turn your face away, bitch," you say and I don't. I'm dripping onto the floor while I watch you take her and I know what I've done, who I am. I'm crying through the gag, and your eyes grab mine and don't let go.

damage by self

"i treated myself
like i knew i would
i told you
i was trouble
you know i'm no damn good..."

-amy winehouse

it's amazing how you can destroy yourself in the absence of anything else doing it for you. it's a self-destructive pattern a *lot* of women have. some do it physically (cutters, ana's, overeaters) and some mentally (involvement with dangerous people, emotional distancing, or plain old un-ending sadness).

here's an aspect of submission i didn't expect: the loss of the need to self-destruct. perhaps that's getting closer to my non-sexual reasons for submission, and also closer to why i'm attracted to and respond very well to this TPE-like situation i'm in. it makes me think a lot about the post BDSM-IV, wherein it's discussed the sometimes-beneficial aspects of what would otherwise be a certain pathology.

i wonder if i'm substituting punishment by way of my dominant for the punishment i'd be giving to myself for my own perceived errors. in a way, it's taking something inherently damaging and negative about my psychology, and turning it back around into something positive, through both the eroticization of it and the resolution (which i'd never be able to give myself).

my dominant says i seem to live in gumby's backwards world - where everything that's wrong, is right.

the object of your aggression

wow, this touched a nerve: [post 394486]

the other side of this coin is the submissive/slave/bottom who is willing to serve as the focus of anger, of aggression. laura antoniou, in her marketplace novel "the reunion", calls this a "grudge slave".

i'm fascinated by this concept.

think about it: if your particular fetish has developed out of something so nasty, so taboo, so - *angry*, what do you do with it, other than find a consenting partner? the only other option is non-consent. which sucks for everyone in society.

i've fantasized about being a grudge slave. a particular kind that doesn't need to be discussed in public (interested parties already know anyway), so i understand why someone would put themselves into such a position to receive such outright aggression. i call it aggression because it isn't always anger, although i think that's often a part of it. i don't know that i can fully articulate why this is not only conceptually "okay" with me, but why it has become fetishized for me. how well can anyone explain the true nature of their sexuality anyway?

the point is, though, that all this stuff in a vanilla world, in *most* of our society, falls into a bucket we call "wrong, scary, dangerous. [B]negative.[/B]"

but [I]my point[/I] is that [B]playing with that stuff is what we do.[/B] what does [member jazz205] call it? "that thing we do"?

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.