the marks of a slave

coupled with the growing desire to write, and write, and write, and write, the story of my life, of my mother's life, of my grandmother's life, complete with illustrations, just as they are, as I find them.

Click to expand...

And this I will say again..is something you really must do. Don't think about it just do it, write it with no thought of it ever being read by anyone and it will flow out of your mind like you will not believe. The relief you will feel in so many areas of your life if you do this will amaze and astound you.

It was my birthday a week ago Saturday.

He didn't remember.

I had suspicions earlier in the week that it wasn't on his radar. I even liked the growing feeling that it might pass completely unnoticed.

But he started making plans the night before for a day visiting his favorite places in the city, and even the kids know that on your birthday, you get to decide. It just popped out of me, before I could stop it. "Tomorrow is my birthday."

He stopped talking, and stared at me with his mouth still open. I don't think he knew what to say. I shook off his attempt to apologize, "it's okay."

But it hasn't actually been okay. He ended up working and sleeping most of the next day, while I took the kids out and brought home a beautiful orange canary who sings with me while I work in the kitchen.

And, for the last week, I have been testing the waters, watching him, trying to find some indication that I am important to him. Actually. . . I think I want to be more important to him . . . More important than all the other things in his life. More important than his work. His children. His internal journey.

And he has been avoiding me.

He has told me he's under a tremendous amount of pressure at work. Our concerns about our son have challenged both of us. And he has asked me to help him to fulfill goals that had been set aside with changing careers.

This morning, I woke up and the sun is shining. My need to be recognized is gone. I went downstairs, fed the kids, shared a cup of coffee, and stopped trying to cast a shadow just to prove that I existed. Had substance. "Mattered."

And I am amazed to watch "the flow" resume in our life together. The phone rings. Opportunities appear. Optimism rises. Life is good. Again.

eastern sun said:

It was my birthday a week ago Saturday.

He didn't remember.

I had suspicions earlier in the week that it wasn't on his radar. I even liked the growing feeling that it might pass completely unnoticed.

But he started making plans the night before for a day visiting his favorite places in the city, and even the kids know that on your birthday, you get to decide. It just popped out of me, before I could stop it. "Tomorrow is my birthday."

He stopped talking, and stared at me with his mouth still open. I don't think he knew what to say. I shook off his attempt to apologize, "it's okay."

But it hasn't actually been okay. He ended up working and sleeping most of the next day, while I took the kids out and brought home a beautiful orange canary who sings with me while I work in the kitchen.

And, for the last week, I have been testing the waters, watching him, trying to find some indication that I am important to him. Actually. . . I think I want to be more important to him . . . More important than all the other things in his life. More important than his work. His children. His internal journey.

And he has been avoiding me.

He has told me he's under a tremendous amount of pressure at work. Our concerns about our son have challenged both of us. And he has asked me to help him to fulfill goals that had been set aside with changing careers.

This morning, I woke up and the sun is shining. My need to be recognized is gone. I went downstairs, fed the kids, shared a cup of coffee, and stopped trying to cast a shadow just to prove that I existed. Had substance. "Mattered."

And I am amazed to watch "the flow" resume in our life together. The phone rings. Opportunities appear. Optimism rises. Life is good. Again.

Click to expand...

eastern sun,

i love reading your posts. you are so insightful and have elegant and beautiful writing styles.

however, sometimes i dont understand your point of view. missing your birthday? was it wrong that you wanted the attention? was it wrong that He forgot it? or is that just the dynamics of (your) marriage?

eastern sun, your resilience continues to impress me. there are things i could learn from you.

and fun fact, you and my Master share the same born day.

i agree with ownedsubgal, you do have this resilience, and you bounce back, and it astounds me. a strong woman. i have alot of catching up to do, lol.

Although belated.. Happy Birthday Eastern Sun

Thank you.

I don't think it's wrong that he missed my birthday (in 25 years, he never has, which makes me think he really is under a lot of stress). And I don't think it's wrong that I wanted attention (please don't miss the irony that as I give up the need to be recognized at home, I resurrect this thread. . . .)

It just is. And we are both happier when the M/s framework is fully in place, providing a context for these behaviors and attitudes that "makes sense."

In my mind there is also irony in the fact that only male canaries can sing and you brought one home to sing with you, not to sing for you but to sing with you.

eastern sun said:

It was my birthday a week ago Saturday.

He didn't remember.

I had suspicions earlier in the week that it wasn't on his radar. I even liked the growing feeling that it might pass completely unnoticed.

But he started making plans the night before for a day visiting his favorite places in the city, and even the kids know that on your birthday, you get to decide. It just popped out of me, before I could stop it. "Tomorrow is my birthday."

He stopped talking, and stared at me with his mouth still open. I don't think he knew what to say. I shook off his attempt to apologize, "it's okay."

But it hasn't actually been okay. He ended up working and sleeping most of the next day, while I took the kids out and brought home a beautiful orange canary who sings with me while I work in the kitchen.

And, for the last week, I have been testing the waters, watching him, trying to find some indication that I am important to him. Actually. . . I think I want to be more important to him . . . More important than all the other things in his life. More important than his work. His children. His internal journey.

And he has been avoiding me.

He has told me he's under a tremendous amount of pressure at work. Our concerns about our son have challenged both of us. And he has asked me to help him to fulfill goals that had been set aside with changing careers.

This morning, I woke up and the sun is shining. My need to be recognized is gone. I went downstairs, fed the kids, shared a cup of coffee, and stopped trying to cast a shadow just to prove that I existed. Had substance. "Mattered."

And I am amazed to watch "the flow" resume in our life together. The phone rings. Opportunities appear. Optimism rises. Life is good. Again.

Click to expand...

I love these glimpses of your energy.

These snippets of introspection are like watching you dance with your own story, move in time with your past as you write it. All of us create ourselves looking backwards into our memories, but you really sway in time with the movement of your own stars.

I have PCOS. The overproduction of testosterone in my body makes acne hard to control. I have a Master who loves to pick and squeeze blackheads and whiteheads. This, of course, is impossible to control.

We were lying in bed together shortly after he got home from work on Monday. He'd been picking at my bumps for quite some time. I was growing bored and irritable.

He dug his nails into one particularly painful spot under one of my breasts, and I yelped. I told him jokingly that he had to stop. He grinned at me for a moment, then pulled me to him roughly, his eyes darkening.

"You're my property. I'll do anything I want with you."

He continued picking at my skin until he finally grew bored with it and went to watch football in the living room.

We've been avoiding some of our more extreme activities in the last few months, as our concerns about our son took precedence over the pursuit of pleasure. But, he's doing well with the medication. He's more comfortable in his own skin than he has been for some time, and our anxieties are lessened.

So, inevitably, we turn our attention back to the stuff that really turns us on.

When my husband is driven by his desires, he can be really rough.

After a couple of months of fairly quiet, and largely unexciting, sex, I was thrilled to feel his full strength and force. And also terrified.

I was surprised at how I tried to hold onto my form.

At first I was just concerned with my physical body. But then something deeper kicked in, and I felt like I would be completely annihilated - torn apart by the currents of his force. And I couldn't let go.

I felt like I was hanging onto the fringe of my consciousness, terrified that if I lost my grip, I'd forget myself. I'd forget my children. And I couldn't allow it to occur.

Afterwards, I was disappointed. And consumed by thoughts of what would happen if I did "go there" - that unknown territory - that ocean of forces - that "death." I was pretty convinced that I'd return, that it was important to my husband that I be there for our children, and that I shouldn't let my fear stand in my way.

I also spent a good piece of the next day preoccupied and distracted, wanting desperately to "try again" and recapture that moment. I ignored my children. I was short with them when they asked for my attention. I wanted them to leave me alone so I could chase this experience that had eluded me.

And confirmed my initial fears.

My husband thinks it's possible to compartmentalize experience, setting boundaries that offer security. He thinks it's possible to "go there" and come back. No problem. Just drop the wall between one experience and the next.

I don't know. I'm an addict. An all or nothing kind of girl. Compartmentalization and slavery don't seem to go hand-in-hand. But . . . if he says it's possible. . . I'm going to try to entertain the thought that it is. I don't know.

I'd sure love to be able to do this thing.

Homburg said:

I love these glimpses of your energy.

These snippets of introspection are like watching you dance with your own story, move in time with your past as you write it. All of us create ourselves looking backwards into our memories, but you really sway in time with the movement of your own stars.

Click to expand...

This is beautiful, Homburg. Thank you.

He says I should just settle down and live in the present moment.

Stop thinking about the kids when I'm engaged with him.
Stop thinking about him when I'm supposed to be engaged with the kids.

He's right, of course.

I'm embarrassed to find myself back in basic training.

He edited my previous post. This is what I should have said:


"He says I should just settle down and live in the present moment.

Stop thinking about the kids when I'm fucking him.

Stop thinking about fucking him when I'm with the kids.

Stop thinking about other guys when I’m fucking him (unless he wants me to).

Stop thinking about him when I’m fucking other guys (Well, OK, I never think about him when I fuck other guys. I guess that’s a plus.)

He's right, of course."


Sorry for the double post.

I am thinking about branding my slave's asscheek with my initials.

sfldaddy said:

I am thinking about branding my slave's asscheek with my initials.

Click to expand...

How does it feel to wear someone's initials? To have them burned into your skin?

I've always wanted some kind of physical mark, like a brand or tattoo. I always thought a brand would make me feel more like a domesticated animal, owned for the sole purposes of sex and breeding. And I've spent years designing my tattoo - a full body Garden of Eden with vines that twist round my breasts and disappear between my thighs.

But my husband doesn't like any physical mark at all. He's Jewish, and sees in it a reference to the Nazis' tattoos. He forbids it. No tattoos. And no brands.

So that's that.

And I keep trying to catch a glimpse of the invisible marks of the slave.

Like the moment a few days ago . . . after spending most of the day removing the hard drives from three old computers, and retrieving lost documents and photographs, when I found a story my husband had written eight or nine years ago. He'd asked me to look for it.

I was riding a wave of triumph and self-satisfaction, feeling totally successful and graced by God, when I opened the story, and read an account of the life I'd been living for the past five years (one I'd thought I'd had a share in creating) and had no clue he'd orchestrated the whole thing.

eastern sun said:

How does it feel to wear someone's initials? To have them burned into your skin?

I've always wanted some kind of physical mark, like a brand or tattoo. I always thought a brand would make me feel more like a domesticated animal, owned for the sole purposes of sex and breeding. And I've spent years designing my tattoo - a full body Garden of Eden with vines that twist round my breasts and disappear between my thighs.

But my husband doesn't like any physical mark at all. He's Jewish, and sees in it a reference to the Nazis' tattoos. He forbids it. No tattoos. And no brands.

So that's that.

And I keep trying to catch a glimpse of the invisible marks of the slave.

Like the moment a few days ago . . . after spending most of the day removing the hard drives from three old computers, and retrieving lost documents and photographs, when I found a story my husband had written eight or nine years ago. He'd asked me to look for it.

I was riding a wave of triumph and self-satisfaction, feeling totally successful and graced by God, when I opened the story, and read an account of the life I'd been living for the past five years (one I'd thought I'd had a share in creating) and had no clue he'd orchestrated the whole thing.

Click to expand...

Yes, but which is more permanent: the brand on the skin, or the invisible tattoo of ownership that he has placed upon your heart and soul? One is visible for all eyes to see. Yet, the other is only visible to you, and only if you look honesty at your inner self.

"That's it," he said. "That's it. That's it."

eastern sun said:

I was riding a wave of triumph and self-satisfaction, feeling totally successful and graced by God, when I opened the story, and read an account of the life I'd been living for the past five years (one I'd thought I'd had a share in creating) and had no clue he'd orchestrated the whole thing.

Click to expand...

Does knowing that make it easier, or more difficult for you now?

Lizzie_Borden said:

Does knowing that make it easier, or more difficult for you now?

Click to expand...

Honestly, it turns me on.

But it wasn't that long ago that I would have felt stupid for having been manipulated. Especially because the signs were clearly visible all along the way, and I was just choosing to believe I had more control over the facts of my life than I did.

At this stage of our relationship, though, I've fully given my consent to whatever happens. I rather liked the fact that he'd pulled it off, and was impressed by the way he used me to satisfy his desires, especially because they were obviously set in motion well before our marriage.

It also reinforces to me that we are well-matched. If I can feel like I was choosing something that may not have been a real choice, our interests and desires are fairly compatible.

I would think it would be much more difficult, and even potentially damaging, to feel like you were repeatedly being forced to do something you would never choose to do on your own. Once in a while is fun. But as a steady diet, it would be pretty hard.

BlitzKrieger said:

Yes, but which is more permanent: the brand on the skin, or the invisible tattoo of ownership that he has placed upon your heart and soul? One is visible for all eyes to see. Yet, the other is only visible to you, and only if you look honesty at your inner self.

Click to expand...

Though I understand what you're trying to say, and I think it's a beautiful sentiment, sometimes I think the brand on the skin is more permanent, because it's more tangible, more continuous, less elusive. At least, that's why I want one.

On certain days, it's really hard to see those invisible tattoos.

I do think the marks on your skin can be superficial, standing in for the deeper commitments. How many people have made the mistake of tattooing a lover's name only to break up later?

But part of the reason I like to write on this thread is to create concrete and visible tokens of those internal experiences. I go back and reread posts as though I was caressing a scar, just to nurture feelings of devotion and sacrifice that are not always available in the moment.

"Enjoy it," he said. And I just didn't.

"Enjoy it" is a tricky one. I always thought that was the one thing I didn't have to commit to in this game.

There was a brief period where I interpreted "slavery" as passivity. During sex, I followed directions, but took little responsibility for my own experience. I would relax, and grow heavy, positioning my body wherever it was supposed to be and then kind of lose myself. I felt like a piece of the earth, fleshy, moist, with lots of nooks and crannies, full of motion when moved, but otherwise still and simply present.

It didn't matter whether I wanted what was happening or not. It didn't matter whether I was enjoying what was happening or not. It just happened.

I kind of liked it.

He didn't.

Let me amend that. . . On occasion, he just wants me to take whatever he's dishing, or experience me as some warm, wet toy. On occasion, he likes the fact that I'm uncomfortable. But most of the time he wants to feel my presence as an active willing participant.

He wants me to "enjoy" what we're doing.

As a young woman, I put on a good show. I'd seen the movies. Even I believed my act.

Sometimes he wants a show. And I have become his customized pornography.

But that's not what he means when he says "enjoy it."

He wants me to find pleasure. In activities that are not pleasurable. To me.

I can say, it's possible. I've done it, and discovered experiences I'd never felt before, where the pleasure is significantly heightened by the transformation of the discomfort. But, it hasn't been easy.

And I still want to hold onto the idea that I don't have to like it. I don't have to "enjoy it."

Last night, it just felt like one more thing I could control.

eastern sun said:

This is beautiful, Homburg. Thank you.

Click to expand...

Very welcome.

Glad you *cough* enjoyed it.

Homburg said:

Very welcome.

Glad you *cough* enjoyed it.

Click to expand...

. . . .