the marks of a slave

[rosco rathbone]

We love Justin Timberlake!

He was very impressive in Social Network.

 

[Netzach]

He was very impressive in Social Network.

I without shame, will say that I love Justin Timberlake the actor/comedian.

 

[Lizzie_Borden]

I without shame, will say that I love Justin Timberlake the actor/comedian.

Dick in a box might be among his finest comedy work.

 

[DamianCain]

Keroin, Rosco, Netzach, Lizzie.

Thanks for responding and for the love on Justin T. Dick in the Box: hilarious. If you get a chance, check out Justin as a bewildered, lovable kidnapper in Alpha Dog.

As is probably evident, ES was compelled to write those "heartfelt" tributes to Glenn Campbell, Bruce Gary and Justin. Mild humiliation and servitude, but servitude nonetheless. Because here's the thing: I actually think these guys are geniuses!

If you get a chance, check out Glenn's celebrity mug shot and then watch his AOL video of "These Days." This is an anonymous forum, so I'm gonna admit this: it made me cry tears of sadness and joy. Several times.

Bruce Gary was the drummer for The Knack. Power pop just doesn't get the credit it deserves. Nobody could shape a song like Bruce Gary. You just have to sit down and Give "Good Girls Don't" and "She's So Selfish" a number of serious listenings. NOW! (All due respect Rosco. I know you've forgotten more about Rock and Roll than I'm currently pretending to know. But, what the hell? I'm pontificating on power pop here.)

And about JT. I wasn't actually referring to his acting. We (well, I) just love those arena-sized Rat Pack song and dance stylings he does.

You're probably thinking, this is what D/s is about in the ES house. From time to time, ES has to parrot Damian's hare-brained aesthetic musings.

Well, no. What it's really about is that she has to listen to this shit all the time.

Thanks again for the posts.

 

[eastern sun]

There's an old thread - what do you want out of life? - that got bumped over in the cafe. And it set me thinking . . .

I want, more than anything, to be an honest person, with self-integrity and a clear discernment of things as they are.

But I am also a creator of illusions, both by trade and disposition. And the more skilled I am at drawing you into the reality web of my illusions, the more I feel that I've shared something "deep" and "meaningful" with you.

How silly I am when I reassure myself that all these images are mapping the terrain on which I walk.

The only way to share the vision of this landscape is by holding hands and walking together.

And even then our eyes may be turned in different directions.

Let us enjoy our dreams. And hold each other accountable when necessary.

 

[eastern sun]

I don't want to write what he wants me to write about. I don't want to write about the things that excite me. Like hard use. And other men's bodies.

I don't want to write about the sexual energy that sits locked in obsessive patterns, craving release and gnawing at the fibers of my mind.

I don't want to write of my desires. Of the way other men make me feel. In the discovery of uncharted territories, and the walking of unfamiliar paths.

I don't want to write of the repetition that sets in as my desires become packaged for his pleasure. Of the familiar phrases and gestures that find their way into the song and dance routine we've choreographed and composed together.

Or the ways in which my excitement becomes his, and no longer my own, as he milks his pleasure from moments I've lived that are now encased in glass and stone, etched into the granite of our foundation, fixed, immobile, sending him into those same uncharted territories that were once mine.

I don't want to write about that at all.

And I told him so.

"Marks of a what?," he said.

 

[Inspiteofitall1]

Apologising in advance for my inappropriate behavior and longwindedness

ok..well I am way out of my depth here in this forum, in this thread,on this topic.
I have spent the past entire week following this one thread (I keep asking myself why), I don't know what led me here or how I ended up being so enchanted by the whole entire subject and the people I feel that I have gotten to know through my weird lurking. I read the ENTIRE thing before posting this one comment.
I created an account just so I could say how much I have learned and how much this thread has caused me to question myself and my life, again..I am forever in a constant state of being caught up in places..situations and things..I am like a leaf that is waiting for a small wind *tornado* to catch me up, die out, lay me back down and start over again with a new and different wind to put me in a different time, place and setting. To say that I have trouble with commitment is a huge understatement. I am only in it as long as I have an unhealthy obsession with it. The roller coaster high I think.....anyway I feel like alice who just fell down the rabbit hole and here I am.
I keep rambling as if I have something to contribute. ..ok ok..*takes a deep breath*
There were so many conversations that I don't even know where to start.
First, I was on google looking for erotic fiction. (I am just a plain vanilla housewife by the way.) I came to literotica to read, but just like when I watch porn with my husband..I want to watch the things that I don't know about or understand first. I understand that pornography is meant as a masturbatory aide and sometimes I use it for its purpose, but I find that there are many interesting places to find and watch something that might not turn me on but I just want to watch just because. I have watched every legal type of porn there is. So anyway, I watched an amateur BDSM movie with a female dominant pair who were using clothespins on this dudes *junk* they had it all tied up.
I got excited..not sexually..but the jumping up and down excited because I wanted them to keep doing it. I was like woah!...where did that thought come from?! I was laughing and begging them to shove more things in his ass. ..I was so weird to me. Part of me was questioning myself but I still could not stop myself from enjoying his pain and discomfort very much.
Anyway, I was on here in the main literotica forum looking for topics that i have no understanding of. Then I saw BDSM forum...hmmm my curiosity deepened. I am almost a slave to my curiosity.*coughs* it can be a very bad thing sometimes. But this thread alone has been a life changing experience for me. I realize how much I can identify with some of the things that have been said and see how it has played out over the past 10 years of my marriage.

I often adhere to my own weird philosophies so bear with me...I believe that in marriage I should have a certain role..the role of mother and wife. I have struggled with what that means. But I am submissive (in odd ways) to my husband and I love being that way with him. The other day he slapped a pizza out of my hand 'cause I asked him to help me with my diet by taking food from me by force..it turns me on and makes me feel loved. He doesn't get it or like it and says he feels so dark and evil taking food from me. He doesn't understand how wet I get when he does that! In fact I never realized how submissive I was until it affected my female relationships. Earlier in the thread I wanted to comment so many times but I was caught up and reading in the OCD way that I do things. There were comments made about vanilla housewives and their *mandatory* bitch fests about their husbands. My former "friends" did not understand that I felt like it was wrong to do that. I withdrew from that side of things. In fact I have also found that in my family the women and men bitch about each other as soon as the others back is turned. At times (like thanksgiving) when I force myself to be around my blood relatives it is a fight to get away from intimate conversations because I am sick sick sick of the spouse bashing. My husband has stood up to everyone for my sake..many people in his family have a strong dislike of me. (the feeling is quite mutual) He has my back and I have his...but I think its odd that we have to have this, "us or them" mentality. I feel like others try to tear us apart and I find myself clinging to him in ways I consider to be 'hot as hell'. I don't know if this is ok to say ..but during oral sex I gagged myself trying to take him deeper. He loves it when I gag..I love making him hot and bothered so I gag again...then he grabs my hair and won't pull it and I am silently begging him to just do it already!!he doesn't...... anyway...I don't have the exact comments by you ES but you were talking (please correct me if I am wrong) about being responsible for your own submission..like I don't have to make him be dominant over me in a sexual sense (because believe me I want it to happen and it never has!) but if I just give him the control and submit and see where it takes me..I like that idea..I don't know if that is what you meant but that is how I took it. Its something I am going to explore anyway...so I think I will shut up now..but I want to give ES and the other posters proper respect. You may not like me or what I have to say...but I still found your lives impacting mine in good ways and wanted to thank you. I don't feel truly apart of the community because I don't live the lifestyle..my curiosity for things is just a base part of me and this time I found something so intense...the whole M/s dynamic is so much more that I thought. It is so much more than the bedroom when someone makes this a part of their everyday life. Honestly I would like to try it in the bedroom only(maybe take it further but I don't know, I am always open to experience for the sake of experience) Not always a good thing..( I was in a cult for 3 years because of this mentality).

My life has been forever changed by the thoughts expressed. I have a million questions and thoughts to add...but this is my kind of way of saying hello and knocking on the door wanting to be let in, and please don't throw me away. I will promise already to tone my posts down and not be long winded again.
I can't promise I won't make inappropriate statements because I am out of my depth..but I like hanging in the deep places.

 

[Netzach]

Keroin, Rosco, Netzach, Lizzie.

Thanks for responding and for the love on Justin T. Dick in the Box: hilarious. If you get a chance, check out Justin as a bewildered, lovable kidnapper in Alpha Dog.

As is probably evident, ES was compelled to write those "heartfelt" tributes to Glenn Campbell, Bruce Gary and Justin. Mild humiliation and servitude, but servitude nonetheless. Because here's the thing: I actually think these guys are geniuses!

If you get a chance, check out Glenn's celebrity mug shot and then watch his AOL video of "These Days." This is an anonymous forum, so I'm gonna admit this: it made me cry tears of sadness and joy. Several times.

Bruce Gary was the drummer for The Knack. Power pop just doesn't get the credit it deserves. Nobody could shape a song like Bruce Gary. You just have to sit down and Give "Good Girls Don't" and "She's So Selfish" a number of serious listenings. NOW! (All due respect Rosco. I know you've forgotten more about Rock and Roll than I'm currently pretending to know. But, what the hell? I'm pontificating on power pop here.)

And about JT. I wasn't actually referring to his acting. We (well, I) just love those arena-sized Rat Pack song and dance stylings he does.

You're probably thinking, this is what D/s is about in the ES house. From time to time, ES has to parrot Damian's hare-brained aesthetic musings.

Well, no. What it's really about is that she has to listen to this shit all the time.

Thanks again for the posts.

This. This is real cruelty.

 

[Keroin]

This. This is real cruelty.

I have alerted Amnesty International.

Also, if you see me touting the brilliance of Helen Reddy, you will know L found this thread and was inspired.

*shudders*

 

[eastern sun]

I am forever in a constant state of being caught up in places..situations and things..I am like a leaf that is waiting for a small wind *tornado* to catch me up, die out, lay me back down and start over again with a new and different wind to put me in a different time, place and setting. To say that I have trouble with commitment is a huge understatement. I am only in it as long as I have an unhealthy obsession with it. The roller coaster high I think.....anyway I feel like alice who just fell down the rabbit hole and here I am.

Welcome to lit. I'm glad to hear that you've enjoyed reading this thread. I have enjoyed it too, and poured many of my thoughts into it over the last two years.

I have also been prone to unhealthy obsessions. And advise you to be cautious. Obsessiveness, in and of itself, is not necessarily a problem. The singularity of focus can create a virtuoso. But, beware impulsive actions and blind attachments, or blind actions and impulsive attachments. They can wreak havoc in an otherwise lovely life.

Whatever you do, as you go forward, make the experience your own. Let it be an honest and thoughtful exploration of your own life and mind.

 

[sweepthefloor]

I keep flashing this avatar, and then removing it, because it seems out of place on this board.

But it is my husband's favorite. The only picture of me that he has ever used the word "gorgeous" to describe. And I want, so much, to hear him say it.

He says you are not a pig,
And you believe him.
Gorgeous freak not pig.

A lovely display
Wrapped around hard red
With soft dangling locks.

Slipping into shoes
And slipping out of shoes
And I slipped into your world.

There is a red ball in your mouth
And it is covered with the words of your
Mind in my mind.

The prettiest thing I ever saw.

~And you are gorgeous.

 

[Inspiteofitall1]

Welcome to lit. I'm glad to hear that you've enjoyed reading this thread. I have enjoyed it too, and poured many of my thoughts into it over the last two years.

I have also been prone to unhealthy obsessions. And advise you to be cautious. Obsessiveness, in and of itself, is not necessarily a problem. The singularity of focus can create a virtuoso. But, beware impulsive actions and blind attachments, or blind actions and impulsive attachments. They can wreak havoc in an otherwise lovely life.

Whatever you do, as you go forward, make the experience your own. Let it be an honest and thoughtful exploration of your own life and mind.

Thank you ...I will think on that. I enjoy your thoughts so much that I have expressed them in quote form to certain family..(who don't know anything about this thread)..I feel that many of the thoughts from you ES and others expressed on here go for any relationship and not just M/s or D/s.

 

[eastern sun]

Thank you ...I will think on that. I enjoy your thoughts so much that I have expressed them in quote form to certain family..(who don't know anything about this thread)..I feel that many of the thoughts from you ES and others expressed on here go for any relationship and not just M/s or D/s.

Yes, I agree. The qualities of a good, healthy relationship are true regardless of orientation and dynamics.

I can't say for certain that ours is always a good, healthy relationship . . . but we have a very strong bond, and we do try to recover balance when we've lost it. It's often in those efforts to recover equilibrium that my life lessons are learned.

 

[eastern sun]

. . . .

I look forward to watching your journey.

 

[eastern sun]

Here's the dilemma . . . I have professional responsibilities these days I haven't had in years. Everyone - my husband, my children, even I - know that I have to get this work done.

But for years I have been the slave to their needs. I have dropped everything at a moment's notice to fix, find, fuck, cook, wash, hug, blow, brush, listen, look, laugh. The list is endless. Only as my professional responsibilities increase do I feel the strength of these habits we have built as a family with years of diligent practice.

My family's habits will slowly change as they realize they can do for themselves a few things that I have been doing for years. The dilemma doesn't lie there. And it doesn't lie in the unfinished tasks at home. Light bulbs go unchanged. Buckets catch the leaks. My daughter's hair gets tangled. All these will be addressed in time.

The problem is in me, in my mind. I am equally habituated to my slavery. As my professional responsibilities increase, I long for the days when all I had to do was respond to my immediate environment. Today, doing things for others feels like a greater burden, like I don't have the time or the energy without sacrificing the quality of my professional work (which is almost wholly self-generated). But I remember what it felt like simply to relax into obedience and service. To have the day stretch out, uncluttered, punctuated by demands and needs, but always with enough time to meet them, maybe even with some grace and generosity.

And ironically, these opportunities that should be such a source of self-esteem by any modern standards draw attention to the ways I've abandoned myself in this habituation. I so desperately want to fail as the stress increases, to give back the money, to shake my head and say "sorry, I don't know what I was thinking" and return to the simple act of eroticizing my life and playing house with my husband and my family.

I'm too proud for that though. So, instead, I feel like a fraud, inadequate both professionally and at home, while I crow my own achievements to whoever will listen, in an effort to convince myself of . . . what?

 

[sweepthefloor]

I doubt there is any way that you could be fraudulent or inadequate. I am listening. I think I feel what you are laying down, and I relate on the other side of the bed.
I have these fantasies of playing house and being slave (if I had such relationship) but I feel inadequate and a fraud. At the end of the day, I doubt I would be able to serve like my imagination fancies. I think about that every time I get home from work. I think about that when I am taking out the trash.

I think that you are spectacular and who you are cannot be minimized into a “simple act.” You will find the balance and work it out for sure, like physiology in the body: compensation will happen.

 

[eastern sun]

I'm gonna get hooked, and then I'll be jonesing for Janey.

 

[eastern sun]

The hook to my new anthem:

I love you. You'll leave me.


You have to sing it without feeling sorry for yourself.

 

[sweepthefloor]

I'm gonna get hooked, and then I'll be jonesing for Janey.

I am staring at your mouth. I think we have the same teeth, same hook.
There is an imaginary fisherman pulling us out of the water till the air almost drowns us- then he drops us back in the lake.
We have hooks in our mouths, and we are hoping the line doesn't break.

 

[eastern sun]

A few weeks ago, I slipped on the ice and twisted my ankle. Not a serious injury, just enough to make walking difficult.

I fell while I was shoveling out the car. I let myself get angry. There has been a lot of snow this year, and I have been the sole shoveler in this household.

While I was shoveling out the car, my husband kept rapping on the window of our house across the street. Now, he was trying to get my attention to tell me I didn't have to free the car, but it looked from my perspective like he was playing a game with me - tapping on the window and then disappearing - a kind of ring-the-bell and run trick - and instead of crossing the street and going inside to find out what he wanted, I got mad.

And as my anger erupted, suddenly fueled by all the hours of shoveling that I'd already done (which really hadn't bothered me before, or so I thought), and the irritating rapping and disappearing at the window, I stopped being able to see things clearly. I became consumed by my thoughts. I didn't see the black ice on the street.

When I fell, I could feel the ligaments stretch. And I lay in the street for a moment, imagining the car that was just about to blindly run me over.

No one came to help me. No one even knew I was hurt.

And my anger blossomed into rage. That kind of sobbing, frightened, accusatory rage that ignites every cell. Burning rage.

Too many moments of self-negation stored up to create incendiary kindling for this fire. I was burning with a sense of injury.

After a moment, I picked up my injured self and carried my rage back to its source.

But, there is no sympathy for an enraged slave.

My rage was out of proportion to my injury, and since there was no intention to harm, he felt falsely accused by my anger.

Within fifteen minutes, I was back at the car, where a stranger who wanted my parking place helped me by taking the shovel and wheel, extricating my car with skill. And in my eyes, he was an angel.

(The lesson I took away at the time was - "don't let your anger blind you.")

 

[eastern sun]

My husband informed me that my post didn't make sense. So I'm going to try to find clarity by breaking it down. . . .

 

[eastern sun]

One impact of "slavery" in my life is the way injury is woven into the fabric of my responsibilities. I enjoy the sensation of performing mundane activities against a background of pain.

Actually that's not quite accurate. I enjoy fingering tender bruises while I'm supposed to be listening to a presentation, or the sting of burning flesh while I'm doing dishes or folding laundry. These echoes of erotic impact resonate through my everyday world, bouncing off the walls of ordinary activity, and layering them with hidden energies that make me feel alive and whole.

I admit it. I like feeling like a slave in the grocery store and the conference room. And pain (and other visceral pleasures) offers the most potent reminder - its message imprinted in my flesh.

Given this nature of mine, any injury - like my twisted ankle - can take on a similar function. I remind myself with, literally, every step, of my sexual slavery. And I love it.

This does not mean I seek out injury - at least not any more. I've grown old enough to recognize that I need to pay attention in order to stay alive and well.

And that is what I'm seeking - feelings of wholeness, of life, of well-being.

But when I am injured, I embrace the opportunity to live in pain.

Going to the hospital to visit a friend, for instance, I love how long it takes to walk from the garage to the building. Each step a question. An adventure. I feel like a pioneer in uncharted territories.

Until a few weeks pass, and I realize that the expression on my face has begun to match the faces on the hospital wall monitoring patients' pain levels.

 

[ataxia.girl]

One impact of "slavery" in my life is the way injury is woven into the fabric of my responsibilities. I enjoy the sensation of performing mundane activities against a background of pain.

Actually that's not quite accurate. I enjoy fingering tender bruises while I'm supposed to be listening to a presentation, or the sting of burning flesh while I'm doing dishes or folding laundry. These echoes of erotic impact resonate through my everyday world, bouncing off the walls of ordinary activity, and layering them with hidden energies that make me feel alive and whole.

I admit it. I like feeling like a slave in the grocery store and the conference room. And pain (and other visceral pleasures) offers the most potent reminder - its message imprinted in my flesh.

Yea...

i miss that part.

 

[eastern sun]

Yea...

i miss that part.

How are you doing, ataxia?

I am often lonely, even when I'm surrounded by people.

I'm convinced it's a piece of my sexuality, especially as it escalates. By digging deeper - or flying higher - I just keep opening up more empty internal space that (in its negative aspects) turns into loneliness when I feel isolated and withdrawn.

In its positive aspects, though, the same space feels vast and liberating. And I feel like I can connect with other people more honestly and openly than ever before, both sexually and throughout my day.

My problem is I get so greedy - craving that open contact and bliss - that I ask/expect more than another human being can offer. And then cycle back into feelings of isolation, rejection, and withdrawal when my "need" is disappointed.

In the middle of a marriage, with lovers and play partners, family and friends, work and community, I am still lonely, almost all the time.

Crazy, hunh?

 

[eastern sun]

So, for two weeks, I luxuriated in my pain.

Pain became my connection to myself, so that even while I was taking care of my children, running errands for my husband, cooking dinner, caring for my friend, readying for my son's birthday, my father's visit, I had to pay attention to my body, my movements, my limits. My pain allowed me to exist in my own mind, even while my attention was focussed on others and the myriad tasks on my plate.

And as I became attached to my pain, it started spreading.

My teeth began to hurt.

Compensatory cramping in my jaw and neck.

All the places in my body that have been abused and neglected started making themselves known.

My eyes. Hips. My shoveling shoulder. My driving leg.

My head.

Even my heart.

I began to get chest pains.

And my face carried the expression of chronic pain that some people mask with a tough exterior. The wrinkles in my face deepened. And my eyes became red.

And the initial luxuriousness of my pain was transformed into a dry, grim, endurance test that triggered defensive behavior and sloth.

My generosity was threadbare. My smiles were tight. My efforts were stingy.

And now I was looking for relief from the same pain that I had been clinging to just days before.