serijules
just seri
- Joined
- Sep 19, 2002
- Posts
- 1,941
Just thought I would share this too, I use my website as an ongoing "journal" to keep my memories intact and look back on how I've changed and grown, so I just write, I don't pay much mind to "proper" writing techniques and whatnot, I just write what I feel, spellcheck it and put it up, from the heart.
The Dinner Party
Dawnie had planned a dinner party for Sunday afternoon during my visit with the intentions of showing me off to a few of her friends. One I knew very well as it was her other girl, C. The other was an older gay gentleman friend of theirs they both spoke of often but I had never met. She ordered me to pack a black skirt and a white shirt and to do some research for her on some recipes and proper serving techniques, but until the night I arrived, I had no idea what she was planning. The white shirt and the serving instructions gave me a pretty good idea, and I was instantly nervous.
I do this a lot...spend far too much time worrying and being nervous about what I think may happen, and once I am there, once it is actually happening, I am perfectly fine and often very much enjoying myself. It is something I have to work on constantly. Dawnie was kind enough to give me a little information on what to expect and who was coming, so that helped me a lot, although I wished I hadn't NEEDED that information in order to relax. It's not a matter of mistrusting her, it's just the way I tick, but I do hope to change that particular quirk of mine.
The nervousness faded to anticipation and a heavy urge to do well and please Her. I was feeling a little badly because she had planned to have me do more cleaning originally to help get ready for the party, not aware of how allergic I was to certain cleaning chemicals as it is something we'd never talked about much before. My hands are extremely allergic to almost any type of chemical and many kinds of soap (oddly enough I do alright with most perfumes and lotions), as well as dust. Contact with any of them can cause my eczema-prone hands to dry up like a sponge in the desert and crack and bleed, which is quite painful and very ugly. I'm also allergic or react to sweat and powders, so wearing gloves doesn't help. She got me a pair of cotton gloves to wear when rearranging things in her room and helping her downstairs, so I was grateful at least I could be somewhat helpful, but I was rather annoyed with myself for quite awhile for not being available to assist her in a more, well, helpful manner. More and more I am in tune with my role to make her life as easy and stress free as possible and I am a little hard on myself when I can't or don't do that well (although I realize being hard on myself is not my job).
We did the shopping, got the cleaning done, and the day of the dinner party arrived. Last year she acquired a "rack" from a friend of hers that was no longer as active in the scene. It is a huge, beautiful piece of equipment, a large wooden table with all sorts of slots, attachments and gadgets for restraining and torturing a willing (or not!) bottom. It is intimidating just to look at, and I feel extremely submissive when laid out on it. This friend had helped her set it up and move it, but had never seen it in action under her hands, so to speak. My visit gave her the opportunity to show off the rack and her slave at the same time. I was thrilled for the opportunity, despite my admitted nervousness. I wanted to please her so much, but I have never served in that capacity before.
Guests arrived, I took coats and served drinks and laid out the refreshments. We talked for awhile and then headed downstairs for the entertainment portion of the day...aka...me. I am not proud of my body, and have a very hard time being naked in public, even around C, who has seen me naked more than a few times. I was painted with cane marks, my slave marque (a cutting D gave me the previous day), new piercings and various other bites and bruises. Showing these off really helped me get past my desire to be clothed, as I was very proud of my Owner's marks and anxious for them to be seen. She ordered me to remove my clothes and get in position face down on the rack, and I asked her if I could have a pillow for my head. She had told me to bring down a few pillows from upstairs, and I mistakenly thought they were for ME. Turns out they were intended for the guests' comfort on the couch, silly me for not thinking of that. Dawnie raised a brow and told me she knew I could ask better than that, and I blushed to my toes at my disrespect, correcting myself and rewording the question as I'd been trained. It was a very humbling moment; she doesn't often have to correct me in front of strangers and I definitely knew better. I fetched the pillow, grateful she was allowing it at all, returned to the basement, undressed and removed my hearing aids. The silence is a blessing for me in times like this. I can really find my focus when my hearing is restricted and no sounds have the ability to distract me.
Once positioned on the rack and bound in place, I took a few deep breaths and found my inner focus. I was determined to take this well and please my Ma'am, despite a very sore body. She started with the floggers....lulling me into relaxation. It didn't take long for the trembles to start; my whole body shivered, partially from the chill, but mostly from wondering just how far she would take me.
I don't remember specifically what happened after that in what order, but she caned me, quirted me, flogged me, strapped me...and I took it as best I could. As shy as I am, I admittedly love an audience; the squirming, whimpering slave I usually am when alone with my Owner gave way to one that lay there and took what she gave without protest, with what I hope was grace. I love that I am allowed to let loose and react without holding back when we are alone, that is not something I've ever been able to do with a partner in the past, but I still crave the occasional challenge of just taking it, being still.
My first notable reaction was when she bit me. Sinking her teeth into my shoulder and holding her grip, her lips warm against my chilled flesh, biting possessively. I whimpered and tensed, determined to stay still, but I know the pain of it was showing clearly on my face. I wondered right then what my audience was thinking...were they impressed with my ability to take it? Could they see how much this was hurting me, how much I hate the pure pain of being bitten but adore the fact that she bites me anyhow, adore submitting to something that really is tough to take? She bit me twice that session, and both times it took everything I had to remain still, to not scream and protest and beg her to stop. God I love those moments. Those are the moments when she truly pushes me, near over the brink, so close to the edge of forgetting myself and calling out a safeword that doesn't exist. I love it. A clear reminder of just how many limits I am allowed to have. Namely, none.
She caned and strapped me a bit more before she slowed down and invited the guests over to us. Her toys were laid out on the bed beside the rack, and awhile was spent talking about the toys, trying them out on me by request. She pushed me a bit then, challenged my stoic stance by forming a constant repetitious pattern with a few of her toys, something I don't take as well and react to much louder and much more desperately. I enjoyed having the guests closer to me, knowing they were seeing my marks, seeing HER marks, enjoying my reactions and being more a part of the scene. I felt shy. I felt a bit humiliated. Mostly I felt proud.
I don't know how long the scene lasted...it didn't seem very long, probably because she had threatened to turn me into a sobbing, begging slut on that table and I truly feel fear when she threatens such things. We had not reached that point, not even close. I wanted more, I wanted it to go on all night until I was too exhausted to even beg her to stop anymore, until she was sated. I know my Owner. Being sated doesn't come easily to her when it comes to dishing out pain, especially when surrounded by toys and a slutslave bound down to the table in front of her. I suppose we had our audience to think of though, and didn't want to bore them or make them uncomfortable by sitting too long.
Finally the guests moved upstairs and my Owner released me from the rack, helping me to the couch and cuddling with me under a blanket. I slowly warmed up and the trembled slowed. She sat there with me, held me, told me she was so proud of me. Those words brought me to tears. I had cried plenty the past 24 hours for various reasons, some good, some not so good, but always with a reason. These tears had no reason I could articulate, but they flowed. I apologized. She just smiled and said it was alright. She understood.
We stayed like that for awhile, talking, holding...then she helped me dress and we went upstairs to finish supper. She cooked a delicious Puerto Rican meal that everyone enjoyed, another friend joined us and the rest of the evening was spent enjoying our meal and lighthearted conversation. I felt something I had never felt that strongly before in regards to serving, and it was a delightful discovery. Usually, I serve because it is my job and what is expected of me. Sure, I love to please her but it's not often something I crave to do and feel a deep sense of emotion about. This time I found a great pride and joy in anticipating needs and attempting to do her proud by being on my best behaviour and display for her guests. I cleaned the kitchen and served dessert without having to be asked. I fetched coats and freshened drinks and sat at her feet without being reminded. I addressed her property, naturally, something that is often very hard for me to remember on my own. I felt so RIGHT, like this was what I was meant to be doing, serving to make her life easier and give her something to be proud of in her accomplishments in training me.
Oh I'm sure I have much more to learn and much to improve on, but it was my first time in such a situation and I'm still glowing from that day. It felt right because it was right.
I am a slave.
The Dinner Party
Dawnie had planned a dinner party for Sunday afternoon during my visit with the intentions of showing me off to a few of her friends. One I knew very well as it was her other girl, C. The other was an older gay gentleman friend of theirs they both spoke of often but I had never met. She ordered me to pack a black skirt and a white shirt and to do some research for her on some recipes and proper serving techniques, but until the night I arrived, I had no idea what she was planning. The white shirt and the serving instructions gave me a pretty good idea, and I was instantly nervous.
I do this a lot...spend far too much time worrying and being nervous about what I think may happen, and once I am there, once it is actually happening, I am perfectly fine and often very much enjoying myself. It is something I have to work on constantly. Dawnie was kind enough to give me a little information on what to expect and who was coming, so that helped me a lot, although I wished I hadn't NEEDED that information in order to relax. It's not a matter of mistrusting her, it's just the way I tick, but I do hope to change that particular quirk of mine.
The nervousness faded to anticipation and a heavy urge to do well and please Her. I was feeling a little badly because she had planned to have me do more cleaning originally to help get ready for the party, not aware of how allergic I was to certain cleaning chemicals as it is something we'd never talked about much before. My hands are extremely allergic to almost any type of chemical and many kinds of soap (oddly enough I do alright with most perfumes and lotions), as well as dust. Contact with any of them can cause my eczema-prone hands to dry up like a sponge in the desert and crack and bleed, which is quite painful and very ugly. I'm also allergic or react to sweat and powders, so wearing gloves doesn't help. She got me a pair of cotton gloves to wear when rearranging things in her room and helping her downstairs, so I was grateful at least I could be somewhat helpful, but I was rather annoyed with myself for quite awhile for not being available to assist her in a more, well, helpful manner. More and more I am in tune with my role to make her life as easy and stress free as possible and I am a little hard on myself when I can't or don't do that well (although I realize being hard on myself is not my job).
We did the shopping, got the cleaning done, and the day of the dinner party arrived. Last year she acquired a "rack" from a friend of hers that was no longer as active in the scene. It is a huge, beautiful piece of equipment, a large wooden table with all sorts of slots, attachments and gadgets for restraining and torturing a willing (or not!) bottom. It is intimidating just to look at, and I feel extremely submissive when laid out on it. This friend had helped her set it up and move it, but had never seen it in action under her hands, so to speak. My visit gave her the opportunity to show off the rack and her slave at the same time. I was thrilled for the opportunity, despite my admitted nervousness. I wanted to please her so much, but I have never served in that capacity before.
Guests arrived, I took coats and served drinks and laid out the refreshments. We talked for awhile and then headed downstairs for the entertainment portion of the day...aka...me. I am not proud of my body, and have a very hard time being naked in public, even around C, who has seen me naked more than a few times. I was painted with cane marks, my slave marque (a cutting D gave me the previous day), new piercings and various other bites and bruises. Showing these off really helped me get past my desire to be clothed, as I was very proud of my Owner's marks and anxious for them to be seen. She ordered me to remove my clothes and get in position face down on the rack, and I asked her if I could have a pillow for my head. She had told me to bring down a few pillows from upstairs, and I mistakenly thought they were for ME. Turns out they were intended for the guests' comfort on the couch, silly me for not thinking of that. Dawnie raised a brow and told me she knew I could ask better than that, and I blushed to my toes at my disrespect, correcting myself and rewording the question as I'd been trained. It was a very humbling moment; she doesn't often have to correct me in front of strangers and I definitely knew better. I fetched the pillow, grateful she was allowing it at all, returned to the basement, undressed and removed my hearing aids. The silence is a blessing for me in times like this. I can really find my focus when my hearing is restricted and no sounds have the ability to distract me.
Once positioned on the rack and bound in place, I took a few deep breaths and found my inner focus. I was determined to take this well and please my Ma'am, despite a very sore body. She started with the floggers....lulling me into relaxation. It didn't take long for the trembles to start; my whole body shivered, partially from the chill, but mostly from wondering just how far she would take me.
I don't remember specifically what happened after that in what order, but she caned me, quirted me, flogged me, strapped me...and I took it as best I could. As shy as I am, I admittedly love an audience; the squirming, whimpering slave I usually am when alone with my Owner gave way to one that lay there and took what she gave without protest, with what I hope was grace. I love that I am allowed to let loose and react without holding back when we are alone, that is not something I've ever been able to do with a partner in the past, but I still crave the occasional challenge of just taking it, being still.
My first notable reaction was when she bit me. Sinking her teeth into my shoulder and holding her grip, her lips warm against my chilled flesh, biting possessively. I whimpered and tensed, determined to stay still, but I know the pain of it was showing clearly on my face. I wondered right then what my audience was thinking...were they impressed with my ability to take it? Could they see how much this was hurting me, how much I hate the pure pain of being bitten but adore the fact that she bites me anyhow, adore submitting to something that really is tough to take? She bit me twice that session, and both times it took everything I had to remain still, to not scream and protest and beg her to stop. God I love those moments. Those are the moments when she truly pushes me, near over the brink, so close to the edge of forgetting myself and calling out a safeword that doesn't exist. I love it. A clear reminder of just how many limits I am allowed to have. Namely, none.
She caned and strapped me a bit more before she slowed down and invited the guests over to us. Her toys were laid out on the bed beside the rack, and awhile was spent talking about the toys, trying them out on me by request. She pushed me a bit then, challenged my stoic stance by forming a constant repetitious pattern with a few of her toys, something I don't take as well and react to much louder and much more desperately. I enjoyed having the guests closer to me, knowing they were seeing my marks, seeing HER marks, enjoying my reactions and being more a part of the scene. I felt shy. I felt a bit humiliated. Mostly I felt proud.
I don't know how long the scene lasted...it didn't seem very long, probably because she had threatened to turn me into a sobbing, begging slut on that table and I truly feel fear when she threatens such things. We had not reached that point, not even close. I wanted more, I wanted it to go on all night until I was too exhausted to even beg her to stop anymore, until she was sated. I know my Owner. Being sated doesn't come easily to her when it comes to dishing out pain, especially when surrounded by toys and a slutslave bound down to the table in front of her. I suppose we had our audience to think of though, and didn't want to bore them or make them uncomfortable by sitting too long.
Finally the guests moved upstairs and my Owner released me from the rack, helping me to the couch and cuddling with me under a blanket. I slowly warmed up and the trembled slowed. She sat there with me, held me, told me she was so proud of me. Those words brought me to tears. I had cried plenty the past 24 hours for various reasons, some good, some not so good, but always with a reason. These tears had no reason I could articulate, but they flowed. I apologized. She just smiled and said it was alright. She understood.
We stayed like that for awhile, talking, holding...then she helped me dress and we went upstairs to finish supper. She cooked a delicious Puerto Rican meal that everyone enjoyed, another friend joined us and the rest of the evening was spent enjoying our meal and lighthearted conversation. I felt something I had never felt that strongly before in regards to serving, and it was a delightful discovery. Usually, I serve because it is my job and what is expected of me. Sure, I love to please her but it's not often something I crave to do and feel a deep sense of emotion about. This time I found a great pride and joy in anticipating needs and attempting to do her proud by being on my best behaviour and display for her guests. I cleaned the kitchen and served dessert without having to be asked. I fetched coats and freshened drinks and sat at her feet without being reminded. I addressed her property, naturally, something that is often very hard for me to remember on my own. I felt so RIGHT, like this was what I was meant to be doing, serving to make her life easier and give her something to be proud of in her accomplishments in training me.
Oh I'm sure I have much more to learn and much to improve on, but it was my first time in such a situation and I'm still glowing from that day. It felt right because it was right.
I am a slave.
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