the marks of a slave

[eastern sun]

I wore black velvet and a wool blazer, and we talked of Beckett and our histories while our eyes blazed at each other across the table. We left with just a kiss on the sidewalk, that threatened to splash our naked desire across the city streets.

That night, my husband ground my nipples between his fingers and wrapped his fists in my hair. Pinching my flesh, striking me as he fucked, punishing me for having desires that don't include him.

He is happy.

Last night - "You have my permission." This morning as he walks out the door - "Don't make plans for Friday night without talking to me first."

 

[eastern sun]

how it makes me feel

I was asked by a friend - "how does it make you feel?"

When I was a young woman, I used to hang out on a nude beach in Northern California. It was just underneath the Golden Gate Bridge outside San Francisco, with a beautiful view of the city, the bridge and the ocean. One day I was there with a girlfriend. We were getting high and soaking in the sun, both very drowsy and trying to figure out if we could get away with kissing each other. I had almost fallen asleep when this helicopter buzzed the beach. We were startled by the noise, and shot up to see four or five helicopters circling the bridge, and the nose of a huge battleship heading out to sea.

The helicopter came back down as we stood there watching the ship, most likely to check out the naked girls, and we could see the pilot's face and the tiny figures of the sailors on the ship lined up along the railings. Both the ship and its circling birds, were awesome in their cold authority, threat of violence, and lust. Vibrations, like a great humming, filled the air and the loud drone of the helicopters flying over us made our naked vulnerability so raw. It took about fifteen minutes for the whole group to pass through the Golden Gate and disappear.

And then the wake hit the shore. Huge waves. I wanted to be in that water. As soon as the first wave hit me, I knew I was in trouble. I got knocked off my feet, and completely lost all control of my body. I was somersaulted and twisted, my limbs pulled in different directions, my hair whipping my face, and I could do nothing. I felt a wave of panic, and knew right away that if I got scared, I'd die, so I let go and prayed. This vast space opened up inside me, I felt like I could breathe, and though it must have been just moments, I lost myself in the strange choreography the wave was forcing on my body and felt suspended in time.

The next thing I knew I felt sand under my feet, and I came out of that water at a sprint. The wave had put me back on the shore. My friend was watching anxiously and ran to hug me when I came out of the water. "I didn't know if you were going to make it," she said. "Me neither," I had to agree. We just sat in silence for a long time, as my body slowly calmed.

That is the best analogy of what it feels like for me to be with a sexually dominant partner. I feel as though I am letting go into a natural force that is more powerful than I am. I often feel like there's a moment when I don't know if I'll make it back to the shore, and yet I always do. Those are the feelings I crave.

In the middle of perversities, though, I often feel small and piggy, greedy, dense. Thick with flesh, slobbery, earthy, caught in the muck that has settled in the river. I like the stink, the smell of sweat and piss, the undeniable coarseness and crudeness of my desires. Sometimes I feel like a piece of earth, made to be fucked, full of damp nooks and crevices that are perfectly designed for rubbing against, rolling in, probing and groping.

Sometimes it feels natural and loose. Sometimes it feels pathetic and needy.

And then there's the whole experience of training, which I love. I am most undisciplined as a person, but linking rewards and punishments to sexual arousal creates a very effective mechanism for making me behave in ways that are not necessarily my own. I love the effort, the focus, the fear that are elicited in me. I love the all-consuming nature of the experience.

My friend wrote once about the experience of one's existence extending no farther than one's own skin. I love that feeling, the intense focus on the present moment without distractions or outside concerns. I love the feeling of shedding one's life, of creating a moment suspended in time and space, of physical exertion and sexual exhaustion, of challenge and risk.

I actually love the fact that I can utterly fail. It keeps me on my toes, makes me take nothing for granted. And the pain of being held to task when my attention strays, has always increased the fire in my loins.

 

[rosco rathbone]

Great stuff as always.

 

[eastern sun]

Great stuff as always.

Thanks, rosco.

I wish I'd been around for the heyday of Topopolis. I love that thread.

 

[eastern sun]

So I was put on the market, and have a new handler.

It was interesting to experience the period of negotiations in which each word was tested, triggering the vision of a whole different relationship. "Slave" "pet" "sweet" Each term registering a shift in expectations.

We settled finally on "pigbitch" and "handler." It takes us where we want to go.

 

[eastern sun]

And the most interesting thing for me, in shifting some energy from the slave to the animal, is what it does to my language.

I love language. And I'm losing it.

 

[SubKekiLee]

As always.. YOU never cease to amaze me .. EasternSun.. THank you

 

[rida]

So I was put on the market, and have a new handler.

It was interesting to experience the period of negotiations in which each word was tested, triggering the vision of a whole different relationship. "Slave" "pet" "sweet" Each term registering a shift in expectations.

We settled finally on "pigbitch" and "handler." It takes us where we want to go.

For all the claims that label are not defining, I find it interesting how powerful instead they can be, if you only let yourself wallow in their meaning. As you said, they do indeed give a shape to the relationship, to the expectations.
Words are so powerful, if you are bend that way.

Good luck.
Will be following the development with interest.

For myself, I've discovered that I'm a toy.

And the most interesting thing for me, in shifting some energy from the slave to the animal, is what it does to my language.

I love language. And I'm losing it.

If language is what differentiates humans from animals, it only makes sense you are losing it. Interesting what defining yourself as such does, isn't it?

Hopefully you'll have enough words left to let us follow this new chapter in your life.

 

[RJMasters]

I was asked by a friend - "how does it make you feel?"

When I was a young woman, I used to hang out on a nude beach in Northern California. It was just underneath the Golden Gate Bridge outside San Francisco, with a beautiful view of the city, the bridge and the ocean. One day I was there with a girlfriend. We were getting high and soaking in the sun, both very drowsy and trying to figure out if we could get away with kissing each other. I had almost fallen asleep when this helicopter buzzed the beach. We were startled by the noise, and shot up to see four or five helicopters circling the bridge, and the nose of a huge battleship heading out to sea.

The helicopter came back down as we stood there watching the ship, most likely to check out the naked girls, and we could see the pilot's face and the tiny figures of the sailors on the ship lined up along the railings. Both the ship and its circling birds, were awesome in their cold authority, threat of violence, and lust. Vibrations, like a great humming, filled the air and the loud drone of the helicopters flying over us made our naked vulnerability so raw. It took about fifteen minutes for the whole group to pass through the Golden Gate and disappear.

And then the wake hit the shore. Huge waves. I wanted to be in that water. As soon as the first wave hit me, I knew I was in trouble. I got knocked off my feet, and completely lost all control of my body. I was somersaulted and twisted, my limbs pulled in different directions, my hair whipping my face, and I could do nothing. I felt a wave of panic, and knew right away that if I got scared, I'd die, so I let go and prayed. This vast space opened up inside me, I felt like I could breathe, and though it must have been just moments, I lost myself in the strange choreography the wave was forcing on my body and felt suspended in time.

The next thing I knew I felt sand under my feet, and I came out of that water at a sprint. The wave had put me back on the shore. My friend was watching anxiously and ran to hug me when I came out of the water. "I didn't know if you were going to make it," she said. "Me neither," I had to agree. We just sat in silence for a long time, as my body slowly calmed.

That is the best analogy of what it feels like for me to be with a sexually dominant partner. I feel as though I am letting go into a natural force that is more powerful than I am. I often feel like there's a moment when I don't know if I'll make it back to the shore, and yet I always do. Those are the feelings I crave.

In the middle of perversities, though, I often feel small and piggy, greedy, dense. Thick with flesh, slobbery, earthy, caught in the muck that has settled in the river. I like the stink, the smell of sweat and piss, the undeniable coarseness and crudeness of my desires. Sometimes I feel like a piece of earth, made to be fucked, full of damp nooks and crevices that are perfectly designed for rubbing against, rolling in, probing and groping.

Sometimes it feels natural and loose. Sometimes it feels pathetic and needy.

And then there's the whole experience of training, which I love. I am most undisciplined as a person, but linking rewards and punishments to sexual arousal creates a very effective mechanism for making me behave in ways that are not necessarily my own. I love the effort, the focus, the fear that are elicited in me. I love the all-consuming nature of the experience.

My friend wrote once about the experience of one's existence extending no farther than one's own skin. I love that feeling, the intense focus on the present moment without distractions or outside concerns. I love the feeling of shedding one's life, of creating a moment suspended in time and space, of physical exertion and sexual exhaustion, of challenge and risk.

I actually love the fact that I can utterly fail. It keeps me on my toes, makes me take nothing for granted. And the pain of being held to task when my attention strays, has always increased the fire in my loins.

Very cool. Thank you for sharing it.

 

[eastern sun]

For all the claims that label are not defining, I find it interesting how powerful instead they can be, if you only let yourself wallow in their meaning. As you said, they do indeed give a shape to the relationship, to the expectations.
Words are so powerful, if you are bend that way.

Good luck.
Will be following the development with interest.

For myself, I've discovered that I'm a toy.

If language is what differentiates humans from animals, it only makes sense you are losing it. Interesting what defining yourself as such does, isn't it?

Hopefully you'll have enough words left to let us follow this new chapter in your life.

I am totally bent that way.

I have always believed in the defining quality in labels. Even if we know that they are arbitrary and ultimately disconnected from the raw stuff of our immediate experience, the connotations that are attached to these labels become a filter for our perception of what's taking place.

There's a whole branch of marketing based on the practice of "branding." I've always associated branding with hot metal and flesh, but there is that more abstract "brand" we learn to recognize, driven wholly by accumulated messages, associated images and expectations of experience.

It's why I am so devoted to my own label. Because, even in its arbitrariness, it creates my experience and is sometimes the only "control" I exercise.

 

[eastern sun]

I have also discovered that it is comfortable to be both slave and animal.

(I have never been good at serving more than one master. . . so the similarity in the two positions, and the relative ease with which I can move from one state to the other, is really quite satisfying.)

 

[eastern sun]

The slave's submission is required, non-negotiable tender in flesh. The slave serves at the owner's will, receiving instructions, and acting to avoid punishment. The slave offers her obedience and the gradual annihilation of her own will.

The animal's submission is required, in the negotiable tender of power. Two animals meet, and the display of power and relative strength begins. This animal has met another whose strength is undeniable, fearsome in its concentrated desires. But awesome as well, intimidating, impressive, inspiring the fear-laced desires she craves. There is only one position to take. Even as she draws her lips back to bare her teeth, she rolls and offers the tenderness of her soft flesh.

There is no doubt his teeth will tear that flesh. She will be consumed. And in that consummation, she will be released from the obsessional cravings that haunt her daily, driving her to seek him out, place herself in his path, crave his attention and his touch.

To feel his breath on my throat is my greatest desire.

 

[eastern sun]

I've been given two weeks off for the holidays. Unheard of! Unthinkable, from the perspective of the slave.

But so important, as I was beginning to forget the details of my life. And this is not a season for forgetting.

It drives home a fundamental difference between the two relationships. There is no time off as a slave. Even if I'm not actively engaged, I am always on call, ready to jump.

This time off, this holiday, leaves me dumbfounded. And gleefully unfettered.

I want to run into the open air.

And just as I pick up speed . . . my husband appears with a grin.

 

[RJMasters]

Just getting my weekly fix. Thanks. Never disappointing.

 

[eastern sun]

This was the sign posted to announce my availability - an old poem with lots of promise -

my body, in the hands of an artist
yields like clay to the pressure of his hands
I am formed by his skill
into the vessel for his passion
and thirstily I drink his water
as my body, like clay,
holds the shape I've been given
space opens, deep and wide
to receive him and I watch
from a distance as he presses
inside and sets me on fire
and my body, wet and hot
in the contours of his hands
defies gravity and rises
to the sound of his voice
dancing to his words stormy,
tempestuous gasping for air
then my body, left behind
baking in the sun will grow hard
and beautiful glazed in his furnace
or hard and cracked if the form was flawed
ready to be born again
as the artist who creates me desires

It attracts those who are interested in re-making me into the object of their desire, and sets me on interesting paths.

Because I am being re-made, there is necessarily an initial period of training, in which my body, mind and sexual appetites are re-formed, requiring concerted physical exercises (developing strength, flexibility, and a fundamental foundation of health), sexual exercises (designed primarily to reshape my cavities - but also to stimulate sexual desires), mental exercises (creating language, mindplay, at least some degree of mesmerization, and meditation) and then the acquisition of all the accompanying accessories - the props and clothing and toys - that will ultimately support the final form.

Though I've been given a couple weeks off, in terms of accountability, I would be a fool to stop in my tracks. Like any process of change, slow and steady, daily efforts make the difference. Literally.

 

[eastern sun]

And my husband feels the changes in my body, and punishes me relentlessly with the knowledge that I am more willing to make changes for others than for him.

It is true.

There can be a subtle sabotage in the slave's actions that develops over time. Intended to wrest control in those areas where the owner pays less attention. Intended to assert independence of mind.

 

[rida]

And my husband feels the changes in my body, and punishes me relentlessly with the knowledge that I am more willing to make changes for others than for him.

It is true.

There can be a subtle sabotage in the slave's actions that develops over time. Intended to wrest control in those areas where the owner pays less attention. Intended to assert independence of mind.

The bolded part holds true for me as well.

And it made me ponder and wonder about my submission to Hubby. And I realized one thing, that in my marriage to him, I cannot let go of control 100%, for the simple reason that I cannot loose myself when part of my role in the marriage is to keep things stable and running smoothly. With the Sadist, being a part time situation, the obsessing over him was only in my mind and did not interfere with my daily life. So in my mind I could push the submission to 100% for the limited time of our interaction.

It is as if there is only a fixed volume of self I can give up without breaking down, like a helium balloon.. With Hubby, because the pressure is constant and from every direction, I can only yield up to a certain point all over the surface. With the Sadist, as the pressure is limited, it can go deeper on the specific spot as the rest is left pressure-less.

 

[eastern sun]

The bolded part holds true for me as well.

And it made me ponder and wonder about my submission to Hubby. And I realized one thing, that in my marriage to him, I cannot let go of control 100%, for the simple reason that I cannot loose myself when part of my role in the marriage is to keep things stable and running smoothly. With the Sadist, being a part time situation, the obsessing over him was only in my mind and did not interfere with my daily life. So in my mind I could push the submission to 100% for the limited time of our interaction.

It is as if there is only a fixed volume of self I can give up without breaking down, like a helium balloon.. With Hubby, because the pressure is constant and from every direction, I can only yield up to a certain point all over the surface. With the Sadist, as the pressure is limited, it can go deeper on the specific spot as the rest is left pressure-less.

Wonderful image, rida. Thank you. I know what you mean about the difference in the application of pressure.

I've perceived it differently in my own marriage, though the situations you're describing are very similar to my own. I've always perceived it as a difference in my husband's limits as opposed to others (instead of my own).

Because I live with him, and especially because of the presence of our children, he is adverse to pressing too deeply in any area where my emotional balance might be lost (and he has learned where those areas are through the inevitable trial and error that takes place in long relationships). I frequently perceive him sacrificing a desire of his in light of maintaining steadiness and balance in our day-to-day world. Though this holiday I've been given has been granted in recognition of my responsibilities to my family, I generally do not perceive others I interact with part-time to be as willing to set their own agenda aside.

Because I can see how my husband responds to my emotional state, there have been moments when I think I need to eradicate those upheavals in order to be "a good slave." And, of course, it would be nice for him if I were always calm, stable, responsive and enthusiastic. But it isn't realistic in a 24/7 relationship. It isn't possible. I do what I can to improve my serenity, and he modifies his expectations of me, setting shallower limits in areas where I'm likely to pop.

In these outside relationships, it is much easier - as you point out - to press deeper, to upset the balance, to release or vent or pop, and then return to oneself, having discovered a kind of boundary-less space, before returning to day-to-day existence.

On the other hand, that steady relentless pressure on all sides exerts a much more profound influence over time. It literally shapes the course of a life.

 

[eastern sun]

A tender soul - with a practice of holding people accountable - looked into my life yesterday and declared, "that's servitude, not slavery. Slavery is without limits. A total offering."

Deeply attached to my language, I sputtered something about the effect over time, of the radical changes effected in my life, and he said "so you don't like the woman you've become."

And, in a moment of confusion, thinking of the songs I might have sung, I nodded.

----------------------------------------------
But it's bothered me. And I went to sleep last night in physical pain that was still with me when I woke this morning.

I love the woman that I am. I take full responsibility for all of my decisions. For the things I have done well and the things I have done poorly. For the myriad ways I have allowed the world to shape me. For the ways I have allowed fear to limit me.

I nodded because I wanted to feel free in a moment when I felt bound, and that has nothing to do with my husband's will, and everything to do with my own.

My will to fly, and the fears and doubts that keep me grounded.

 

[eastern sun]

In my slavish devotion to language, I looked up "servitude" -

servitude
noun
the state of being a slave or completely subject to someone more powerful
• archaic Law the subjection of property to an easement.

then I looked up "easement" -

easement
noun
1 Law a right to cross or otherwise use someone else's land for a specified purpose.
2 poetic/literary the state or feeling of comfort or peace : time brings easement


I am willing to concede that I live in a state of "servitude."

 

[Adakgirl]

Lest you forget, your Master is most likely going through and will continue to go through, some major transitional changes in the way he thinks about things, goes about doing things, the way he (sees) perceives things. He will begin to question the way he understands himself to be. He will experience a Midlife Awakening. Perfectly natural thing that.

 

[eastern sun]

Lest you forget, your Master is most likely going through and will continue to go through, some major transitional changes in the way he thinks about things, goes about doing things, the way he (sees) perceives things. He will begin to question the way he understands himself to be. He will experience a Midlife Awakening. Perfectly natural thing that.

You're right. But, I'm curious, what prompted you to remind me?

 

[eastern sun]

my hunger

My hunger catches me by surprise as I'm moving through my days.

All the energy that has been generated by you, for you, swirls in lazy, heated
anticipation. To suddenly erupt in my belly, interrupting my thoughts of
family and traditions, with images of delicious, twisted pleasures.

Suddenly, without warning, I'm sucking in my breath, feeling the heat rise in
the cold, and all I want to do is rub this blazing pig cunt against the roughest
tree.

I have filled my belly with hunger for you, and now, it gnaws like an incessant
burning itch.

And so, I throw myself in your path, belly exposed. Hunger blazing. My eyes on
fire.

Wishing you a very hungry holiday.

 

[eastern sun]

I am too alone in the world, and yet not alone enough
to make every hour holy.
I am too small in the world, and yet not tiny enough
just to stand before you like a thing,
dark and shrewd.
I want my will, and I want to be with my will
as it moves towards deed;
and in those quiet, somehow hesitating times,
when something is approaching,
I want to be with those who are wise
or else alone.
I want always to be a mirror that reflects your whole being,
and never to be too blind or too old
to hold your heavy, swaying image.
I want to unfold.
Nowhere do I want to remain folded,
because where I am bent and folded, there I am lie.
And I want my meaning
true for you. I want to describe myself
like a painting that I studied
closely for a long, long time,
like a word I finally understood,
like the pitcher of water I use every day ,
like the face of my mother,
like a ship
that carried me
through the deadliest storm of all.

Rainer Maria Rilke, translated by Cliff Crego
from the The Book of Hours, Love Poems to God

 

[karma9]

... all I want to do is rub this blazing pig cunt against the roughest tree...

Slut, don't molest nature with your stinking pig cunt