the marks of a slave

[VelvetDarkness]

that just might be true....

Hey where did you find the submissive dictionary ??!?!?!?

There's a submissive dictionary? Can I get it mail order?

I'll bet it's all Americanized.

 

[SubKekiLee]

There's a submissive dictionary? Can I get it mail order?

I'll bet it's all Americanized.

Hey get behind me velvet I wanted the first copy and Illbe glad to mail it to you.. Eastern Sun where did you find it and is it expensive.. LOL

 

[eastern sun]

How I envy you and your family but also wish you continued bliss.
I had such an idyllic relationship for only 7 years - a lusty, joyful, monogamous marriage. Unfortunately it fell apart a few years ago.

Castagnus, you have been so kind in your comments. But I don't want to pretend that our relationship has been anything like "idyllic" on a continuous basis.

We have gone days, months, even periods of a year or more, during which we really didn't like each other that much. We have been mean, dismissive, insensitive, preoccupied and self-centered. (I have even thrown the word "divorce" at him because I couldn't find a better way to say "fuck you" loud enough. Needless to say, it only dug the rift deeper.)

One night about eight and a half years ago, a couple of months after my second child was born, I was so unhappy I loaded her in the car after he fell asleep and drove off into the night. I literally couldn't stay in the house. I just drove, without any real destination, until my adrenalin stopped pumping, and my heartbeat slowed down, and my mind calmed.

I probably could have returned to my mother's home, but my son, the man I'd tied myself to, and my life, was back in that house.

And apart from the way we were treating each other, we didn't have that bad a life.

I hadn't driven a mile before I knew I'd return. And face the challenges of being unhappy. By that time, I'd already figured out that it wasn't his responsibility to make me happy. And I had some tools to work with myself.

I knew, in that moment, that I had to face the seeds of deep-rooted, violent anger and seething resentments that had been planted in me when I was too young to know better, but which I had willingly watered and pruned and kept alive for too many years.

So I drove home. Kissed my little son. Put the baby to sleep, and climbed into bed. I don't even know if he knew that I had just "left."

And I think it took me five years or so to work through the resentment habit I'd developed. Petty resentments still arise, but my anger has lost its intensity, and I no longer fuel it with "stories" and "evidence" and "reasons" to justify it. Now, I let the initial wave of adrenalin pass, and wait until I can more clearly see the facts of the situation before deciding how to react.

I like the fact that the decision we made twenty years ago - that there was no other life for us, but one together - has been the only thing keeping us together at times. For it has forced me to learn how to care for myself, and to care for him, in the face of a wide assortment of human failings.

I write about idyllic moments because I want to capture them, remember them, in the difficult times. But, ultimately, the quality of my life is up to me.

 

[eastern sun]

Hey get behind me velvet I wanted the first copy and Illbe glad to mail it to you.. Eastern Sun where did you find it and is it expensive.. LOL

Incredibly expensive. But it won't cost you a dime. . .

Oh, and I can't tell you where I found it. It's one of those things, you have to find for yourself.

 

[SubKekiLee]

Incredibly expensive. But it won't cost you a dime. . .

Oh, and I can't tell you where I found it. It's one of those things, you have to find for yourself.

Eastern Sun
OH i know.. My devotion to my Sir is HUGE and I never thought of why I feel so at home at his feet. He knows I love him with all my heart so much that over a year together now and we are deeper connected and I made that discovery cause I took a chance the one that changed my life, Maybe someday we will be like you and your husband and live together and have that dynamic but maybe someday it wont be any more than it is today I do not know I dont forsee the future nor do I put my life on hold I just let my life run its course and see where it may lead me..Again thank you for your encouraging words of advice and an insight to your view of the world.. we share..

 

[eastern sun]

I dont forsee the future nor do I put my life on hold I just let my life run its course and see where it may lead me..

I recently came across this poem by Antonio Machado. Your comments made me think of it again.


Wanderer, the road is your
footsteps, nothing else;
wanderer, there is no path,
you lay down a path in walking.

In walking, you lay down a path
and when turning around
you see the road you'll
never step on again.
Wanderer, path there is none,
only tracks on the ocean foam.



P.S. There is absolutely no guarantee you would like the life that my husband and I have, anyway.

 

[eastern sun]

fire in the dark

A week before we got married, our house burned down. We lost all our belongings, though we both thought to save the wedding rings and license. (I just got to them first.)

Almost twenty years later, I am tied to our bed. Naked. Blindfolded. I hear his footsteps in the hall. He has told me he has something special in mind, so my excitement is unparalleled, and tinged with, not a little, fear.

The nature of space changes in those moments. Without sight, and afraid, I am acutely aware of every sound and the information it conveys. The heaviness of his step, the way he brushes against the furniture, the uninterpretable rustlings and bumps, all become sources of information as to his mood and his intentions.
The quicker he moves, the less time I have to prepare myself, the more intense my sensations.

This night, he is moving more slowly, deliberately, giving me time to anticipate his actions. It actually heightens my fear, so when I hear him approach me, I move, turning my head, shifting my limbs. Acknowledging that I know he's there. "Don't move," he says. And I don't.

I hear a scratching sound and he puts something down on the table beside our bed. It's a sound I haven't heard in this context before. I am curious and nervous. I feel the corner of the bed sink as he steps onto it, and he moves, on his knees, until he's straddling me, sitting on my hips. He's heavy, but I love having him there.

Then he leans over, until his lips are right next to my ear. "Don't move." "No, I won't," I whisper. "Shut up." I do.

And he props himself on his elbows, so his hands meet over my face, and in a sudden, sharp moment, he moves.

Right next to my ear, I hear a tiny, crackling explosion, as he lights one of those wooden kitchen matches. The sputtering of the flame, the tiny whoosh of air, the burst of flame centimeters from my ear, my face, my hair. I have never heard the sound so clearly. And I am terrified.

I stay stock still, holding my breath, hyperaware, trying to feel through the insensitive tips of my hair how close the fire might be. I tell myself that I trust him. I tell myself that he won't hurt me. (Though I'm not sure it's true.) While my body is dead still and frozen, my inner world is in an uproar, cycling through fear and trust on so many different levels, I feel caught in a firestorm.

He shakes the match to put the flame out. And lights another.

********************************

We'd played with wax before, but we'd never played with fire. And he didn't burn me, though I was never absolutely sure he wouldn't. By the time he put the matches away, I had dissolved on the inside, every muscle softened, every psychological structure in ashes, and I remember finally clinging to him in the end, desperate and exhausted, but intensely relieved to find solidity and firm ground in his hard body.

Since our house burned down, I have had a real fear of fire. For a number of years, if I smelled smoke, I would track down its source, even if that meant driving miles away until I found the fire, or even entering my neighbors' home.

I don't think I could play fire games with a stranger. And he claims he wasn't thinking ahead of time about my fear of fire. (He may not even know its depth.) But sharing the experience with him made me feel good.

And, truthfully, I haven't chased smoke in the same way since.

 

[eastern sun]

"if you really want to serve me"

He has this way of saying "if you really want to serve me, . . . ." And it's as though everything that's gone before has been either completely misguided or totally self-indulgent.

And this morning, he says "if you really want to serve me, it would be great if you could find a way to make us all eat more healthy diets."

This is going to be hard.

 

[VelvetDarkness]

He has this way of saying "if you really want to serve me, . . . ." And it's as though everything that's gone before has been either completely misguided or totally self-indulgent.

L is very much like this. Every day is a new challenge and whatever has gone before and what I may have found incredibly difficult before is a moot issue. I know that none of it is relevant in the face of whatever he's about to ask of me.

 

[BiBunny]

Disclaimer: I know many people here are opposed to weapons, particularly firearms. I wasn't sure if I should even share this anecdote or not for that reason. But since this is a thread about slavery (and not one about political views)--and this certainly made me feel my place--, then I trust that it won't turn into a big brouhaha. Thanks.

Last week, someone broke into my apartment. Well, I say broke in. The lock on the back door is broken. He just opened the door and waltzed right in. One of my switch boys was over for a couple of days. I was upstairs asleep with Kitty. My boy was downstairs getting a drink out of the refrigerator when he heard my back door open. (It was 7 am, broad daylight.)

The asshole was wielding a knife and wearing a ski mask. He didn't even run away when my boy approached him. He actually tried to cut him. A scuffle ensued, but boy was able to run the guy off, though he got a bit bruised and scratched.

I slept through it all.

Anyway, I tell that story to tell this one. That night, I told Master about what had happened. He was grateful that someone had been there to stop the guy (because who knows what might've happened), but had a few other words to say about it.

"That asshole had better be glad it was him there and not me. It's the only reason he's still alive right now."

After that, he ordered me to go home this weekend and bring back a firearm from Daddy's collection. I'd already decided I was going to get one of Daddy's guns, but I wasn't what you'd call thrilled about going home for the weekend to get one. (I'm in college and, quite frankly, hate spending much time at my parents' because being around my mother exhausts me. I prefer to spend my weekends here, either at home working or out having fun.) I told him I'd planned on getting one, but that I didn't really want to go this weekend.

"He was armed. That does not bode well. In my mind, an armed intruder is there to do bodily harm. You could have been raped or worse. Get a goddamn gun this weekend."

*Grumble* Yes, Sir.

Sometimes I can worm my way out of things I'd prefer not to do, if they aren't that important to him. I knew, though, by his tone, that he would brook no argument on this particular point. Dammit.

So I went home yesterday, dealt with my annoying mother and irritating extended family members. Saying I wanted to strangle them is an understatement. Got the gun this morning. Had Daddy go out shooting with me since it's been fucking YEARS since I've shot enough to amount to anything because I left the backwoods behind when I was 18.

It was weird. It made me happy to do it because I knew it'd be one less thing on his mind, how he could take care of his slave when he's not around. I still wasn't thrilled about wasting my whole weekend for it, but whatever.

So now I'm back at my apartment, loaded shotgun safely stashed away where it's out of sight but easily accessible without getting up out of bed if another armed asshole decides to come in on me while I sleep. The lock on the back door is fixed, and I've started sleeping with my bedroom door locked, too. A lock won't stop someone who wants to come in, but, by God, he'll have to break the door down, so I'll hear him, wake up, and have my gun at the ready. No words. None of this "take out his kneecaps and disarm him" bullshit, either. Even if I weren't smart enough to know this on my own, those are Master's (and Daddy's) orders. If the sonofabitch is armed and in my house, I've got one shot to make count, and I have no problem being cold-blooded and shooting to kill. Gut-shot the bastard and make an example of him. To do less would a.) endanger Master's property and b.) probably get my fat ass killed.

I'm not afraid. I live alone and enjoy it, but I've never felt like a victim, and I'm not about to start now. You can be a slave and be empowered, too.

I'll report back tonight. Chances are, he'll insist on a pistol for me to carry in my purse as well. That'll be fine. It'll be another trip home to get one (or a trip somewhere else to buy one I can handle, as I'm not entirely sure what Daddy has in the way of handguns), a trip to the sheriff's office for the permit, and some time spent getting comfortable with it. It requires a good bit more effort to feel comfortable fishing a pistol out of your purse or glove compartment and being able to hit what you're firing at without endangering other people (and again, it's been years since I shot regularly) than it does to pick up a long gun and pull the trigger. Shotguns are like hand grenades; you've only gotta get close.

He'll be glad I did it, and so am I. This time, though, I'm not doing it just to hear "good girl." I'm doing it to take a load off his mind. And so I'll be around to serve him for years to come.

 

[myinnerslut]

guns scare me. correction, guns have been known to terrify me. living in the liberal "guns hurt more then they help" area i grew up in, its no surprise im not a fan. my father and my brother have shot, both of them at a range, but neither of them owns a firearm. and me, id never held one in my life.

that is, until Master decided i needed to know my way around a firearm. this makes good sense since i am planning on moving several states to the south into a world where the "welcome to the family" gift for the newborn is a single shot firearm made for kids. not to mention he didnt want me getting him a pair of socks and coming into contact with a gun without knowing it was there.

you can call it culture shock, but whatever it was i was unprepared to learn how to handle a weapon. i am much more comfortable reciting off the NRA safety for kids protocol (stop, dont touch it, tell an adult) then i am being the adult in question. but since i am putting myself in the situation of potentially being the adult in question, it makes sense that id learn at least the basics. that and, Master decided one morning that i had to learn, so he taught me.

i have done some difficult things in the past for him. i would be a liar to say i didnt. but a few minutes later, after showing me how to empty the revolver he had produced, i found myself aiming the empty gun at the bathroom wall. pulling the trigger of the gun i had emptied myself was one of the toughest things Master had asked me to do. not becuase it was physicaly difficult, or difficult to comprehend. i didnt have to jump through hoops or deal with other people to be able to do as he asked. all i had to do was pull my finger back. and my northern liberal mind was screaming at me: gun=bad, what are you doing?!?

i pulled the trigger. and then, i felt better. i wasnt so scared anymore (dont get me wrong, i am not by any means comfortable with guns but i can tell if its loaded and am not afraid to shoot if i have too... though id still prefer not to). i had not only been able to do what Master askd of me, with his help i had conquered a fear i had been carrying around with me.

he has said that he wants to take me shooting. im not so sure i like that idea, but who knows, i may just grow and find i enjoy it.

 

[intothewoods]

Total random aside to Bunny, for what it's worth...

Can the gun be locked when you're not there? A former boyfriend of mine - country boy in fact -- brought his gun up to his apartment complex at school. The apartment was robbed, and the gun bag, in which the gun was kept, cut open. Gun stolen along with everything else.

 

[BiBunny]

Total random aside to Bunny, for what it's worth...

Can the gun be locked when you're not there? A former boyfriend of mine - country boy in fact -- brought his gun up to his apartment complex at school. The apartment was robbed, and the gun bag, in which the gun was kept, cut open. Gun stolen along with everything else.

Yep.

*Is attempting to be prepared for all contingencies*

Actually, truth is, I'd been meaning to get one, anyhow, because Kitty and I found a public shooting range fairly close by, and we're rednecks who like to hear loud noises. This just kinda made me speed up about it. That'll be another reason for the pistol when I get it.

Still wasn't thrilled about spending the weekend with Mommy Dearest, though. "When are you going to stop dyeing your hair? It looks awful." And that was the least of her helpful hints.

I did get my "good girl" while ago, though.

 

[sinnocence]

Thank you Eastern Sun for starting this thread and to everyone who has added their own story or opinion. And again BiBunny, I love you. ^__^ Your posts are awesome.

I just had a little something to say. When it was being said that the importance is serving the Master and not improving the slave as a person.

I agree whole-heartedly that serving my Master is most important. His needs, wants, and desires come first. And that it is also important to improve myself to better serve Him. But I also believe that improving myself as a person so that I am content with myself will also benefit Him.

I want to grow and flourish under His care and training. Of course, I also want to become a better slave for Him all the time. But I also want to become a better person all around. I know I can do that because as my Master, He is the person that knows me the best. No one else, not even my closest friends and family, know me as well as He does. He knows what I can be and how I can get there. He gives me the oppurtunity and the chance to be the best I can be under Him. It's not just for Him, but in a way for me as well. That's because I am the happiest and in a healthy state of well-being when I know I served Him and made Him proud to the best of my ability. I believe that when I am content with myself as a person, He will be more content as well. If I have insecurities or issues with something, it is an effort made by both of us to help me through it. He doesn't leave me to fend for myself. It's a joint effort when either His well-being or mine needs some work.

So, while I know we all have our different opinions, it is mine that both Master and slave should never stop trying to improve themselves as people.

And to me, love is giving someone the power to break you and trusting them not to. M/s is giving your Master the power to break You and trusting them not to...but knowing in your heart that they will treasure and cherish that power forever.

The fact that I have given my life to my Master reminds me every day that I am His slave.

 

[Homburg]

So, while I know we all have our different opinions, it is mine that both Master and slave should never stop trying to improve themselves as people.

What the posts above are referring to is the tendency of some writers to focus solely on the improvement of the slave, as if it is the basis of the whole relationship. I don' tthink anyone here is of the opinion that people should not grow, just that the focus is service, not improvement.

 

[intothewoods]

Yep.

*Is attempting to be prepared for all contingencies*

Actually, truth is, I'd been meaning to get one, anyhow, because Kitty and I found a public shooting range fairly close by, and we're rednecks who like to hear loud noises. This just kinda made me speed up about it. That'll be another reason for the pistol when I get it.

Still wasn't thrilled about spending the weekend with Mommy Dearest, though. "When are you going to stop dyeing your hair? It looks awful." And that was the least of her helpful hints.

I did get my "good girl" while ago, though.

Cool. I just couldn't bite my tongue. Even though I know jack shit about guns. That episode totally freaked me out though. Of course my ex was a giant idiot.

Good girl! Just kidding.

 

[catalina_francisco]

Thank you Eastern Sun for starting this thread and to everyone who has added their own story or opinion. And again BiBunny, I love you. ^__^ Your posts are awesome.

I just had a little something to say. When it was being said that the importance is serving the Master and not improving the slave as a person.

I agree whole-heartedly that serving my Master is most important. His needs, wants, and desires come first. And that it is also important to improve myself to better serve Him. But I also believe that improving myself as a person so that I am content with myself will also benefit Him.

I want to grow and flourish under His care and training. Of course, I also want to become a better slave for Him all the time. But I also want to become a better person all around. I know I can do that because as my Master, He is the person that knows me the best. No one else, not even my closest friends and family, know me as well as He does. He knows what I can be and how I can get there. He gives me the oppurtunity and the chance to be the best I can be under Him. It's not just for Him, but in a way for me as well. That's because I am the happiest and in a healthy state of well-being when I know I served Him and made Him proud to the best of my ability. I believe that when I am content with myself as a person, He will be more content as well. If I have insecurities or issues with something, it is an effort made by both of us to help me through it. He doesn't leave me to fend for myself. It's a joint effort when either His well-being or mine needs some work.

So, while I know we all have our different opinions, it is mine that both Master and slave should never stop trying to improve themselves as people.

And to me, love is giving someone the power to break you and trusting them not to. M/s is giving your Master the power to break You and trusting them not to...but knowing in your heart that they will treasure and cherish that power forever.

The fact that I have given my life to my Master reminds me every day that I am His slave.

While I get what you are saying, what I was referring to was in part as Homburg said, but also some of what you speak of in that you keep coming back to it is important for you to be content and happy to be able to serve him best and enhance his contentment. While we all like to believe our PYL will not break or harm us, I think once TPE is entered into nothing is written in stone and if it so happens that the PYL decides on an action they know will not affect their slave well, be well accepted etc., it is their right to put their needs ahead of the slaves contentment. It may not make for a blissful existance at times, but then I have always felt if I wanted guarantees and my needs to be paramount I would have nominated to remain a submissive at best.

For me to say I have given my life to him, it translates to he now owns me totally and makes the decisions about how he treats me, what happens to me. With that I cannot expect he will do only those things I react and feel positively about and that he be forever mindful that his happiness and contentment must necessarily rely on how happy and content he keeps me with the understanding if he doesn't do what makes me happy, it will then come back on him in a negative way. I can't give myself to him and then insist or expect he act in a certain manner which pleases me 100%. Similarly, if he feels I can improve myself in a particular way which will please him, he will tell me and expect me to remodel myself accordingly, not so much me deciding how I can improve myself and acting on it. For others it may be different, but for me, as much as I may not be happy, sometimes downright depressed and/or shattered about something he does/decides/says, it is what I agreed to do my best at accepting and adapting to when giving him power over me and my life.

Catalina

 

[castagnus]

Castagnus, you have been so kind in your comments. But I don't want to pretend that our relationship has been anything like "idyllic" on a continuous basis.

We have gone days, months, even periods of a year or more, during which we really didn't like each other that much. We have been mean, dismissive, insensitive, preoccupied and self-centered. (I have even thrown the word "divorce" at him because I couldn't find a better way to say "fuck you" loud enough. Needless to say, it only dug the rift deeper.)

One night about eight and a half years ago, a couple of months after my second child was born, I was so unhappy I loaded her in the car after he fell asleep and drove off into the night. I literally couldn't stay in the house. I just drove, without any real destination, until my adrenalin stopped pumping, and my heartbeat slowed down, and my mind calmed.

I probably could have returned to my mother's home, but my son, the man I'd tied myself to, and my life, was back in that house.

And apart from the way we were treating each other, we didn't have that bad a life.

I hadn't driven a mile before I knew I'd return. And face the challenges of being unhappy. By that time, I'd already figured out that is wasn't his responsibility to make me happy. And I had some tools to work with myself.

I knew, in that moment, that I had to face the seeds of deep-rooted, violent anger and seething resentments that had been planted in me when I was too young to know better, but which I had willingly watered and pruned and kept alive for too many years.

So I drove home. Kissed my little son. Put the baby to sleep, and climbed into bed. I don't even know if he knew that I had just "left."

And i think it took me five years or so to work through the resentment habit I'd developed. Petty resentments still arise, but my anger has lost its intensity, and I no longer fuel it with "stories" and "evidence" and "reasons" to justify it. Now, I let the initial wave of adrenalin pass, and wait until I can more clearly see the facts of the situation before deciding how to react.

I like the fact that the decision we made twenty years ago - that there was no other life for us, but one together - has been the only thing keeping us together at times. For it has forced me to learn how to care for myself, and to care for him, in the face of a wide assortment of human failings.

I write about idyllic moments because I want to capture them, remember them, in the difficult times. But, ultimately, the quality of my life is up to me.

You are one tolerant, wise and virtuous person ! I so much admire your tenacity in making some very painful life changes to keep that sacred promise you made two decades ago and to have the deep insight to make those changes in order to keep the man you felt was worthy of your devotion.

I have often seen that a durable, happy marriage is most often the sole result of the wife expending exta-ordinary efforts to maintain the union.

I would like to pose a question regarding trust and I hope I am not probing too deeply.

During the last year of our almost "perfect", 8 year happy marriage, my much younger wife had an affair with one of my senior employees. Although humiliating, especially because she had up to that time enjoyed her submissive role, I always felt I could overcome this. But then I fired the man and she immediately filed for divorce which became a protracted, very expensive excercise. A few years ago she wanted to get togetrher again for the sake of our son, of whom I had won primary custody, but I just couldn't do it - during the divorce she was so treacherous that I simply could not trust her again.

My question stems from your 5 years of resentment which you overcame - did any of that come from lack of trust , or clashes due to 'annoying" personality traits or differences in religions of life style preferences ?

Thank you again for sharing your insights and astounding ability of rational introspection.

 

[eastern sun]

My question stems from your 5 years of resentment which you overcame - did any of that come from lack of trust , or clashes due to 'annoying" personality traits or differences in religions of life style preferences ?

I have made many sacrifices. Today, I am comfortable with the condition of my life.

But there have been times when I thought I was hurting myself, not living up to my "full potential," thwarted by his desires from pursuing something that interested me, or, when I did pursue an interest of my own, feeling sabotaged because I thought he didn't want me to "outshine" his achievements.

I also thought he didn't appreciate everything I was doing for him. Especially when he was unhappy with the condition of his own life, and targetting me with some of the blame.

Harboring those thoughts caused resentment. But, when I carefully analyzed my actions, I could see that I was using these thoughts to mask my own fears about my ability to accomplish my dreams.

It was easier to place responsibility on him for my own shortcomings and fears, than to wholly own difficult decisions and the consequences of my actions.

(By the way, I think extramarital affairs and jealousy can wreak havoc, even when they're sanctioned by the dominant party. It takes a very steady captain to keep that boat on course.)

 

[eastern sun]

kegels for the ego

An inadvertent consequence of this thread is that I'm becoming too attached to my own thoughts and experiences.

We often talk during sex. He likes the way my body gives away my arousal to certain ideas. Then he characterizes my desires on the basis of my body's response.

Last night, I was suddenly struck by the thought "No, that's not what I want."

Just that thought alone, interjected into the moment, created an internal barrier, separating me from what was happening. And try as I might, I could not find the door out.

It was incredibly frustrating.

**************************

I was going to say, "I should have seen this coming." But the truth is I had glimpses of it from the very first posts.

Do you think it's possible to share like this, without becoming attached to the stories you tell? Without creating the psychological structures that I like to call "ego"? Without solidifying your own existence?

Is that why we do it? In order to hear the sound of our own voice? And so strengthen our identity in the midst of the group?

There are times when I think I'm actually offering something to someone, but I have to admit that those are the moments my ego is especially engaged.

Since most of the rest of my life is about loosening the grip of this preposterous ego of mine, I'm curious to see if it's possible here.

Otherwise, I may have to stay silent.

 

[Homburg]

Do you think it's possible to share like this, without becoming attached to the stories you tell? Without creating the psychological structures that I like to call "ego"? Without solidifying your own existence?

I would lov eto help from a purely selfish standpoint, as I enjoy your anecdotes immensely. Unfortunately, I am utterly unqualified to discuss submersion of ego due to my own predilections

I will say that my gals have both had moments where they have thought "No, I don't want this," and admitted it to me later. From an outside perspective, I treat it much like the difference between cowardice and bravery. ie, the coward and the brave soul both feel fear. The difference lies in what they do while feeling it. The coward falls back, too afraid to act properly. The brave soul does what is necessary regardless of the fear. In the cases when my gals thought "No, I don't want this," yet they did so anyway, they showed the courage of their convictions more stridently than if they'd simply not had those thoughts in the first place.

 

[intothewoods]

An inadvertent consequence of this thread is that I'm becoming too attached to my own thoughts and experiences.

We often talk during sex. He likes the way my body gives away my arousal to certain ideas. Then he characterizes my desires on the basis of my body's response.

Last night, I was suddenly struck by the thought "No, that's not what I want."

Just that thought alone, interjected into the moment, created an internal barrier, separating me from what was happening. And try as I might, I could not find the door out.

It was incredibly frustrating.

**************************

I was going to say, "I should have seen this coming." But the truth is I had glimpses of it from the very first posts.

Do you think it's possible to share like this, without becoming attached to the stories you tell? Without creating the psychological structures that I like to call "ego"? Without solidifying your own existence?

Is that why we do it? In order to hear the sound of our own voice? And so strengthen our identity in the midst of the group?

There are times when I think I'm actually offering something to someone, but I have to admit that those are the moments my ego is especially engaged.

Since most of the rest of my life is about loosening the grip of this preposterous ego of mine, I'm curious to see if it's possible here.

Otherwise, I may have to stay silent.

So the writing does what? Romanticizes everything? Or you become aware of yourself in the moment and think, well, how will this sound when I write about it? What is it that is happening vis-a-vis the posts here?

Writing is something that is therapeutic for me. When there is something that is bothering me, but I am stuck in the angst of it all, I feel so much better when I can unpack all of that, and get to what's really going on.

The writing I enjoy the most is honest and self-aware. Stay with the "no, I don't want that" thought, and look at it.

 

[eastern sun]

grocery shopping

Having been asked to improve our diets, I spent most of the morning cleaning the kitchen and searching out new recipes. I actually was struck by the creativity I found on the internet, and thought I should have done this years ago.

Armed with a shopping list, I headed off to the grocery store, and spent more than an hour, actually speaking to the produce guy about vegetables I couldn't identify. And passing through aisles more than once to find a few of the more uncommon foods.

But it was the moment when I found myself on my hands and knees by the soy sauce, reaching to the very back of the bottom shelf, that I felt like a "slave."

A few weeks ago, he had been so angry with me for not having the right soy sauce in the house, it took hours for him to forgive me. I resolved not to let that happen again. But the last time I went shopping, they were out of his brand. I bought a "lite" version, knowing it was a poor alternative. And later that week he let me know how much he disliked it.

Today, I was not going to leave the store without trying everything I could to find his brand.

I checked all the shelves. And, then, on my hands and knees, with my ass in the air, I peered into the dark recesses of the bottom shelf. There, hidden among the green and purple caps, I saw the red cap of the bottle I was looking for. I cannot tell you how good I felt.

To reach the bottle I had to take exactly the same position I found myself in last night, with my ass in the air and my arms stretched in front of me, and in my excitement, I was flash flooded by the visceral sensation that he would at any moment come up behind me, his cock hard and thrusting.

I grabbed the bottle, and sat back on my heels, looking around to see if anyone was near me (knowing this was the moment I would write about). And felt so good that I leaned in again (to repeat the pleasurable experience, I think) and lo and behold, there was one more bottle! I broke out into the stupidest grin, feeling like God had graced me. And finished my shopping with a smile for everyone and a warm, wet pussy.

 

[eastern sun]

So the writing does what? Romanticizes everything? Or you become aware of yourself in the moment and think, well, how will this sound when I write about it? What is it that is happening vis-a-vis the posts here?

Writing is something that is therapeutic for me. When there is something that is bothering me, but I am stuck in the angst of it all, I feel so much better when I can unpack all of that, and get to what's really going on.

The writing I enjoy the most is honest and self-aware. Stay with the "no, I don't want that" thought, and look at it.

You pose excellent, and challenging, questions. You may be able to see me more clearly than I see myself, but here's my perspective . . .

I started writing this thread to capture snapshots of my life.

There are moments in my life, both mundane and extreme, that resonate with a certain feeling I identify as belonging to a "slave's" experience. (It may or may not be unique to a slave's position. That I couldn't know. It is simply what I feel.) The feeling is fleeting, highly erotic, often complicated, and usually heightened by the fact that it's taking place in public, even if no one else knows what's going on in my body and mind.

When one of those moments happens, I am always struck by the intensity of my body's reaction. My pussy tingles. I get wet. My vision blurs. I usually smile or laugh. (Or if it was characterized also by fear, I feel intense, almost euphoric relief.) It's not an orgasm. But it is a physical and psychological release of some kind.

So, when I started writing, I got so turned on by the ability to capture these moments, I had to be careful I didn't write them into events where they could exist, but didn't. I have tried and, I think, succeeded in letting the actual sensations dictate what to write about, rather than a sort of "wow, this would sound good" criteria. (and I have thought "wow, this would be great to write about," and then dismiss it, because the moments didn't actually have that visceral quality I was trying to capture.)

I also wanted to stick primarily to non-sexual activities initially. I started writing about sex because this is a forum about erotica, and as soon as I realized people were actually reading the thread, I wanted to give them "the money shots" for pure entertainment and to satisfy what I assumed was their latent curiosity. People started making really nice comments. I started offering my opinions in response to people's questions, and, by then, my ego was thoroughly engaged.

The writing definitely romanticizes the moments I'm describing, because I'm able to extract the salient details and leave behind the stuff that doesn't interest me as much (or even turns me off). I'm painting a self-portrait with erotic underpinnings. I am trying to capture truths of my experience, while celebrating, and not despising, it.

And I think that's how I move into the "no, I don't want to" moment. Since I've spent the last few days painting a self-portrait in a certain style - even if it pleases him - even if he encourages me to keep writing (with commentary to keep me honest along the way) - it allows me to create an image of myself to hang onto, intelligent, attractive, erotic, flawed, faithful.

And, then, I am.

And in my being, I am not a portrait.

In the process of removing some old hard limits, a process that's been going on for a few years now, I find myself in a moment when my reality doesn't match the portrait I've painted - and I opt for the portrait.

I think Homburg is right. The "no, I don't want to" moment is definitely a reflection of fear. If I'm really honest with myself, "I do want to," it's just that I'm afraid of what the fact that "I want to" means about me. I'm afraid that even if "I want to," I won't be able to. I'm afraid of the difficult, painful experiences that will accompany the pleasurable ones.

I have kept journals that I use for therapeutic writing. I think this writing is different. This thread satisfies a deep exhibitionistic streak in me. It allows me to see my experience from the outside, as something created by certain conditions. It allows me an opportunity to share myself with you, both as entertainment and, maybe, friend. It certainly allows me to express aspects of my life that are usually hidden from view.

But, as stag of oberon, pointed out, it does strengthen the very ego that I spend so much time tearing down, and may not be in my best interests.

Did I actually answer your questions, intothewoods? or just ramble myself into greater confusion?

 

[intothewoods]

Thanks for the post, eastern sun. So, you are a sexual exhibitionist, and occasionally in reality, you're just not in the mood?

I find that a heck of a lot more compelling than knowing your pussy is tingling, but that's me being blunt at this late hour.

It would be nice if all moments were sexy, hot, easy. But that's not my life. Not that I am a slave or anything. I have my days where I've worked my ass off all day, and then I cooked him dinner, and if it's just the two of us, he decided on a whim he wants a nice long blow job. I have had moments where I haven't wanted to. Funny, but the cooking dinner or other things aren't a challenge. But I do sometimes have a block about being told to enthusiastically suck cock. It's hard to be enthusiastic about sucking cock all the time. I'm not a freaking porn star. But I do it. Because if I wanted a relationship where I could say I don't feel like it so piss off, I would have signed up for something else.

He's not so particular about soy sauce, so I guess I have the rest pretty easy. He does like his beer poured correctly, good food, oh, other stuff. I don't know. Guess I'm rambling now. It's late.

ETA: And I know. It's just a blow job. I didn't have to lick cum off the ground or anything. It is a privileged life I lead.