Too much caffeine makes me chatty. Especially as I tire. I have an unhealthy love relationship with caffeine. I'm usually able to restrain myself, but yesterday I saw a 1.5 liter energy drink bottle and I thought, fuck... that is so overkill, got to try it. Tuesday is our day. All of us have off on tuesday. It's basically our sunday. So Monday night is the night we can stay up way late. Well, I obviously overdid it with that energy drink, as it is nearing tuesday evening. I kept them up till past sunrise. They're asleep now, but me, I'm still wide awake.
So, let me tell you a story. My latest fuck up.
For months now my little one has had a simple task. She is fighting with diabetes. Literally fighting. I have her keep a dietary diary where she notes down what she eats, when she eats and her blood sugar levels. With been doing it ever since her blood sugar stopped corresponding with what she ate despite her medication. Just completely out of control. She's trying a different medication, now, again, and it just makes sense to keep a journal in order to try to find a pattern. Two or three times a week I sit down, read it over. If everything seems more or less stable, or sometimes don't check it but once a week. When I see something stupid on there, high blood sugar and irresponsible diet, I have a word with her.
Well, there is no other way of putting it, she has been doing a crappy job of it from the very beginning. She does it well, for two weeks, MAYBE three, then stops, until I notice it. It's not that she is trying to get more of my attention. She does have the best of intentions. She just, honestly, fails. Forgets. Puts it off for a day. Then two, then... ignores her failure, until I notice it.
I've tried a lot. Most of it, trying to find the reason. Talking to her a lot. Getting really deep into the why, and letting her know I am disappointed. I have tried punishment. Corporal. Hard spankings. Dietary. Bland foods for a week. Cold Showers. This is not what I enjoy. I don't like feeling forced to do something like this to her. I like making her suffer for me, but that is not the same as punishing her.
And today I noticed it again. The last entry was 5 days ago. Not a word she said. Like a little child she hopes that if she puts it out of her mind it doesn't exist. I get pissed. This is like the 12th strike already. I don't do anything. It's one of my rules for myself, if you will. Never punish in anger, correct with measure.
I let her know that I know, and then I let myself cool off, take the time until I can look at it analytically, gain some distance from the frustration that comes with the complete lack of improvement. A few hours go by, and I talk to her. In the middle of a conversation I had with her husband about what we should watch I feel it is time and I turn to her. I know she feels disappointment at herself. I want to amplify that. I want to sear a feeling of failure into her. I want her to feel every little ounce of disappointment I feel and brand her with a memory of it. I have her get a magic marker. Her husband basically fades out of existence. He's still there, but the entire mood in the room has shifted. He is still and silent. He used to top from the bottom. Try to edge me on to be tougher on her. He thought it was fun, she resented it. Eventually I edged him myself. Made him try to think of the worst possible punishment for his wife, and he can be so cruel. And he so obviously projects. If he hates it, so must she, so what would he hate the most... and then made him eat what he tried to put on her plate. He learned quickly. Immediate improvement. This is territory I don't want him treading in. For the sake of their relationship to one another it is critical that he stays out of this aspect of the power exchange.
I ask her where I can write on her, some place that'll remain unseen for the next few days. And she gives me a couple of suggestions, but I don't like any of them. Her breast, her chest. What if I want her to wear something to show off her cleavage? Her leg? What if I want her to wear a really short skirt. I don't really want it seen. I don't want to have to see it myself and be reminded of her failure. She names her feet as something that might be seen. Her sole was something I considered. Her belly, instead, then. I'll use it. I hand her the magic marker. I tell her to write FAIL on her belly. As a reminder of how she failed me. As a reminder to keep her diary.
It hurts. More than any slap ever would. I can see it in her eyes. She tears up. She says, Please, Master, no. She tells me it hurts already. And then just ... sits, pen in hand.
I stare down at her, expression cold.
30 seconds go by.
Beg more, I say.
After some hesitation, she starts crying, and then she starts begging. I remain cold. This doesn't move me. This is what is required. This needs to hurt. This needs to be seared into her.
... well... maybe.... ok... I'm a softy
I take her forehead into my palm, I lean forward and quietly tell her to pay very close attention now. I tell her I want her to remember exactly how she feels now. I tell her this is what failure feels like. This, right now. And the next time I open that book and see blank pages where I should see tables she will wear that FAIL, and it will hurt even more. A lot more than she can imagine right now. That she will deserve that burning mark on her body for failing time and again at the easiest and most basic of fucking tasks.
I ask her if she understands, and it takes a while for her to manage the yes.
I comfort her a little. I don't want to overdo it, and lose the impact of this. It should hurt. That's the point of the entire exercise.
I give her something smaller as a punishment. Something to take the focus off what might have been. No pleasure foods for the rest of the week. No late night ice cream. No Popcorn. Nothing fun.
Nothing dramatic, just a recognition that she has done something wrong, and here is how you make up for it, then everything is ok. Penance and absolution. And a memory of this moment.
Everyone is happy, only, not. She is still crying.
This is quite a reaction, I think. She tells me it doesn't matter that she didn't write it down, she can still see it on there. This is the first time I punished her on a psychological level, she says, and not just an emotional one. This made little sense to me, but I wasn't going to get into semantics. She felt her self worth plummet, and it's not coming back. I tell her that it will come back. Resolve, commitment, doing better, and a shower, and she'll feel much better. A new day, a new chance for her to be a good girl.
I see her expression change and notice that there is anger there. This is interesting. I haven't seen anger as a defensive mechanism on her before. Not actual anger. I've seen her mimic anger as a means to hide fear. But this isn't a mimicry. This is actual, real, honest to god, anger. It's misdirected, I think, that anger, clearly aimed at me. She should be angry at herself, if at all.
She tells me she is disgusted with herself, and she can't believe that I want her to feel like that. She is surprised I could want her to feel like that.
Personally, I'm surprised that she is surprised at feeling like this.
At this point, can anyone guess already what it is that happened? I didn't even notice anything had happened.
She should feel like this for failing. She should hate it, and avoiding feeling like this should be her top priority. That's basically what I told her.
She tells me that she now hates herself, and it doesn't really even dawn on me until she finally manage to croak out that I was pushing buttons she has been feeling self conscious about for 25 years now. No, where it should have dawned on me. There was no dawn. I didn't dawn on me then. It should have, but I'm a fucking retard.
I tell her she can wallow in self pity all she wants. She doesn't have mine. She tells me she feels worthless. Whats she wants? nothing. She doesn't need anything. She doesn't deserve anything. For the first time, ever, she also has doubts that I am the Master she thought I was. She is terrified because of it, and angry, at me.
... and that I made her feel like all her self worth is tied to her weight. Got it? Only here is where my light bulb went on.
This wasn't at all about her failing as a slave. This wasn't about my disappointment in her failure. Her self worth wasn't tied into being a good girl. This wasn't about that at all. She thought I thought she was fat and rubbing her face in it!
How the fuck...
because I chose her belly. My reasoning... she can reach it. She can see it. It's basically always hidden.
Her thinking... he is disappointed in me for not being thin.
Did any of you ever see the Beverly Hills Hillbillies? During the introduction song to the show you see some backwater hillbilly hunting a rabbit, shooting at it, missing, and accidentally, with his bullet, unleashing a torrent of oil shooting straight up into the sky. He found a rich vain, or sea, or whatever it's called on his land and is filthy rich now. The whole family packs up and moves from the hut to some palace in Beverly Hills.
I did exactly the same thing. Aimed for the rabbit, hit an oil field of self image problems decades deep that exploded forth in an uncontrollable torrent. It was a complete failure of communication. For the record, I think she is the most beautiful creature on this planet. My mind never even went there.
A long time ago she asked me once what I thought her limits were. I told her she basically had none, but there was one thing that she would never be able to handle. One thing that would harm her permanently. One thing that could break her. Emotional sadomasochism. The tearing down of selfworth for the pleasure of someone else. She didn't comprehend the concept of it. Why could anyone want to be mean to someone like that, and how could anyone want to be treated like that. She's such an Angel.
And unwittingly that is exactly what I did here. By rubbing her face into her self imagine problems like that I was being unusually cruel. And in the aftermath of that, we learned some interesting new things.
She can still consider disobedience, which I think is a good thing. I mean, if I were to actually be that kind of guy who would do something like that, destroy a personality for fun rather than build it up with purpose, I would want her to disobey. I would want her to get out of that situation. I don't think she would be able to actually do that. There isn't any doubt in my mind that it's too late for her. She is too owned. Too deep. She could try to run, but she couldn't hide, because wherever she is, I'll be there, inside her. That is, unless I let her go. She isn't a submissive. I love subs. Subs are awesome. More power to them. I have nothing against subs, think in no way they are lesser. It's just not what she is. She is a slave. Through and through. Completely bound. It's not what she does, it's who she is, who she's always been, and just because at times she sucks at something, doesn't change that. She hasn't ever been able to put up a fight. There is no defense she has ever been able to put up that I wasn't able to shatter. It was a stroke of pure luck on both our sides that it was me who triggered her for the first time by complete accident. I'm not patting myself on the back here, by the way. I am also just as sure that this isn't the case with someone other than her.
By the way, this is one of those things that I should think are remarkable and rare and wonderful and perfect for me, but I don't anymore. It's just normal. It just is. I'm much more amazed when I see her enjoy something so simple like a roller coaster ride. I never really got much out of them, but when I see her being all gleeful and excited, and scared... that is something that amazes me every time. And her joy becomes mine. And now I love roller coasters, too. And bumper cars. And cotton candy.
Her husband witnessed all this. Now, I could have asked him if he thought it was me who was being an idiot, or her jumping to conclusions, but I didn't. I didn't want her to associate him in any way with this or any correction at all, ever, and just told her this was me being an idiot. I apologized, I made it all better, I assured her, I cuddled her, and we're all good now.
And I could still go on typing forever. If I had any talent as a writer I could write a book right now. At least I would feel confident enough and to start one.
So, let me tell you a story. My latest fuck up.
For months now my little one has had a simple task. She is fighting with diabetes. Literally fighting. I have her keep a dietary diary where she notes down what she eats, when she eats and her blood sugar levels. With been doing it ever since her blood sugar stopped corresponding with what she ate despite her medication. Just completely out of control. She's trying a different medication, now, again, and it just makes sense to keep a journal in order to try to find a pattern. Two or three times a week I sit down, read it over. If everything seems more or less stable, or sometimes don't check it but once a week. When I see something stupid on there, high blood sugar and irresponsible diet, I have a word with her.
Well, there is no other way of putting it, she has been doing a crappy job of it from the very beginning. She does it well, for two weeks, MAYBE three, then stops, until I notice it. It's not that she is trying to get more of my attention. She does have the best of intentions. She just, honestly, fails. Forgets. Puts it off for a day. Then two, then... ignores her failure, until I notice it.
I've tried a lot. Most of it, trying to find the reason. Talking to her a lot. Getting really deep into the why, and letting her know I am disappointed. I have tried punishment. Corporal. Hard spankings. Dietary. Bland foods for a week. Cold Showers. This is not what I enjoy. I don't like feeling forced to do something like this to her. I like making her suffer for me, but that is not the same as punishing her.
And today I noticed it again. The last entry was 5 days ago. Not a word she said. Like a little child she hopes that if she puts it out of her mind it doesn't exist. I get pissed. This is like the 12th strike already. I don't do anything. It's one of my rules for myself, if you will. Never punish in anger, correct with measure.
I let her know that I know, and then I let myself cool off, take the time until I can look at it analytically, gain some distance from the frustration that comes with the complete lack of improvement. A few hours go by, and I talk to her. In the middle of a conversation I had with her husband about what we should watch I feel it is time and I turn to her. I know she feels disappointment at herself. I want to amplify that. I want to sear a feeling of failure into her. I want her to feel every little ounce of disappointment I feel and brand her with a memory of it. I have her get a magic marker. Her husband basically fades out of existence. He's still there, but the entire mood in the room has shifted. He is still and silent. He used to top from the bottom. Try to edge me on to be tougher on her. He thought it was fun, she resented it. Eventually I edged him myself. Made him try to think of the worst possible punishment for his wife, and he can be so cruel. And he so obviously projects. If he hates it, so must she, so what would he hate the most... and then made him eat what he tried to put on her plate. He learned quickly. Immediate improvement. This is territory I don't want him treading in. For the sake of their relationship to one another it is critical that he stays out of this aspect of the power exchange.
I ask her where I can write on her, some place that'll remain unseen for the next few days. And she gives me a couple of suggestions, but I don't like any of them. Her breast, her chest. What if I want her to wear something to show off her cleavage? Her leg? What if I want her to wear a really short skirt. I don't really want it seen. I don't want to have to see it myself and be reminded of her failure. She names her feet as something that might be seen. Her sole was something I considered. Her belly, instead, then. I'll use it. I hand her the magic marker. I tell her to write FAIL on her belly. As a reminder of how she failed me. As a reminder to keep her diary.
It hurts. More than any slap ever would. I can see it in her eyes. She tears up. She says, Please, Master, no. She tells me it hurts already. And then just ... sits, pen in hand.
I stare down at her, expression cold.
30 seconds go by.
Beg more, I say.
After some hesitation, she starts crying, and then she starts begging. I remain cold. This doesn't move me. This is what is required. This needs to hurt. This needs to be seared into her.
... well... maybe.... ok... I'm a softy
I take her forehead into my palm, I lean forward and quietly tell her to pay very close attention now. I tell her I want her to remember exactly how she feels now. I tell her this is what failure feels like. This, right now. And the next time I open that book and see blank pages where I should see tables she will wear that FAIL, and it will hurt even more. A lot more than she can imagine right now. That she will deserve that burning mark on her body for failing time and again at the easiest and most basic of fucking tasks.
I ask her if she understands, and it takes a while for her to manage the yes.
I comfort her a little. I don't want to overdo it, and lose the impact of this. It should hurt. That's the point of the entire exercise.
I give her something smaller as a punishment. Something to take the focus off what might have been. No pleasure foods for the rest of the week. No late night ice cream. No Popcorn. Nothing fun.
Nothing dramatic, just a recognition that she has done something wrong, and here is how you make up for it, then everything is ok. Penance and absolution. And a memory of this moment.
Everyone is happy, only, not. She is still crying.
This is quite a reaction, I think. She tells me it doesn't matter that she didn't write it down, she can still see it on there. This is the first time I punished her on a psychological level, she says, and not just an emotional one. This made little sense to me, but I wasn't going to get into semantics. She felt her self worth plummet, and it's not coming back. I tell her that it will come back. Resolve, commitment, doing better, and a shower, and she'll feel much better. A new day, a new chance for her to be a good girl.
I see her expression change and notice that there is anger there. This is interesting. I haven't seen anger as a defensive mechanism on her before. Not actual anger. I've seen her mimic anger as a means to hide fear. But this isn't a mimicry. This is actual, real, honest to god, anger. It's misdirected, I think, that anger, clearly aimed at me. She should be angry at herself, if at all.
She tells me she is disgusted with herself, and she can't believe that I want her to feel like that. She is surprised I could want her to feel like that.
Personally, I'm surprised that she is surprised at feeling like this.
At this point, can anyone guess already what it is that happened? I didn't even notice anything had happened.
She should feel like this for failing. She should hate it, and avoiding feeling like this should be her top priority. That's basically what I told her.
She tells me that she now hates herself, and it doesn't really even dawn on me until she finally manage to croak out that I was pushing buttons she has been feeling self conscious about for 25 years now. No, where it should have dawned on me. There was no dawn. I didn't dawn on me then. It should have, but I'm a fucking retard.
I tell her she can wallow in self pity all she wants. She doesn't have mine. She tells me she feels worthless. Whats she wants? nothing. She doesn't need anything. She doesn't deserve anything. For the first time, ever, she also has doubts that I am the Master she thought I was. She is terrified because of it, and angry, at me.
... and that I made her feel like all her self worth is tied to her weight. Got it? Only here is where my light bulb went on.
This wasn't at all about her failing as a slave. This wasn't about my disappointment in her failure. Her self worth wasn't tied into being a good girl. This wasn't about that at all. She thought I thought she was fat and rubbing her face in it!
How the fuck...
because I chose her belly. My reasoning... she can reach it. She can see it. It's basically always hidden.
Her thinking... he is disappointed in me for not being thin.
Did any of you ever see the Beverly Hills Hillbillies? During the introduction song to the show you see some backwater hillbilly hunting a rabbit, shooting at it, missing, and accidentally, with his bullet, unleashing a torrent of oil shooting straight up into the sky. He found a rich vain, or sea, or whatever it's called on his land and is filthy rich now. The whole family packs up and moves from the hut to some palace in Beverly Hills.
I did exactly the same thing. Aimed for the rabbit, hit an oil field of self image problems decades deep that exploded forth in an uncontrollable torrent. It was a complete failure of communication. For the record, I think she is the most beautiful creature on this planet. My mind never even went there.
A long time ago she asked me once what I thought her limits were. I told her she basically had none, but there was one thing that she would never be able to handle. One thing that would harm her permanently. One thing that could break her. Emotional sadomasochism. The tearing down of selfworth for the pleasure of someone else. She didn't comprehend the concept of it. Why could anyone want to be mean to someone like that, and how could anyone want to be treated like that. She's such an Angel.
And unwittingly that is exactly what I did here. By rubbing her face into her self imagine problems like that I was being unusually cruel. And in the aftermath of that, we learned some interesting new things.
She can still consider disobedience, which I think is a good thing. I mean, if I were to actually be that kind of guy who would do something like that, destroy a personality for fun rather than build it up with purpose, I would want her to disobey. I would want her to get out of that situation. I don't think she would be able to actually do that. There isn't any doubt in my mind that it's too late for her. She is too owned. Too deep. She could try to run, but she couldn't hide, because wherever she is, I'll be there, inside her. That is, unless I let her go. She isn't a submissive. I love subs. Subs are awesome. More power to them. I have nothing against subs, think in no way they are lesser. It's just not what she is. She is a slave. Through and through. Completely bound. It's not what she does, it's who she is, who she's always been, and just because at times she sucks at something, doesn't change that. She hasn't ever been able to put up a fight. There is no defense she has ever been able to put up that I wasn't able to shatter. It was a stroke of pure luck on both our sides that it was me who triggered her for the first time by complete accident. I'm not patting myself on the back here, by the way. I am also just as sure that this isn't the case with someone other than her.
By the way, this is one of those things that I should think are remarkable and rare and wonderful and perfect for me, but I don't anymore. It's just normal. It just is. I'm much more amazed when I see her enjoy something so simple like a roller coaster ride. I never really got much out of them, but when I see her being all gleeful and excited, and scared... that is something that amazes me every time. And her joy becomes mine. And now I love roller coasters, too. And bumper cars. And cotton candy.
Her husband witnessed all this. Now, I could have asked him if he thought it was me who was being an idiot, or her jumping to conclusions, but I didn't. I didn't want her to associate him in any way with this or any correction at all, ever, and just told her this was me being an idiot. I apologized, I made it all better, I assured her, I cuddled her, and we're all good now.
And I could still go on typing forever. If I had any talent as a writer I could write a book right now. At least I would feel confident enough and to start one.
