Wednesday 28 October 2009

Discipline

So much of what I have written so far has been looking back at significant moments of my new existence. As though I need to explain how I could have come to be who, be what, I am. But now these words are being published to the world and I am aware that I want this to be a place about my current life too. More so even.

Recently I had a day where I woke very… itchy. My servile nature had been boosted the night before and nothing my mind had created overnight had done anything to lessen those feelings. And all day they stayed high. My Master sent me to a business meeting with my panties sopping wet from his teasing of my high.

By the time I was home with him my Master knew that I was rippling with a need for a tightly held leash, metaphorically speaking. We chatted of normal things, as we always do right after work, and I let down my attention and my labido, or so I thought. But at a moment I crossed the room, away from the Skype Camera and my Master, and turned up the thermostat. I had forgotten my place, and my Master was kind enough to notice. And to know that this was behavior that required attention.

When I returned to my seat in front of my webcam his word came strict and short: “Stand.” I sensed that the tone of the conversation had changed DRAMATICALLY. His next commands were just as short and not-so-sweet. “Turn Around.” Of course I did as commanded. “Bend over.” Now I knew what was coming – I had, I realized, done something wrong. It wasn’t mine to know what, but to take the punishment obediently and I tried.

Master had added to me this night a verbal command that, when I heard the word, translated to the most realistic feeling of his hand smacking hard on my ass. It had been playful at first, but now he used this conditioning to make sure I knew I’d been wrong. As I stood, bent with my ass facing the camera, he explained that I had not asked permission to leave my seat, and of course he was right. Now I would be spanked for my mistake. He asked me, with the slight sound of a smile to his voice, how many strikes did I think I deserved?

“As many as Master thinks appropriate!” I answered, hopeful that the answer would please him and, by association, lessen his punishment some. But he knows better and chose a number that was appropriate for the infraction: 10 blows.

I stood and took each one. The feel of his hand, albeit as punishment, was also a glorious sensation. Because it was his. Because it was him doing what I need to become a quality slave for him. When he was finished I was allowed – instructed – to sit. Though no actual hand had touched me, my ass smarted as though it was red and raw. My face glowed with the same bright red from my embarrassment at having overstepped as well as my excitement at being spanked. Master laughed.

As the night continued I found myself pulling on the leash periodically. At the time I thought I was getting caught up in our conversations and forgetting my place. But now I know I was eager for more of my Master’s attention. And he was good to me and gave it. Repeatedly. When he next asked how many strikes I deserved for my second infraction I knew sucking up would not work and I threw out a number. As I knew he would do, he added half again to my suggested number.

By the time our conversation was towards the end he had begun to enjoy my jumping to attention, back-peddling madly any time I thought I’d overstepped and was about to get another lashing. Even though the physical reaction was intense and amazing, I also could not bear the idea that I would need addressing that many times in one night.

My Master is so very good to me. He understands that I want and need him to set rules and enforce them on me, and that his tight grip on my leash, both metaphorically and hopefully someday physically, both excites me and trains me, which I love more than the arousal. I hope that he will never stop finding new ways to improve and refine me. I know I will never consider myself worthy of his attention, but I crave those times he allows me to try.

Saturday 24 October 2009

Slave's Everyday Collar

When my Master gave to me my beautiful, black, leather collar to wear around my throat I swooned. I could not believe the overwhelming, dramatic feelings that moment brought up in me. After he left to return to his home I missed him so much, and wanted to much to feel close to him, that I began to sleep in my collar nightly.

This made me feel extremely happy, but Master noted that it wasn’t a good idea to wear it so often as it would be a hard item to clean regularly. I knew he was right, but I still wanted that thing that I could wear that would be a complete reminder to myself of my ownership and my owner. He could also see my disappointment and frustration, and from there came his stroke of genius.

An everyday collar.

Master suggested that we find a black, leather bracelet that I coul wear every day as the constant reminder I craved. After my first few searches I went back to Master and asked if he would be satisfied with something that would go around my ankle? Not that there were no bracelets out there that matched what I felt Master had suggested. But as I considered it more and more I felt that such an item would be even more significant around my ankle. This was for two reasons I could think of:
  1. It felt more like a collar or manicle around my ankle than my wrist, upon which I could currently hang bracelets or watches.
  2. I liked the idea of it being a secret just between my Master and myself, sliding up and down my ankle under my business suit pants, etc.
We searched online, finally finding an artist doing something similar enough to suggest that, would she be up for some custom work, she’d certainly be up for this challlenge. The finished design was quite elegant: black leather, about 3/4” tall, with a small padlock stamped into the leather on the outside and inside a message decided by my Master. Four latin words, which when translated spoke from my heart: “I obey my Master.” I still wonder if our artisan researched the meaning of the words for her own curiousity, and I tingle at the idea that she knew what she was making all along.

The package arrived in the mail 4 weeks ago and I’ve worn my beautiful everyday collar around my left ankle every single day since then. The only time that I do not have it on is when I am in the shower, but it is the first thing I put on after I’m dry. It is the only thing I wear to bed every night, leaving the rest of my body completely naked in honor of my Master.

When I feel the stiff leather around my ankle while at work or out in the world I love that physical feel of my status. As though my Master is there with me, whispering in my ear “You are mine. You will always be mine. Body, mind, heart and soul.”

And as always, Master is right.

Friday 23 October 2009

Disobedience

Today I break a rule: I post without permission.

It has been clearly set from the first that I write the posts, but it is my Master’s choice what and when to publish. He has allowed me to take the steps to post, but always. ALWAYS. The decision is to be his what is ultimately done. It is his blog. I simply write it. Today I willfully break this rule to publish a post about my truest feelings for my Master.

We have been connected this way for only a short time in the grand scheme of things. When first we met he was an intriguing but dangerous game to play online, but nothing long-term. When you’ve connected to someone through something like online porn it becomes a little foolish to try to seem innocent. Instead I focused on being unattainable. Elusive. Evasive and, most of all, safe. I had seen all the Public Service Announcements. I knew that this was a bad idea and planned to only tease this confident, cocky mystery man before abandoning him to his failure. I would laugh as I walked away, untouched.

This was my plan. Now looking back I laugh at the idea that my plans had any influence on our game. I was lost from the start, and yet so magnificently won.

In the first months I was enthralled by each new experience he devised. Each interaction brought a new first. The first time I knelt before another.

Sucked down my own slick to please someone.

Fucked myself on command.

Came on command.

Called someone Master. Called myself slave.

Worshipped. Adored. Transformed. Obeyed. All transcendant firsts. For the first man who ever understood what I need and how to bend me to get it. I understood what I had discovered, what had discovered me. Mind-demolishing sex and lust and playing and humiliation and never-ending desire. These were simple concepts and easy to see how to fit them into my simple life.

And yet these were but the beginning.

On this day of all days I tell you that once again I had no idea what was to come. The simple additions I predicted are certainly now part of my world, and I crave these moments constantly. But more than that I crave the man; the Master. His attention, his companionship, his support and respect, his protection and his love. I have his love and he, more than I ever imagined possible, has mine.

He, through his ownership and guidance, has made me the person I would never have thought possible. His influence on my life knows no boundaries – he touches me more than erotically. His touch slides through my mind and into my heart; it wraps strong, beautiful fingers around my thump, thump and squeezes so I feel each beat stronger than ever before. I feel. For the first time in so very, very long I can once again feel deeply and rapturously. He captured me and in that simple action he freed me. Yet with all of this contradiction I know only this: it is my dearest wish to stay in his tight grip forever.

I was prepared to worship and adore and be transformed and obey, but I was never prepared for this: I love, love, love my Master. For these reasons I disobey his rule on this day.

I love you Master.

Wednesday 21 October 2009

Flashbacks: Slave Learns to Stretch.

Though I hope to eventually blog very realtime (of the experiences and feelings I'm currently having) there are also moments from before the creation of this blog that were significant to my growth and evolution as a slave. I've written posts for some of those that struck me enough to be particularly memorable. These will always have "Flashback:" in the title, but will be a slice of pre-blog life. Why look, here's one now! Enjoy...


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Too often I confess I shy away from Master’s games. Especially in the beginning, when I knew I wanted this status but struggled to give up all my control. Master would tell me a game he wished to play, and I would panic and beg him to reconsider. Such was the first time he told me he wanted to turn down my intelligence.

Like turning down the volume on the radio. Make me dumb; brainless.

I panicked. The idea of being robbed of my chief weapon – my brains. All my life this was the thing I’d depended on to take care of myself, and I told him honestly that I didn’t want to let that go for even a moment. That I didn’t find the idea enticing, but really frightening.

He didn’t have to listen to me. By this moment I was his to manipulate as he wished, and we both knew this. But he was kind to me; probably more than I deserved. He let the idea go for a while.

Time passed, and I learned to love and trust Master more and more. He payed close attention, for one day he knew it was time to push me. He’d already taken the control of me, and gradually he turned me down…

I was not cognizant of the change at the time. But in my memory I remember waves of knowledge fading away with each command to turn me down.

I felt my head get lighter. I remember the moment where I was too stupid to know my phone number or address. I remember being so stupid that spelling was beyond me. And I remember that the less my brain contained the happier I became. I giggled. God help me, but I giggled.

When he’d reduced my mind to that of a brainless, bubbly idiot his own way with me changed. He became terribly condescending, a huge smile on his lips as he said things like “don’t worry about it, sweety. You’re far too stupid to be able to understand what’s happening, and that’s just the way I like you.” And he enjoyed my giggles in reply. And the visible wetness between my legs.

I spent quite a while in this brainless state. He asked questions to enjoy my pouty face when I could not answer them. Things like two plus two, or how to spell simple words, such as cat. He revelled in the image of me – normally a very smart, capable woman, having now been transformed for his pleasure into an airhead who giggled as he patted her head and pushed it down to his cock to happily suck. “After all,” he explained to my eager but empty face, “you don’t need brains to be my horny little cock-sucker, do you?”

I giggled absently, almost enthusiastically, at the idea of not needing smarts to do the only things that mattered. And I sucked him happily.

When Master turned me back up the memories from the experience crashed through me like a tsunami. And with each came a rush between my legs. Contrary to what I’d originally thought, the experience of having my intelligence erased, in preference of being a bouncy, mindless, desperate Barbie doll, was tremendously erotic and I fantasized about it for days afterward.

Once again, Master knew best. As he always does.

Wednesday 14 October 2009

Slave's Collar

Master first mentioned a collar early on, and he enjoyed my reaction, even though he already knew what it would be. I swooned at the idea of wearing something that made me a slave; a pet; a possession so visibly. I began to search the web for the right thing, and even made plans to go out and find something within a week later. But he said no.

"When you get your collar, I will give it to you." he stated, firm as though it went without saying. I secretly felt ashamed for not seeing that on my own. Of course he had to be the one to wrap that leather symbol of my status and his ownership around my neck and buckle it tightly. If it wasn't him that gave it to me it would never mean what it meant.

But that meant that I had to wait for it.

Once the plan was in place for him to visit I renewed my search for the right place to find my collar. Having returned to the Big City there were options now, and I found a place that answered all my desires. It celebrated the shackles of joyous ownership -- I knew I would like this shop.

As it turned out, I loved this shop. Here we found fancy handcuffs all shiny and silver, and special purple tape he could use to display me and bind me in place. And we found my beloved collar. As we left the shop, my face blushing with excitement, I told my Master "I'm now very glad that I listened to you and didn't wear a dress to this shop. Because if I had there would now be so much sliding down the insides of my legs you wouldn't even believe it!" He laughed.

I was naked and sitting beside him on the bed. I'd just finished putting the new toys into the fancy box where I'd hidden our previous purchases. This box had been a lovely find for me -- from the outside it appeared to be an ornate book sitting in the cubby of my bedside table. But inside were lovely toys my master could use to play with his toy. Master pulled the collar from the box and told me to move to the center of the room and kneel. As I stood from the bed i felt my legs already turning to jelly in anticipation and lust.

He crossed to me, 10 feet tall from my place before him, and he asked me what I was. I answered with my now-familiar and beloved litany: "I am your slave, your pet, your toy, your possession, your property, your slut." And what was he? "You are my Master, my owner, my possessor, my everything." He told me that the collar he held was a symbol of these roles, and that whenever I wore it I was to remember this, and remember that feeling. He told me that everything I am and everything I have belonged to him. Save this. This was my one and only possession for me to have and cherish. And as he leaned down, placing the black leather snugly around my neck and fastening the buckle in place, my heart raced and my cunt throbbed and I held my breath in a foolish attempt to stop time there forever.

He stepped back to admire the image, and I let my hands rise to feel the leather in its place. A tremendous smile erupted across my face far beyond my control. At that moment I wanted to wear it forever. He asked me how it felt to finally have something I'd waited for so long.

"Amazing." was all I could say. The word was a shameful shadow of the true feeling, but the best i could find in my mind because there is no word that captures it all. Even now when I slide it on and lock it into place I close my eyes and he's there, looming above me, owning me body, mind and soul. Fulfilling my every fantasy.

Tuesday 13 October 2009

My first and best beloved toy

One night, after having enjoyed watching me thrust my fingers in and out of my cunt at his command, Master announced that he wanted me to have something with which to fuck myself. It was time for us to have a few toys. Always considerate of me, more than I deserve, Master asked what I would like. I went online and found an item or two that seemed highly rated and that I understood how I would use. Except for a brief attempt at vibrator ownership years ago, which resulted in dead and leaking batteries from lack of use, I did not really have any idea about sex toys. In fact, I’d been fairly aloof about them, thinking they were the refuge of lonely women who needed to think their sex life with themselves somehow exotic.

Master took my requests into account, but as always he had his own ideas, and as always he knew best. A couple of weeks later a box arrived at my house. I was like a kid on Christmas morning, so eager was I to open and see what Master and picked out for me, but I had to wait until we could connect online as Master wanted to see my reaction.

Master was tremendously generous and the box contained a few exciting items. I will cover them all in good time, but I want to focus on my favorite. He had found and sent me a beautiful blue, glass dildo. When first I found it I was actually afraid of it. It was stunning and long and hard and I thought I would not be able to relax enough to plow into myself with something so hard and heavy. Master knew better; he was patient with me, but he insisted that I would fuck myself with this cobalt wand.

He had my place my heels on the edge of the desk to allow him a complete view of my cunt in the camera. He knew that I was already more than wet just from the opening of the box, so there was no need to get me well lubricated. He was even wise enough to send me to the bathroom first to run the toy under hot water, thereby relieving the cold feeling I am now very familiar with.

I am rarely so patient as my Master.

Once I was fully displayed to him he instructed me to slide the dildo inside me. At first it seemed impossibly huge, having only entered myself with a couple of fingers for years. But the fullness was so much more satisfying. It was the way that I wanted to feel – expanded inside. Stretched to my full size, to take my Master’s gift and somehow my Master at the same time. Once he knew I’d pushed it into my cunt all the way he guided me smoothly to bring it in and out slowly. He built the speed gradually, and he knew that my impatient nature and my need… my tremendous, desperate need by now… would lead to that moment where I would beg him to go faster.

He controlled my speed, thereby controlling me. I may have been fucking myself with his toy, but in truth at that moment he was enjoying his true toy: his eager and obedient slave. He had total control over me, my body, my reactions, as I impaled myself over and over with his purchase, my original fears long since crushed under the weight of my wanton lust and love to serve him.

I have no idea how long I sat opened to him, obediently working my new and beloved toy in and out of my cunt. I know I moaned and gasped my ecstacy as I fucked myself for his enjoyment. I know that I let a hand wander to my tits as I lost myself to the pleasure. I know I came and came and came when he allowed me to.

Since then there are rules that have been placed around my toys: I am to ask permission to use my beloved blue glass dildo. It may be here, but I know it is not mine. It is Masters, just like all the other toys in my house. Most importantly me. His favorite toy.

Sunday 11 October 2009

Playing

I don’t know exactly how it works, but I know that Master has control over my mind. Beyond simply the worship I feel for him, he has controls that cut past my thoughts or desires and can change me. I know that he has long been practiced in hypnotism, though he assures me that he’s never done a full induction with me. He tells me he doesn’t need to – I am already so very succeptible to him and desire so much to obey that he need not work so hard.

What I can tell you is how this control feels to me.

With his powers Master plays with me. This is one of my favorite things. He loves fucking me, but even more than that he loves to play. To dream up new and fantastic personalities in which to dress me, or sensations to slather over me, or even something as simple as a word that, in a moment, shuts me off completely.

For me the experience is generally the same from time to time, at least in terms of the set-up. We will be conversing, very normally, and his tone will get an edge. The slightest hint of a smile in his voice. Sometimes I experience a tiny blip, like a blink that lasts a heartbeat too long; other times the change is seamless. Regardless, what happens next I mostly experience as a memory. He makes the changes he wants, and when they change who I am I am gone. Replaced by this new construct.

However my Master is good and generous to me. He always gives me the memory of the experience to enjoy afterward. He knows that I love reliving the experience, especially when he makes me dance and prance for him; a puppet on his strings. I won’t tell you any specifics because each is worthy enough for its own post.

But now, when I say to you that Master played with me, you’ll understand what I mean: he molded my mind or my body to fit a game he wished to play with me. He took away all my controls and did with me as he pleased. He made me his toy.

And I loved it.

Friday 9 October 2009

Introduction

My master started a blog and told me that I was to write it.

Our initial meeting came from his reading an erotic story that I had written. Within a week of his first email to me I was kneeling for his pleasure and stroking my cunt to orgasm at his command. He had found me, claimed me and I had discovered what had been missing throughout my entire life: ownership. I had told him that I would not call him my master, and less than a week later I gave him that title eagerly.

That was the beginning of this incredible new chapter of my life. And what do you do with chapters? You write them. So master has instructed me to write this blog.

On this site you will mostly read my musings about learning how to be a slave worthy of my Master’s ownership. I love this status he has given me and wish to be the best slave possible; however I am new to this (having only been claimed months ago) and I have an inherintly independent nature. In short: I’m still learning. Master has been patient and generous with me, and I am proud of how far I have come. But as you will see here, there is much for me to learn and accept. I only hope I continue to be worthy of his patience.

In the meantime I will share, as honestly and frankly as possible, the experiences I have under his control and ownership. This is the greatest change of my life and I marvel every day at how lucky I am to have been found by my Master. I will try to share these feelings with all of you. Enjoy!