Archive for January, 2006


January 27th, 2006 No comments

Tomorrow Dad will be here and we're packing up to move! Sunday we spend our first night in our new apartment! So much going on this weekend. rayne's head is spinning in a million different directions! Gotta pack, gotta clean, gotta get everything situated so we can get the hell outta here! Now the only thing left to do is get Master's boss to have a chat with the building owners and the police and get that parking lot safer and we'll be snug as two bugs in a rug. Yay!
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January 25th, 2006 No comments

rayne"s not much in a blogging mood. We were robbed tonight (Master"s working nights so rayne has to write her blog at night). We were at His office and we went out to go to lunch, and when we looked in the truck we saw that someone had broken into it. They stole all the cds that were in there and our camera tripod. The cds weren"t really a big deal, but the tripod was. It was cheap, but it was something we use a lot! So now we have to buy a new one.

Just another tidbit of information showing that Masters and slaves still live normal lives, she guesses *sigh*
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Drawing a blank

January 23rd, 2006 No comments

So rayne has been completely at a loss of what to post on here all day (which is why she hasn"t put an entry here yet). Guess she"ll go with what happened today in rayne"s life. It"s not very interesting.

Master is working nights and we"re packing for our move. We spent the first hour and a half talking to the CEO of His company and doing not much of anything. We went to Quizznos for dinner and it was hella yummy. Tonight rayne"s having salad… she"s officially starting her resolution diet. she"ll probably be starting her resolution workout regime as soon as she can get her hands on a good aerobic exercise routine to add to her strength training routine. And then she"ll be on a fast track to losing the weight she has to lose to get her back in a healthy weight class. YAY!
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Lessons Learned and Another Quote

January 21st, 2006 Comments off

Yesterday Master andI were talking on AIM about nothing and everything. Whatever came to our minds. And at some point, Master went on a much deserved tangent about my behavior as late. I’ve been rather bitchy and my only excuse is I’ve also been extremely tired and just started that ever so loving monthly friend (so I was pmsing before), neither of which are good or relevant excuses. When a slave steps out of line, the why doesn’t really matter much.

He mentioned that I’ve been sarcastic and mouthy. At times down right bitchy. And there has really been nothing slavelike about my demeanor lately. Then He told me that He was coming home early. He was tired and uncomfortable and felt He’d be more comfortable working with His naked slave on the floor beside Him working her tongue over His body.

Generally speaking, I’m supposed to be kneeling in the living room when Master comes home from work. Preferably naked unless He has specified otherwise (i.e. Master telling me to be dressed and ready to leave when He gets home). Lately, I haven’t been. I haven’t even stopped what I was doing to greet Him when He got home.

Last night I debated what I should do. Standing in the bathroom, a soft pink hue to my cheeks, I pondered whether or not it would be a good idea to meet Him the way I’m supposed to. Then slowly, ever so slowly, a wistful smile on my face and a shiver going through me, I stripped the clothes so carefully picked out for lunch with Him from my body, dropping them one by one into the washing machine and heading to the living room. When He banged into the house, He said, “Good thing. You were going to be beat if you weren’t kneeling.”

He told me to get up and I walked into the bedroom with Him while He undressed. When He was finished, He told me to get Him a drink and get on the floor. I sat down and did my best to please Him, dancing my tongue over His outer thigh, suckling and kissing His skin. I worked my mouth over His knee and left little wet trails down to His foot. Then I gently licked His foot a while before working my way back up. My hands were constantly working as well, though I never really know what to do with them…only that He likes to feel them on Him.

Eventually, as is sometimes the case, He lifted one of His legs over my head and placed it on the other side of  me so I was positioned between them. I began working her tongue over His inner thighs, paying close attention to the crease between His pubic region and His leg. I didn’t lick His cock or balls directly – I hadn’t been given permission for that, though there were accidental touches of my tongue to them. (Note to my submissive readers: In trouble? Looking for a sure fire way to get fucked? Just wanting some way to show your dominant how much you adore them? This method almost never fails to please. While it won’t get you out of trouble, it might calm them down enough to lessen the punishment.)

After a while, Master directed me to His bedroom so I could do the rest of His body. I hurried in the door and threw everything off the bed except the sheet, then climbed on the mattress and waited for Him to lay down. Once He was on His stomach, I started my tongue tango again all over His back, ass, and legs. Still keeping my hands moving when they weren’t supporting my weight, I made sure to listen for the short, sharp intake of breath that indicated I was doing a good job.

He turned to His back and I began to lick the front of His legs. Shifting to my knees, ass and pussy in the air, I started my descent again. And then His fingers were teasing my lips, alternately pinching and carressing. I was so incredibly wet. He started to reach for something on the floor and instinctively I flinched, my whole body tensing as soft whimpers fought to escape my throat.

The first stinging slap was bad but not too bad. The next heavy wallop of the crop caught my left cheek and she flew up off the mattress. Slamming my lips together, I fought a wail of pain back down my throat lest the upstairs neighbors hear me and get nosy.

“Keep licking, bitch.”

Immediately, I forced her mouth back to His legs, little uncontrollable sobs temporarily breaking the connection every few seconds. He continued to beat me with the crop while I licked His legs and there were a few more times that I couldn’t control myself and I lifted off of the bed. They were usually met with a slap of the crop just as hard or harder than the one that had sent me flying and a command from Master to get my lips back on His skin.

Finally, He had had enough teasing, and He grabbed the back of my hair and yanked my head so that my mouth was positioned over His cock. And He rammed His cock deep into my throat, force fucking my mouth and beating me. By this point, I was sobbing uncontrollably, though my crying was muffled by His cock and my own desire to keep any prying passersby out of our business.

He continued to say things to me but the main things that stick out are “Do you know what you are now, cunt? Do you see that you’re a whore for me to fuck?” which I guess was the point. There were times that He wasn’t letting me up for air. Moments when He would hit me so hard she thought the skin was broken. And my pussy kept getting wetter. My fingers managed a vise-like grip on the sheets and I tried desperately to hold still when the crop fell.

Master, a while back, called me His little paradox. This was the reason. I am, without a doubt, a painslut. But there are times when the pain is more than I want or consciously like, and yet my pussy still drips. It aches to be filled. And while I’m thinking about it, I realizes that I still have trouble begging for His cock when I want it. I still have too much pride.

When He was ready, He asked what I wanted Him to fill, and much to my own surprise, I said, “My ass.” He let me choose between my pussy and my mouth and I desperately needed to fulfill the ache so I chose my pussy. After He came and I realized just how much of it there was, I wished I’d chosen my mouth.

Here is the quote I mentioned:

For example, it is common for a master to force his girl to speak at length and in detail to him of the secret sides of her nature, explaining and elaborating on her fantasies: if she is literate, she may be forced, naked, collared, on her knees at a small table, sometimes with her ankles shackled, to write them out; this supplies the master, of course, with abundant materials which may be used by him to make her further and more helplessly his; sometimes the girl attempts to deceive the master; it is not difficult to detect inauthenticity in such matters; she is then beaten; too, she may at times be ordered to invent fantasies, sometimes of a certain type; these, too, for she has invented them, are, to an astute master, instructive; these intellectual, emotional exercises, performed by the girl under a condition of slavery, particularly if coupled with an enforced exercise regime, posings under male surveillance, and such, can do much to sensitize her to her collar; they awaken her body and, of equal importance for the Gorean, though not for the Earthling, who sees sex with the perception of a hippopotamus, as a matter of body rubbings, her fantastic imagination and mind; she becomes curious, soon, about the deeper implications of what she is, a mere article of her master’s property.  ~ Tribesmen of Gor

I found this quote interesting because many follow at least some part of this practice. Are we sure John Norman wasn’t into M/s?

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The Gift

January 19th, 2006 Comments off

Gifts usually look something like this.

Gifts usually look something like this.

It’s possible I’ve written something about this before, but I can’t find it, which means it was probably some time around when I started my blog. Nothing wrong with repeating myself since I’m sure some people aren’t going to go through three years of archives.

A while ago, we were talking in the Den and a master got rather offended with my assessment of the “gift of submission”. I find it disheartening when even the men are so utterly convinced that a woman submitting herself to them is the best gift they can receive.

Ladies and gentlemen, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but submission is NOT a gift. At the very least, it is an exchange. The master in question took my opinion as a bash against BDSM. How can I, in good conscience, bash BDSM? For the first two and a half years of our relationship, Master and I were involved strictly in BDSM and not Gor.

I have no issue with BDSM or the differences between it and Gor. I understand there are differences in the levels
at which people choose to submit. I do, however, have issues with the way submissives (usually female submissives) view their submission.

In most every contact I’ve had with submissives, be it through actually meeting them, knowing them via online chat,
reading a website written by them, or whatever, I have found that the submissive holds this “gift of submission” on this high pedestal as if she should be worshiped for being so kind as to allow someone to receive this.

And let’s look at the definition of gift for a moment, shall we?

gift n. Something that is bestowed voluntarily and without compensation.

Why, then, do these gift-giving submissives expect—nay, demand!—to be dominated in precisely the way they choose in return for this gift? That’s an exchange to say the very least. A gift? How can it possibly be a gift? The submissive is getting something in return. In fact, she will immediately revoke the “gift” if she doesn’t get her due.

Gifts cannot and will not be revoked. Regardless of the situation, if a person is truly giving someone a gift, even if eventually they absolutely hate each other, the person will not try to take that gift back. Not so with submission. When finding they are incompatible with a dominant, or deciding that they do not, in fact, like the dominant at all, a
submissive will revoke their right to her submission. How can you call that a gift?

If submission is a gift, then submissives are indian givers and this slave chooses not to associate with people like that. If submission is a gift, then submissives have no right to expect to be dominated when giving their submission to someone (which they shouldn’t anyway being submissive) because once a gift is given, it is the receiver’s prerogative to use it however they wish. If submission is a gift, then so is domination and a submissive should be
just as grateful to receive that as they expect their dominant to be. If submission is a gift, then it isn’t what modern day submissives call submission at all.

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January 17th, 2006 No comments

"Masters, incidentally, seldom brand their own slaves….. The girls are usually branded impersonally, perfunctorily, as cattle….. The mark is an impersonal designation. This is understood by the girl. When she is marked she understands herself not to be marked by a given man for a given man, to be uniquely his, but rather, so to speak, that she is marked for all men. To all men she is a slave girl. Usually, of course, only one among them, at a given time, will be her master. The brand is impersonal. The collar is intensely personal. The brand marks her property. The collar proclaims whose property she is, who it is who has either taken, or paid for, her. That the brand is an impersonal designation of an absence of status in the social structure is perhaps another reason why masters do not often brand their own girls. The brand relationship to the free man is institutional. The collar relationship, on the other hand, is an intensely personal one." Tribesmen of Gor

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