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Thinking

March 2nd, 2007


Iâ??m a slave. A masochistic slave. I crave torture. Torture
beyond what my body and mind can bear. Torture that leaves me gasping for
breath and clawing at empty space, grinding my teeth and biting my tongue ring
in half, contracting every muscle in my body and begging Him to stop even as I
want Him to continue. I long for days spent chained to the cross only to be
taken down and shoved roughly and by the hair to my knees, my tear stained face
shoved into His crotch, my throat brutally fucked until He yanks His cock from
me and sprays His semen all over my face.



Last week or the week before, while I was at work, Master
put the cross back together. I was so excited. I thought that surely this meant
the S/M element of our relationship was going to come back. It hasnâ??t.


Iâ??ll be the first to admit that in a lot of areas Iâ??m
spoiled rotten. Master does His best to ensure Iâ??m happy so long as my wishes
donâ??t interfere with His. He takes good care of me with regards to my day to
day needs. Hell, Heâ??s even stopped making me go without conditioner when moneyâ??s
tight, though I think thatâ??s partly because my hair looks like crap if itâ??s not
conditioned.


When we first started down the road of Master and slave, He
used to give me little writing assignments. Name five things youâ??d change about
our relationship. Name five things you love about our relationship. Give me
five ideas of things to do this weekend. What do you see as short term goals in
our relationship? And so on. Iâ??d muddle through them and be hard pressed to
find one thing Iâ??d change, let alone five. I donâ??t know if this is because I
was so afraid to complain and hurt His feelings or because I was just that
content.


If it was the former, Iâ??m not afraid anymore. I complain all
the time. You never do this anymore. I remember when you used to do thatâ?¦ I
liked that. We donâ??t have this. We donâ??t have that. And on and on and on. Jesus, Iâ??m spoiled.


He used to tell me that nagging would never get me what I
want. So I stopped. I stopped mentioning that I need to be beaten. That I need
to spend time bound, either by chains or by His word, waiting for His command. That
I need to be pushed beyond my limits. That I need to have Him standing over me
making my ass bleed and dragging screams from my throat while tears and snot
course down my face. Until I get frustrated and then just start rambling about
things that used to happen and donâ??t anymore.


My fear of the cane prevents me from telling Him that when
He was giving me ten strokes with the cane each night I felt the most cherished
out of any time in our relationship. Knowing my reaction to those nights was
bad prevents me from admitting how wrong I was. And even though I knew it was
for no oneâ??s pleasure, even though I knew it was to discipline a lazy slave, I
got a great deal of enjoyment out of knowing He cared enough to do it.


Iâ??m a slave. A masochistic slave. I crave torture. Torture
beyond what my body and mind can bear. Torture that leaves me gasping for
breath and clawing at empty space, grinding my teeth and biting my tongue ring
in half, contracting every muscle in my body and begging Him to stop even as I
want Him to continue. I long for days spent chained to the cross only to be
taken down and shoved roughly and by the hair to my knees, my tear stained face
shoved into His crotch, my throat brutally fucked until He yanks His cock from
me and sprays His semen all over my face.


I need sex like people need air. I need to be used. I need
to be used and denied. I need to be forced to concentrate only on His pleasure.
Forced to surrender again and again to His desire, abandoning my own. I need.


All of this brings me back, repeatedly, to the realization
that I am, without a doubt, the physical manifest of all those nasty things He
calls me. Bitch, slut, cunt, whore, slave, property, fuck toy, piece of ass,
worthless, cum dumpster. Owned. While I have many good qualities, by far the
best is my pussy. While there are many things I am capable of doing, the thing
Iâ??m best at is fucking. While there are many things I love to do, the thing I
love most is pleasing men. Specifically one man. The one who owns me.


And itâ??s not that I donâ??t know this in my head and in my
heart. Itâ??s not that I havenâ??t realized these things over and over. Itâ??s that
in realizing them, I try to break free. To run scared. To hide from myself.
Because doesnâ??t society tell us that a woman like me is a terrible, terrible
tragedy? Donâ??t they victimize women like me? Donâ??t they fully believe that weâ??re
vile disgusting creatures even as they try to â??saveâ? us?


If I had to change five things about our relationship, Iâ??d
change the fact that Iâ??m so caught up in societyâ??s views even as I try to
pretend Iâ??m not (and sometimes, Iâ??m really not, but latelyâ?¦). Iâ??d change the
fact that I so often try to hide from what I am out of fear. Iâ??d change that Iâ??m
allowed to hide from what I am when Heâ??s too tired or annoyed to deal with me.
Iâ??d change the times Heâ??s lenient, few though they may be. And Iâ??d change the
fact that Heâ??s worried about the neighbors hearing Him hurting me and the
occasional worry He has that Heâ??ll go farther than Iâ??m ready to accept and push
me away or cause me to complain more.


Five things that I love about our relationshipâ?¦ I love our
ability to just sit in silence and not worry what the otherâ??s thinking. I love
that we love each other so deeply. I love that we can connect no matter how far
apart we seem to be (physically or mentally). I love that we share so many
likes and dislikes and opinions and beliefs. And I love the sex. God, do I love
the sex.


This weekend Iâ??d like to fuck. A lot. Iâ??d like to be chained
to the closet door in the bedroom and beaten. Iâ??d like to be kept chained at
His feet while we watch TV or He plays games on His computer or works or
whatever He decides to do. I want my nipples clamped and my clit pinned. I want
to lay in agony while He does whatever it is He wants to do with my body. And
maybe thatâ??s not five â??outdoorâ? things. But itâ??s five things.


Short term goals for our relationship? Getting back to that
place we were in when He was beating me every night. Getting on our feet
financially and finding a way to remain stable even if the truck breaks again. Making
sure Heâ??s sexually satisfied even if it means Iâ??m a bleeding, broken mess all
the time. And most importantly, I need to find a way to regain His trust. I
really am just interested in working to regain some of the stability we started
the year with.


I know I complain entirely too much about everything. I know
that I donâ??t see the value of things until Youâ??re tired of hearing me complain
and stop doing them. Some of it is because Iâ??m scared of what that value means.
Underneath, though, is always the hope that Youâ??ll punish me for my whining and
continue what Youâ??re doing. And when You stopâ?¦ when You give in to my spoiled
pleasâ?¦ it makes me realize that eventually Youâ??re just going to give up. I donâ??t
want that. I want You to teach me. I want You to lead me. I want You to guide
me. And sometimes that takes more than a week or two. Sometimes it takes more
than a year or two. Some lessons take a lifetime.


One that hasnâ??t is that Iâ??ve never met a man who could own
me as completely as You. That I need You. I need Your hand to guide me. Without
it, Iâ??ll die. Maybe not physically, but emotionally without a doubt.

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