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Clear Cup of Coffee

July 17th, 2007

I used to think this wasnâ??t true about slaves. Iâ??d tell
slaves talking about how being ignored (Iâ??m not suggesting that Iâ??m ignored. Iâ??m
definitely NOT ignored.) put out the fire that burned in them that if they only
tried they could keep it alive on their own. And I used to believe this too.


We have a clear coffee mug that showed up sometime in our
relationship. Iâ??m not sure where it came from. I only know it wasnâ??t something
I brought with me and we didnâ??t buy it somewhere. Often I avoid using it. Our
new coffee pot makes the coffee pretty hot and for some reason it cools slower
in this mug. But when I do use it, I love to watch as I pour the cream in.

It shoots straight for the bottom and then begins to change
the coffee a light tan before I even put the spoon in. Usually a little more
than half way up the middle, it stops until I begin to stir. Once Iâ??ve mixed it
up, sugar, cream and coffee, itâ??s the perfect cup.

In my mind, this is what itâ??s like, teaching a slave. You pour
all the ingredients in and they rest on the bottom until you reach in and mix
them up. So what happens if you stop mixing? If you let the coffee sit there unattended
for a long period of time. First it grows cold. Then it spoils.

I used to think this wasnâ??t true about slaves. Iâ??d tell
slaves talking about how being ignored (Iâ??m not suggesting that Iâ??m ignored. Iâ??m
definitely NOT ignored.) put out the fire that burned in them that if they only
tried they could keep it alive on their own. And I used to believe this too.

The longer Master and I go without playing, I see the
fallacy of these words. The longer it is between Him using me roughly for His
pleasure, speaking those dark words in my ear, pinning me to the bed while He
beats me for His own pleasure and none of mineâ?¦ the faster I feel the light
dying. Just as it flickers, He saves me. Just before it sputters out, He adds
more fuel to its base. And then He goes about His business.

I used to think that I could be trained for a week or two
and then go about my business staying in my place and always yearning to serve.
Why would anyone need anything beyond that? If a slave is trained well, she
should just serve and serve and need nothing in return. Right? Right??!

Except I donâ??t think thatâ??s correct. I think if I continue
to think that way Iâ??ll do more harm than good. Because I need Master. I need interaction
with Him as a Master to a slave and not just as a couple. Being so often in the
public eye, what with work and such, makes that really difficult.

Some will argue that a Master and slave always interact as a
Master and slave regardless of the ritual or apparel, and for the most part
thatâ??s true. And maybe Iâ??m just talking out my ass, but for me, thereâ??s this pull,
this need to be treated like property. To be objectified and enslaved. To feel
owned.

I always wear a collar and I walk around the house naked
when weâ??re home. I serve Master and attempt to make Him proud to own me. But
without the ritual, without the discipline, without the play timeâ?¦ I feel like
Iâ??m dying. Well, maybe not me on the whole. But my fire. The burning need to be
owned. The desperate desire to be enslaved. I feel like itâ??s flickering. And I
donâ??t want it to go out.

Something has to give. Either I need a job that allows me to
be home more when Master is or we need to move orâ?¦ something. And I really donâ??t
want that something to be my slavery. And neither does He.

Weâ??ll work it out, Iâ??m sure. I was able to mention it to Him
before He took off for His meeting today. Tonight weâ??re going to dinner with
one of His coworkers and one of His ex-coworkers so that doesnâ??t leave much
time to talk about it tonight. But it does give me the opportunity to practice
the promise I made to learn how to interact in public as a slave instead of
trying to place myself on equal ground with the men. I still have a hard time
with my â??vanillaâ? persona in the outside world. Itâ??s hard going from a
smart-assed, sassy, tough bitch to a demure, docile slave. So hard, in fact,
that Iâ??ve not managed to do it in the five years Iâ??ve been owned. Itâ??s time to
get on it, I think.

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