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No Fear Revisited… Sort of.

June 14th, 2008

I hate, hate, hate my job. And the toll it takes on my blogging time. Screw the fact that by the time I come home I’m so tired any sort of scene is lost on me, or I’m so grumpy I get defensive over a stubbed toe, or I’m so whiny I start crying over a strange look. I want my blogging time back! Okay I’m kidding. But seriously! 94 hours in nine days sucks ass. And I just started this stint Thursday!

Master said there have been times in our relationship that I was absolutely afraid of Him and/or what He might do to me. And He’s right. I just wanted to make sure that I said that. I wasn’t saying I was never afraid or that nothing He ever does scares me or anything like that. Sometimes I’m scared shitless. But I don’t consider my fears in those situations rational and therefore don’t necessarily see them as relevant to the point I was making. Which really was just that I believe a slave shouldn’t have to fear her owner losing control.

Usually, my fears come with the self-loathing and skewed self-image that comes with messing up. I’m not sure if that’s left over from a jaded childhood or if it’s something that has developed with age. All I know for certain is that most times when I’m in trouble I spiral pretty deeply into hating myself and conjuring up all these images of what I deserve. What I think I deserve and what Master gives me never match up. Which is a good thing. Cause skin is important. It protects your organs.


I’m willing to admit some like it more intense than others. I’ve never had the opportunity to have a seriously seemingly out of control scene. There’s not much edgeplay that goes on here. Mostly because I’m loud and we have neighbors. I’m not lucky enough to be in a giant, somewhat soundproof house with neighbors far enough away that if a big band was playing in my house no one would hear (not that anyone is… I’m just spouting off). Even when I’m gagged I’m loud. And, oddly enough, it’s rare that I lose sight of the immense amount of control Master has over Himself. It usually takes extreme circumstances and even then when all’s said and done I realize my fears were irrational.

The idea of edgeplay and being pushed beyond what I’m comfortable with thrills me and terrifies me. I know He’ll love it. Every minute of my crying and screaming and whining and begging. If He’s able to push me that far. The begging, I mean. It’s rare. (Yes, Master, that is a challenge :P) I’m not worried about Him liking it. I’m worried about me liking it. And the disappointment He’ll feel if I don’t. Not that it’ll matter.

I’ve been screaming that I want that for years. But when He locks me up these days to wallop my ass, I’m crying before the first cuff is on. That’s partly because our scenes are so few and far between these days and partly because our moods are always flip flopped. He wants me to hurt, I want to be babied. I want to be hurt, He wants to be all lovey dovey. And I haven’t found that switch, yet, that will put me in whatever mood He’s in. It was all I could do, in earlier years, to find the one to turn off my “No.” reflex when He wanted to do something I did not want to do. Still working on the mood switch. Is that even possible?

I might be digging myself deeper with this. Ah well. I tried.

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