Archive for December, 2008

My Take on Deity

December 30th, 2008 Comments off

So I have a rant for FetLife but I figured I’d better get this done first. I’m tired and whiny and missing Master and all I want to do is curl up on the couch with my blankey and watch Maury or something. But I can’t. Because then I’ll fall asleep and then I can’t talk to Him on AIM while He’s at work.

There were a lot of epiphanies over the Christmas weekend. Some good. Some bad. Some down right depressing. And some pointed out by Master so I’m not sure they can really be called epiphanies.

I’ve heard mention a time or two of slaves viewing their owners as their gods. And I’m sure I’ve said it a time or two as well. I’m sure  it’s the same with everyone, but when I said it, I didn’t mean in the theological sense. He’s not astrophysical, can’t move mountains with His mind, doesn’t have any super powers of any sort. Or does He? *ponders last night’s romp in the hay*

This weekend pointed out to me one of the reasons I’ve become so disheartened and cynical. So… jaded. I don’t believe in any god.

I tried to deny it. To pretend that every logical bone in my body wasn’t telling me that it was all a hunk of lies. To hold on to the faith that was so focused on the Christian god when I was a child and then, once I realized I really could believe whatever I wanted and not just what my parents told me, moved on to a plethora of Pagan gods and goddesses.

It’s said that people need to believe in something bigger than them. To give them something to look forward to. To keep them from falling into the trap I’ve been locked in since I was twelve. Realizing that nothing that happens on Earth means anything in the grand scheme of things is too much for some of us to bear. Self included.

This weekend I realized that I… just don’t. I believe there are disembodied spirits running around. I believe that we can communicate with them if we just listen. But I believe they’re just like us. The only real difference being they can see how time flows and we, being trapped in mortal bodies, can’t.

I don’t know why I believe that. I guess mostly because I’ve had paranormal experiences that I can’t explain and this theory makes the most sense. But maybe the KAP downstairs is right and I am just crazy. Who knows, right?

This weekend my inebriated mind couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t deal with knowing there’s nothing out there waiting for us when all this is over. That, when it comes right down to it, all the suffering and bull shit we’ve been through (collective we – everyone’s been through something no matter how large or small) is for nothing.

And then Master asked why there has to be a god. A purpose. Why I need there to be a higher power. And really, I don’t need it. Don’t have to have it. I just hoped there was. I hoped there was a reason for all the “bad stuff”.

That’s when He told me He’s the only god I need. And the usual “Of course you’d say that, Master.” type thoughts didn’t come. Instead, little miss “Go get the fucking paddle.” said, “He’s right, you know. And wouldn’t things be so much easier if you believed it? Have a little faith in the one you begged to guide you.”

Since then (until today… I think I’m just under the weather today), there’s been a smile on my face. An extra spring to my step. And faith. Faith I’d lost the week I left. Faith I so desperately need to function.

Not just faith in us, though that’s a major part of it. But faith in everything.

And now it’s back. Refocused and stronger than it was before.

And you know what? In the grand scheme of things, it may all be for nothing. But I’m having a hell of a time. So who cares?

Categories: Rayne Tags:

My Craving

December 29th, 2008 Comments off

PoetryIconSilent screams inside my head begging for:


Your fingers
trailing down my spine
dancing across my flesh
pinching, tugging, pulling
teasing my nipples to erect, firm pebbles

Your nails
engraving your passion on my flesh

Your hands

Your whip
lashing me into oblivion
kissing my flesh again and again
engraving Your love on my flesh

Your name
The needle darting in and out of my flesh
A trail of color
tracing the appellation of the creature to whom i belong

Your mark
The hot iron
searing into my flesh
permanently branding me on the outside to match the imprint on my heart

My hunger brings tears to my eyes
My thoughts are frantic
Make my flesh match the exquisite pain you’ve etched on my soul
Oh that the awe-inspiring master of me would hear my plea
I beg you
Quench this terrible thirst
Bring to the outside what is driving me insane on the inside

Silent screams inside my head begging for:


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Personal growth, perhaps?

December 29th, 2008 Comments off

So this morning I was a bitch. Royally and without reason. Some would argue that a slave never has reason. Those same people would also argue that PMS is a good enough excuse for not being up to par. And while the monthly beast is just summing itself up, I am not of the mind that PMS is a good enough excuse for not being up to par. Though goodness knows I wish it was sometimes.

I apologized. And then I sat on the couch trying to figure out what the hell happened to me. More often than not, lately, I’ve been waking up in the perfect mood to kill. Haven’t killed anyone… yet… but I’ve definitely been prepared should I have to. (And that’s a joke, just in case there’s some crazed cop with no sense of humor perusing the site.)

Master sometimes mentions that when I realize I screw up I should go get whatever He’s consistently using to punish me with and bring it to Him. He says I should just shut up (I tend to make excuses till I’m blue in the face.), show that I know I’m wrong and take my punishment. Anyone who knows me knows it’s next to impossible for me to admit I’m wrong. Even when it’s in black and white in front of my face.

This morning, I found myself yelling in my head, “Just go get the damn paddle. You know you fucked up. I don’t know why you keep waking up in a bad mood but it’s sure as hell not His fault.” “And admit that I’m wrong?” “You are wrong! Stop being so damned stubborn and get the paddle.” And then my “Admit that I’m wrong?” self responded with, “In a minute.”

In a minute? What’s up with that? So my pissed off self kicked my “In a minute.” self in the ass and I got up and walked to the bedroom.

It’s weird how my “In a minute.” self didn’t say one single word after the moment I made the decision to ignore her. No “What are we doing??” or “This is stupid.” Just sat silently by and watched me pull the paddle out of the trunk, walk to His desk and kneel quietly beside Him.

I think I expected fanfare. *cue trumpets* “Congratulations, rayne! By taking initiative and showing you know you fucked up, you’ve just won first prize! Lots of praise and happiness from your owner!”

That’s when little miss “Go get the fucking paddle!” kicked me in the ass again and said “Since when do you do this shit for praise? If you’re doing this for praise, you’re in it deep.”  Read more…

Categories: Rayne Tags:

Merry Christmas!

December 24th, 2008 Comments off

So since there’s probably not much chance I’ll be writing tomorrow what with Master being home (Come on! Ya’ll can’t tell me you haven’t noticed that I don’t write when He’s home!) and it being Christmas and all, I figured I’d try to get something up today. Since all I can think about is our Charlie Brown Christmas, I guess I’ll tell you about that.

I’m pretty proud of our ingenuity!

Usually around Christmas time finances are pretty tight but we manage to get a tree, a few small gifts, Christmas dinner and any “extras” we may want. This year, we had to choose between the tree and gifts and the “extras”. In all honesty, the extras cost less than the tree and gifts and really were the practical choice. Master refused to give up Christmas dinner, though. Ham dinner is my favorite and can be pretty expensive so we only ever have it on Christmas. So there’s a ham sitting in my fridge waiting to be cooked tomorrow.

Until yesterday, there wasn’t a decoration in sight. With everything that’s gone wrong this year and finances being what they are, my Christmas spirit just is not there. Even as I searched high and low for the box of garland and lights we had tucked away it was only because I wanted to see His smile. Not because I was excited about Christmas. If I had my way, I’d just as soon forget about Christmas altogether this year. But then I’d have to see His pouty little lips and hear His sad little sighs.

Thanksgiving is Master’s favorite holiday. But Christmas is the most important to Him. He’s a firm believer that everyone should be happy on Christmas. And for Him, that means watching my eyes light up when He hands me my presents. Seeing the smiles and tears, regardless of whether or not I told Him what I wanted, when I open them and see He picked out the perfect presents.

For me, it’s always been watching the people I care about open a gift they absolutely love. And maybe they realized how much thought went into it. Maybe not. But the art of gift giving, in my world, must be learned and fine tuned. One can’t just give any old gift! And if it’s something they wanted but never mentioned, all the better! Something that just oozes their nature all over. Perhaps I’m odd.  Read more…

Categories: Rayne Tags:

Love till it hurts

December 23rd, 2008 Comments off

The sun came up this morning and kissed the clear blue sky. It pressed a smile to my face with its rising and as soon as Master was out the door I threw open the blinds. I am elated to see its return, however brief.

It was out yesterday peeking from behind the many gray clouds I assumed were the next storm we’re to be mauled by, but that was no where near good enough for me and my S.A.D. (on top of PMS). Winter in New York is mostly gray skies and blustery winds mixed in with lots of water in one form or another. I hate it here.

When we first moved in here (the new apartment) I would get up, start the coffee and go sit either on the toilet or the floor in our tiny bathroom so I could talk to Master while He showered. When He was finished, I’d go make breakfast, lay out His clothes, pour Him a travel mug of coffee and snuggle and kiss and cuddle till He walked out the door.

Once He was gone, I’d grab the phone and light up my first cigarette of the morning as I opened the back door and sat on the porch. Usually on the stoop. I was in too much of a hurry to talk to Him to go looking for a chair I could take outside (they’re in a closet but I couldn’t ever remember which one). And then I’d call Him. And we’d talk till He got to work, when I’d put out my cigarette, go inside and pull up Pidgin so I could talk to Him on AIM.

Eventually, as both of us got more and more comfortable with where we’re headed, I stopped. Hell, I rarely even get His clothes together anymore. They’ll be tumbling in the dryer when He gets out of the shower and, instead of telling me to get them, He just grabs them Himself. In an apartment this small, it’s easier and faster for Him to grab them on His way by than to have me stop whatever I’m doing and bring them to Him.

Everything that reminded me I’m a slave has slowly dwindled. Either because I threw a tantrum one too many times about it, or because it just isn’t practical anymore. Regardless, it’s left me feeling quite unslavelike.  Read more…

Categories: Rayne Tags:

Er… what?

December 22nd, 2008 Comments off

Master and I have been watching Scrubs. A lot. Originally it was “cause we felt like it” and then it was going to be a “catch up” thing (ABC is starting a new season of Scrubs soon.) until we realized it’s next to impossible to find any episodes after season six.

Long story short, an episode in season six (on it’s season six, episode six, but, as we found out the hard way, they have a lot of the episodes in the wrong order) is about a woman who has… I think an aneurysm and hears everyone singing instead of talking. Broadway musical type singing. Dancing and rhyming and the whole kit and caboodle. Carla sings a song to Turk because he’s always calling her Puerto Rican. She’s not Puerto Rican. She’s Dominican.

The song’s hilarious and it’s great to watch them dance to it. The only line I remember, though, is “I’m not a freakin’ Puerto Rican! I’m Dominican!” So it’s been playing over and over in my head for the last half hour or so.

Yeah, I think I’ve finally cracked.

That is all.

Categories: Rayne Tags: