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Posts Tagged ‘communication’

Quiet, Junior. Let the grown-ups talk.

August 24th, 2012 3 comments

There was a time in my life that I thought I wouldn’t make it as a slave without a kink forum. I spent most of my free time hopping from thread to thread, leaving my opinion. Experience-based opinion, I’d point out, as if that means a hill of beans to the person on the other side of the screen. I’d razz a few excellent sparring partners, pick a couple fights, laugh with my friends at the silliness of it all. Ahh, the good old days.

But then I realized I didn’t really like who that meant I was (the “slave” who talks a good rap, but actually spends most of her day on the forum talking a good rap), and I set out to do something about it.

Boy, have I done something about it. I can’t even find a thing to talk about, these days.

I don’t feel like resaying things that have been said 189,234,590 times, or having the same arguments — often with the same people — over and over again. I’m not interested in explaining in minute detail, lest someone misunderstand something I say, all the ins and outs of what holds true in my life (which I’ll have to say so no one thinks I’m saying it should be that way in theirs) so that someone can then  tell me I’m wrong because I blinked when I should have inhaled, and the cycle of indignant, “I did say it may be different in your relationship.”s can begin again.  Read more…

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The Things We Miss When Life Gets Busy

June 25th, 2011 Comments off

Examples of Required communication in a Higher MODE such as the slave mode: Speech will change depending on the MODE a Master has placed his slave in.
A. “Master” is the Master’s role, title, and name. A slave will always refer to him only as “Master”, “The Master” , “my Master”, “Sir”, or “my Owner” depending on how it is being used in a sentence and to whom the slave is speaking.
B. A slave’s reference to herself is always “Your slave” or “Your property” or “she” as a secondary reference when speaking to her Master. When speaking with others, a slave refers to herself as “this slave” and uses “she” as a secondary reference. A slave will never use the words “me”, “my” or “I”. The only exceptions are that a slave can say “my Master”, “my slave sister”, or “my slavery”
C. A slave says “Sir, Yes Sir, Thank You Sir!” every time the slave:

  • i. Is given any order
  • ii. Is told any piece of information, even if it doesn’t affect her
  • iii. Has her speech or behavior corrected or explained

The slave says “Sir, No Sir, Thank You Sir!” when her response is negative.

I miss this. I mean, we never did the “Sir, yes sir, thank you, sir!” thing. Master tailored it to His liking as He does pretty much everything. And I fought it every step of the way as I do pretty much everything.

This one day, we were driving to work, and He forgot that He’d left me in our version of slave mode. I wasn’t allowed to speak unless spoken to, and He hadn’t spoken to me.

He says, rather sarcastically, “So obviously you have a problem with the way I handled your behavior this morning. Out with it.”

And I blink up at Him and stare for a moment. “What’re you talking about?”

“Well you haven’t said a word since we got in the truck.”

“Master, you left me in slave mode. I’m not allowed to talk unless you do, and you haven’t.”

“Oh. Well. I guess I better take you out of slave mode so you can work.”

I laughed. He glared.

As much as I hate it and rail against it, I miss the formality.

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Melen’s Giveaway Answers

February 20th, 2011 2 comments

K2theF asked:

Would you ever share Rayne with other men?

Yes, and I have in the past. Lately I’ve been keeping her to myself. It really depends on my mood, and it really depends on the guy.

Rayne is also my wife, and I will strike quick and hard against anyone threatening that relationship. Because of that, rayne is usually not allowed to be more than a casual acquaintance with the men I let fuck her. It’s purely for sex.

Which leads me to a common misconception; that men want sex and not anything emotional. I can’t begin to tell you how hard it’s been to find men to fuck rayne and keep emotion out of it. Inevitably they cross the line, getting too personal with attempts at friendship, and more. What ever happened to using some good pussy and moving on? Shesh! Read more…

I don’t know what to call this, so this is what you get.

July 27th, 2010 Comments off

Carrie used this image for a post I wrote over on Eden Cafe a while back. It totally fits, so I stole it.

My period must be coming.  Because I’m falling apart.

Yesterday, I ruined pancakes.  And that was just the beginning.  After ruining pancakes, I promptly ruined my eggs.  After ruining my eggs, I began to drop things, trip over stuff, knock joints on random corners…

To top it off, after writing about not having writer’s block, I ended up hopelessly blocked.  I had two off-site articles I wanted to at least start.  Had the topics already outlined in my mind.  And was able to write exactly jack, and shit.  I managed three forced paragraphs that sound forced, and clipped, and are not at all teeming with my usual wit and hilarity (Shut up.  I am so too funny.).  And I all but melted down.  Read more…

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Censorship vs Laziness

May 8th, 2010 2 comments

This has nothing to do with the following post, but I thought it would be nice to give you an inside glimpse into my weekend. While typing this intro, three times now my fingers have hovered above the keyboard, my mind ordering the words into coherent sentences, when He has said “I want…” I need…” and “Go get me…”. Each time I would go get said item, settle back into the office chair, wrapping the blanket around my legs, dredging back my concept for today, to hear another command sent my direction, always issued nicely, but with no room for objection.
At least He said “Thank you” the last time, or He would have had a very small torx-head screwdriver sticking out of His ear, and wouldn’t He have looked stupid. 😀


I have seen quite a bit of comments and theories about censorship of a slave’s reading materials, internet usage and friend-to-friend communication. The two most common reasons given are:

  1. The Master does not want to have to deal with the slave learning undesirable information or developing a negative/questioning attitude
  2. The Master is limiting information to protect an easily swayed or overwhelmed slave from being inundated and confused on a subject

We will start with reason number one. This is the more problematic reason in my opinion. Most often I have seen Masters professing that they limit the information their slave can access to make sure the Masters’ influence is the only influence. I can see how that would be sound reasoning in the beginning of a relationship, with the Master is just making inroads and rearranging the slave’s thought process. But in an established relationship, where the Master claims they are completely in charge and have thoroughly enslaved the slave? If the enslavement is so thorough, how can the Master’s conditioning of the slave be so easily washed away from the mind of the slave by a few web pages? In other words, if he’s such hot shit about being a Master that she is hopelessly enslaved to him, why such worry about what a few web pages or other broads on the big wide web say? Is the hold on the slave’s mind so tenuous that any contrary information could dissolve it? Read more…

When Oh-no meets A-ha Part 1

February 2nd, 2010 Comments off

The past few weeks have been a bit rough in Casa de la Boonies. i haven’t been the best in the property department. Hell, to be blunt, i haven’t even qualified as a good wife in my opinion. i’ve been restless, snappish and prone to having my feelings hurt for no fucking logical reason. Breathing deep and biting my tongue only gets me so far before i’ve hyperventilated and my tongue is hanging by a thread. Finally, after two weeks of pain and harsh words and late night talks, i think i’ve finally screwed my head back on fairly straight.

It started with N going out bowling. He does this every other Thursday, from when He gets off work until 9:45 or so at night. He throws a few down the lane, has a drink or two, bullshits with His teammates and ogles the women in the Women’s League down the alley. He says He needs it to unwind and just get away. To my logical form of thought (please stop laughing), it mostly makes sense.  It costs Him $20 plus the drinks, so i guess it is a good investment. Unfortunately, since we’ve moved out here, i’ve come to resent Thursdays. They make me on edge, resentful, emotional. He comes home and tells me about the great time He had and all i hear is “I went out and looked at girls and had a great time while you sat here with three cabin-fever afflicted boys and sat staring out the window pulling your hair out hating me for having such a great time. How’s it feel, bitch?”  No wonder He isn’t in any hurry to come home those nights.

Money’s been tight lately, and i’ve gone without things so that the rest of the house can function somewhat normally. So it really chaps my ass to think of Him blowing 20 bucks on something as frivolous as bowling. i mean, fuck, what exactly does He need to escape? He isn’t trapped in this house, with these kids, here for a week or two at a time,  denying Himself things so the kids can have nice enough clothes. (Heh.  i’m angling for sainthood.)

Then it hit me after i came uncunted that night. After a long, bitter drawn out guerrilla warfare in my mind, He pointed out a few things that i had apparently forgot:

  • i’m the bottom bitch. Property. Slave. The only say in how things are run is the say He gives me. And He didn’t ask.
  • It’s not my place to say how the money is spent. Not my money.
  • Definitely not my place to be lecturing Him about my wants.
  • My ego was getting too big for its britches.

It hurt. Bad. i had been so grossly disobedient and out of line. The worst part was having my ego put in check. i fucking all out hate dislike being stuck here on this farm, with telephone as my only communication with other people aside from Him. In the summer, not so bad, i can go outside and garden, or chase the kids, or even just bask in the sun. During the winter, it’s dark by 5 at the darkest point of winter. i can’t let the kids out because of the wind chills. i have even gone as far as resenting our beautiful, intelligent children because they tether me to this hateful house. i figured this should be top priority over Him wanting to hang with the boys. And i was wrong.  His wants come before some of my needs. It stung to realize this. It hurt to think that my sanity meant less than His desire to hang with friends.  i cried myself to sleep that night.

It slowly got better for me, as i started to accept my fate. Thursdays aren’t going away. He isn’t going to cave to my demands, no matter how shrill i scream. And even though it makes me hiss and growl at Him every Thursday after He comes home, i find small solace in knowing that no matter the fits i throw, the emotional blackmail i might try, He won’t be swayed. He won’t relent if He doesn’t want to. i have no right to expect, much less demand that my wants come before His.

He won’t back down and relinquish ownership just because i said so.

That, that little gem of truth, makes all the fucking Thursdays worth it.

Just don’t remind me of that Friday morning.

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