I promised a list of why I’m a princess, huh?

1. My owner loves me.
2. He’s so interested in my thoughts and emotions that He requires me to share them with Him.
3. He listens to me.
4. He occasionally acts on what He hears me say.
5. I’m pampered.
6. I’m cuddled.
7. I’m taken care of.
8. He makes sure I understand why I’m being punished before punishing me.
9. He usually stops beating me (physically and emotionally) when I can’t take anymore.  Even when I try to take more than I’m able to please Him.  Unless it amuses Him to continue beating me.  It does, sometimes.
10. I’ve been at this seven years and I’m right back at the beginning.  I need training.  Not only do I need training, but I’ve been trained before.  So one could say I need retraining.
11. I need punishment.  Frequently.
12. I throw temper tantrums.  Frequently.
13. I need to be knocked on my ass.  Not quite as frequently.
14. He helps me with the chores.  Sometimes.
15. He backs off when something else is kicking me.  Mostly.
16. He tries to understand where I’m coming from and take my intent into consideration.  Unless it’s still bullshit.  Then all bets are off.
17. I fight sometimes.  Hard.
18. I push His buttons.
19. I kick Him while He’s down.
20. I ran away once.

I’m not proud of it.  I used to be damn good at manipulation, what can I say? And if I can manipulate a situation, I will. Cause if I can manipulate you (you universal, not specific… I try this shit in some friendships, work situations, family life…) into giving me a smidge of control, I decide you’re weak.  And then I snatch the reins.

He’s (mostly) not entertaining my bullshit anymore.  It’s kind of a slap in the face.

I kinda needed a slap in the face.

So, yeah.  You’re slavier than me.  You know it.  I know it.  Let’s get passed it.  K? K.

So let’s see…

I slid backwards a bit, this weekend.  I was disobedient and disrespectful.  But it led to what appears to be a pretty big eureka moment for Master.

When things finally calmed down, He told me I was going to be punished for my behavior.  Then He said, “But if I beat you, you might get some tears and cry a little bit.  But you’ll still get horny, huh?”

And I kind of blinked at Him for a second and then nodded.

“So in that case, don’t touch Twitter at all, today, and you’re not allowed to use your PDA unless we read before bed for a week.”

Suck.

The whole situation was really stupid.  I mean, Master was right to be mad.  I was disobedient.  That I made it spin as far out of control as it did was the stupid part.

I’m still kind of reeling from it.  I always feel like an asshole after arguing with Him.  Especially when I finally calm down and He points out all the ways I could have made my point respectfully.  And even more so when He still makes a point to address my issue even though I was a cunt about it.

I’m having nightmares because of it.  Sunday night, I dreamed Master gave me away to some random dominant who was really rather creepy.  In behaviors, not aesthetics.  Last night, I dreamed He told me to give Him some breathing room.  I immediately woke up.  It was so real.  Almost as if we had been having a conversation and exhaustion overtook me and those words woke me up.  I had to ask Him whether or not it was a dream this morning.

That’s stupid, too.  Master’s not a quitter and He’s quite the pack-rat.  If He lost interest in the romantic part of our relationship, He’d just keep me for the rest of it and find someone else to fulfill that part of His life.  And He’d never ask for breathing room.  He enjoys having His partner so close He can’t breathe.  That’s part of why He keeps me on lock-down.

I’m not doing so well with ignoring my paranoia.  But I’m also just rounding the last bend in the road out of PMSville.  So I’ll just chalk it up to that and hope it gets better as the days pass.

I dropped a Stoneware cereal bowl on my foot last night.  Nothing appears to be broken, but it’s bruised pretty good and hurts like a son of a bitch.  I can’t sit in my favorite positions because it makes my entire leg hurt.  Which means, naturally, that every time I go to the bathroom I accidentally kick the wall or the sink.  If it’s not broken now, it will be by the end of the week.

Master’s talking about training me to respond to verbal commands.  And I’m thinking to myself, “Don’t I already do that?” But He’s talking about things like “heel” and “freeze” and… Well, and those are the only examples He’s given me so far.

I’ve gotta get over feeling silly about things like that.

I think that’s all I’ve got, today.

<3

And I nodded through my sobs, relief and gratitude washing over me.

I pushed a little too hard last night.  Master is no longer content to let me lead.  He’s clipped leash to collar (both literally and figuratively) and is dragging me along behind Him.

I won’t rehash the argument.  It doesn’t matter what was said.  Even if I had valid points – and I’m not even sure I did anymore – it’s kind of difficult to argue with, “I’m the master.  Not you.”

It would be so much easier if I’d remember that from the instant I get upset.

I’m still confused.  I have the right and responsibility to go to Him with problems, but I’m required to live by the “Master is always right.” creed.  I’m sure there’s a happy medium in there, somewhere, but I tend to jump from one extreme to the next.  “Oh.  You’re always right, huh? So, you don’t care if I have a problem.  You’re not interested in my happiness.”

I did say that to Him.  His response?

“You’re right.  When you’re being a cunt and ignoring my orders and disobeying my rules, I don’t give a flying fuck about your happiness.”

I kind of blinked at Him for a second.  It’s not fair for Him to be logical! That’s just fighting dirty!

He was going to release me.  It was a good long time before I could swallow my pride and ask beg Him not to.  I often say I don’t even know how to beg.  I sure figured it out in a hurry last night.

Long ago in a land not so far away (Three streets over, in fact.), when we had a spat or I was in trouble, one of the first things I would do was lick Him.  Anywhere I could reach.  Until He told me to stop or fucked me or… something.  It calmed Him down and made it easier to converse with Him.  Read more…

So I’ve got welts on my ass and they’re not the fun kind. But I needed it. It’s been ages. My behavior was starting to show how long it had been.

I could have asked for another week when I realized my period was going to start. He probably would have said no, but I could have asked! At least then He would have known that I wasn’t sure I could handle both. Instead, I figured I’d just quit like us quitters do.

And I’m okay. Really. Yesterday I could have sat down and smoked a whole friggin’ pack in five minutes. But I’m okay.

Five days under my belt and counting. I don’t see it as an accomplishment for me, though, so much as an accomplishment for Him. All I have to do is obey. That part’s usually easy. The hard part is dealing with how bitchy and emotional I am. And He’s handling it like a champ.   Read more…

So Master and I are both sick now. And we’re cranky. And we’re tired. And… it’s painful.

Yesterday, I came home from work and He asked what I wanted for dinner. I… pretty much ignored Him after making one suggestion I knew He’d say no to. To say He was perturbed would be putting it lightly. But I was busy, damn it! Trying to catch up the club we both admin on dA. And He. wasn’t. helping.

I asked Him a question and when He didn’t respond the way I wanted Him to, I began to slam things around and stomp my feet. I was, in short, acting like a child. He responded in kind sending me to His room “until I tell you to come out.” Let the punishment fit the crime, I guess.

The weird thing? I didn’t even go away angry. I went away confused.

Usually when I’m mad already and He doesn’t like my behavior and punishes me (especially by corporal means) I just get madder. I feel wronged and abused and neglected and misunderstood (not that any of those things matter… it’s just how I feel). Until I stop being a bitch and actually see things the way I should have looked at them to begin with.

Yesterday I was completely calm. And I thought, “It’s about time.” And I went and sat on the floor in the bedroom and scribbled in my journal about how childish I was and how I was afraid He was going to come into the bedroom and make me forget that I was sorry I misbehaved (that whole feeling wronged and getting madder thing)and how I would probably let my mouth get the better of me. I wasn’t even sure I was allowed to do anything but sit somewhere but I wanted proof that immediately after I realized I was fucking up I also knew what I’d done wrong and I was sorry. Just in case I did stupidly let my mouth get the better of me. So I could say I’d done right originally. Until He made me madder.

How fucking petty am I?

But I at least thought my intentions were good. At the time.

He came in the bedroom and said something. I don’t remember exactly what it was. And I started out “Yes, Master” and “No, Master”ing Him. Until I could feel my irritation at being scolded about something I’d already scolded myself about rising. Then, in an even tone and without a hint of sarcasm, I said something to the effect of, “I meant to apologize for acting like a child when you came in here. But you started talking and I didn’t have a chance.”

I’m not sure why He paused. Probably sheer shock that I could even behave that maturely. I don’t often admit I’m wrong at home. Without being shown (sometimes violently) why I’m wrong, that is. And even then, sometimes, I concede only to soothe the beast. I admit I’m wrong privately, after. Generally speaking, though, that only happens with the few parts of slavery I’m still fighting tooth and nail. Yes, it is possible to be a slave and still fight parts of it. And sometimes… when it doesn’t seem to shatter the very ground we walk on… sometimes I think Master enjoys grabbing the ram (I’m an Aries, not a Taurus!) by the horns and holding on for the ride. Knocking me down after is fun.

My “Self-Loathing” post sparked some interesting reactions. People always get their hackles up when you mention being called worthless.

Master says my worth is ultimately judged by Him and no one else. It doesn’t matter that I’m a damn good worker. It doesn’t matter that I’ve been working a thankless job for ungrateful people at minimum wage for over a year. It wouldn’t matter if I was Angelina Jolie doing all the humanitarian work in the world and then breaking to get on the big screen before putting my African baby to bed and collapsing myself. It’s still His to decide whether I’m worth anything or not.

And that’s the way I like it. Because that makes dealing with my self-esteem problems a little easier. Only having to worry about what He thinks of me and not the rest of the handful of people I interact with on a daily basis quiets the niggling voices that go round and round in my head.

But it also serves other purposes.

Reminding me that He decides my worth works well for training purposes. It puts emphasis on trying to gain His good favor, and, by proxy, worth. It further increases the objectification we all strive for so much by making it imperative that I perform well to be seen as useful in His eyes. It reminds me that at any time I could be stripped of everything I view as “mine” and left completely to my own devices.

It also works well in humiliation play and sex. Not for everyone, mind. But for me. Sometimes there’s nothing I like to hear more than “You worthless little bitch. No one cares about you. I can do whatever I want with you and no one would give a shit.” Or any other combination of words basically saying the same thing. It’s not necessarily true. My job cares about me. If only because they’d be utterly screwed without me. A point I can’t wait to drive home if/when we ever get things straight financially.

Sometimes He says it when He’s angry. And those are the times I hate it. Because I’m already reciting it in my head. “Dumb, worthless cunt can’t get anything right. What the fuck is wrong with me? Will I ever do anything right? Stupid bitch. He’s gonna go find another slave who’s actually worth her salt. Dumb, worthless cunt.”

But sometimes I need to hear it from Him. As much as it breaks my heart. Sometimes I need to realize I’m getting cocky and treading in shark-infested waters. I need to be knocked down a notch or two. And the quickest way to do it is to tell me I’m worthless. It ties into that whole “People need different kinds of punishment.” thing.