“Helping”

Sir is not feeling well ~ a cold, allergies ~ one of those kinds of things.

i want to help.  i want to take Him chicken soup, rub His feet, fluff His pillow.

Now understand that i’m not really very good at any of that sickbed stuff, and in fact, i get bored with it pretty quickly.  i mean, once you’ve fed, rubbed, and fluffed, what’s left?

But the urge to do it is strong today.

When i’m sick, i mostly prefer to be left alone, with little bits of attention from time to time.  But mostly i just want to sleep.

And actually, Sir seems to be pretty much that way too.  

But we’d planned to do something tonight.  

i’ve been particularly looking forward to it, partly because Thursday, i have to go to the funeral home.   It’s  the kind of funeral home thing where i’m close to the survivor and knew the deceased, and it was a sudden death, and i will need to stay a fairly long time, and i’m totally not looking forward to it, of course. .  Sir has offered to accompany me, which is sweet, and makes me feel good, but of course i don’t want him to spend several hours there, and He couldn’t take off work for it anyhow, which i’m going to do, so ~ yeah, i don’t know exactly what to plan.  We’ll see

In any case, tonight would be a pleasure, time for us.  

The munch is this Saturday, and i’d like to go to that, although we haven’t talked about it yet, but He’s usually good with that.  So then for sure i want alone time tonight.  And ~ and ~

~ of course if He’s sick, He’ll need ~~~ um, what?

You know, i want to jump up and down, wave my arms, and call out, “Let me help!! me!  me!!  Call on me!! i’ll be right over!” 

Yeah.  Probably not so helpful.

So i’m letting go.  i know that He knows i want to help.

Um, actually, i might have done the jumping up and down, waving my hand in the air thing last night.  Figuratively that is.

So i’ll back off.  Wait for Him tell me what He needs tonight.  That’s what helping is really about, right?

Sigh…

This is a symbolic sitting at His feet  and waiting for instructions.  i know that.  i get that.

It’s just not nearly as much fun as doing it for real, with all the sensual underpinning of leaning into Him, touching and stroking and…

ok, enough of that.  i can’t do those things, certainly not right now.

i will not email Him to tell Him i want to help.  i will not email Him to tell Him that i’m not going to tell Him how much i want to help.  

i have already sent Him my “good morning” email.  

i need to remember, this is not about me.  i don’t need to ask Him to reassure me that He’ll let me help if He wants me to.  i don’t need to give Him permission not to need help.  

This is not about me.

They also serve who only stand and wait.  

The Four Agreements (Four)

Smiling Soul describes the Fourth Agreement as it was discussed in the workshop.  She says:

Always Do Your Best
Not necessarily The Best. Only your best.

It is impossible to be perfect.

He doesn’t want someone who is obsessed with perfection. Too much energy is spent with achieving your idea of perfection. Often there isn’t enough energy for Him. She (slave namaste) was really into a Martha Stewart type of home. He didn’t want that much time put into how a house looked perfect. He would often ask her to leave the dirty dishes in the sink or drink their wine in  paper cups to teach her to put things into perspective.

I think we often are perfectionists and it could be to our demise; not only with our dynamics but in life, too.

“Hi, i’m  aisha, and i’m a recovering perfectionist.”

All that about “it doesn’t have to be THE best, just your best…”  Hmpf.  Useless.

The website says:

“Your best is going to change from moment to moment; it will be different when you are healthy as opposed to sick. Under any circumstance, simply do your best, and you will avoid self-judgment, self-abuse, and regret.”

And all i can think is, y’all don’t understand.  If you even say the “B” word, it sends a rush of anxiety right through me.

Sigh.

i can decide to clean the kitchen.  i’ll be cruising along, dishes all in the washer, wiping counters, then i get to the stove top.  It’s an ancient stove.  The more i clean, the more i see wrong.  i have an old toothbrush i keep for nooks and crannies.  i’ll clean with that for a while.  But the deep, almost hidden dirt is still out of reach.

A toothpick.  A toothpick with a bit of paper towel wrapped around the tip is just what i need.  Now i can get to that finely hidden dirt…

and half an hour…

forty-five minutes later, i’m still cleaning the stove top.  Trying to do “my best.”

Thank goodness i don’t have to do my best all the time.  Sometimes, i just need it to be “good enough.”

“Good enough” is actually a technical psychological term ~ no, i’m not kidding.  D. W. Winnicutt developed the concept of the “good enough mother,” and if you’d like to know more about it, this is a pretty good basic description of the concept.

Shorter version – if mothers were perfect, it wouldn’t really be good for their children, they’d be totally unprepared for the real world.  The goal is not to be your “best” all the time.  We just need to be “good enough.”   

Seriously, if you’re not familiar with Winnicutt’s ideas, go read about it now… i’ll wait.

Ok, wasn’t that cool?  So i try to apply the same basic idea to all aspects of my life.  There is surely a “good enough” threshold for cleaning the stove.  It’s something short of my personal best, which would require almost endless scrubbing.

The truth is, for me, it’s easy to go for “good enough” on most domestic chores.  Not really an issue.  It’s more difficult in other parts of my life.

Work.  Relationships.  Even writing.  Just think how crazy i could make myself.  Do you realize that every single day i have dozens of opportunities ~ maybe hundreds of them ~ to do “my best” on something?  

Conversations with staff.  Endless emails.  Sessions with clients.  Meetings, many of which i facilitate.  Paperwork.  Every single one of those things has a goal, a purpose.  Every single one of them is an opportunity to be done well or poorly.

Good grief. 

Often, my “best” is limited by time anyhow, and sometimes i think i procrastinate so i don’t have time to endlessly tweak and tinker with whatever i’m doing.

i wonder if part of the charm of submission is that when i let go of being in charge, i can let go of judging myself.  Not  ~ like dinner, where i don’t actually know what He wants, that makes me anxious.  

But when He’s there and He tells me or shows me what He wants, i can fully let go.  That’s what training’s about, isn’t it?  Learning to do it His way so i don’t have to worry.  

i know, i sound a little crazed for real today, don’t i?  Can’t help it, this is where the idea of doing my “best” takes me.

So i don’t care how many qualifiers and explanations you tack on to the B word, it still strikes me as overwhelming.  Blood pressure up, heart pounding.

That’s why i’m just not buying it.  i won’t commit to doing “my best.”  “Good enough” is good enough for me.  

“Hi, i’m aisha and i’m a recovering perfectionist.”

The Four Agreements (Three)

Smiling Soul says: 

Don’t Make Assumptions
“This one agreement can transform your life.” Communication done right with clarity will avoid many misunderstandings and difficulties in your dynamic.

You should feel free to ask for what you want.  It doesn’t mean you will get it right then, but you may later. (There was more presented in the class, but Smiling Soul was translating into sign language for someone and lost part of this one.)

My take: I think making requests gives your Dom the insight to your desires. Master often asks me if there is anything I need during our time together. I have learned to ask for sexual release when I really need it (especially with orgasm control). He learned when I get horny and in what cycle.

i like to think i do fine with this.  And i do – in the sense that i really work at not assuming that someone else is thinking a particular thing.  i avoid mind-reading fairly well.

Plus, i learned that stupid caveat about “assuming” fairly young.  You know ~ “What do you do when you assume?  You make an ass of “u” and “me.”  

Yeah.  And i hate how often i hear that in my head. 

But just when i’m congratulating myself on not assuming, i notice that pesky “feel free to ask for what you want” clause.

Sheesh.

i’ve talked about my issues with that enough times already.  i’m getting so much better about it, but i still HATE asking.  i guess some things never get easy.

i guess tomorrow i’ll tackle the “Do your best” agreement.  Youall know i have big issues with that too, right?  Apparently, i’m just a big ole bundle of issues.

Yeah.  But i’m not even going there today.  Instead ~~

*******************************

i kneel at His feet.  His hand wraps my hair, holding me tight.

“Ask,” He says.

Feeling confident, half-smiling, i nod toward His cock, well, as best i can nod with His hand in my hair.  More a slight tilting of my head.  

“May i?” i say, eyebrows slightly raised.

“That’s not asking,” He says.  “You’re taking it for granted I’m going to say yes.  I wouldn’t count on that.  If you want it, you’d better ask better than that.”

A wave of humiliation runs through me.  My heart sinks, my stomach drops.  

i look at His cock, out of reach of my mouth, His hand in my hair prevents me from coming any closer.

“Open your mouth.” He says.  He moves my head til i’m closer, but still out of reach.  

With my mouth open, i can almost taste Him, almost, so close, so close, i lean a little ~~

“No,” He says.  “Stay right where you are.”  He shakes my head, just a bit, emphasizing the point.

i am poised, but forbidden.

After a long, long moment, He says, “Ask if you want it.”

“Sir,” i begin, eyes on His cock, “May i please, Sir, taste Your cock?”

“Taste it?” He says.

“Yes, Sir.  Please may i kiss and lick Him?  Please, let me please Him with my mouth.”

“Kiss and lick?” He says.  “I don’t know…”

“And suck,” i say eagerly.  “Kiss and lick and suck.  Take Him deep in my mouth, sucking and licking, and pleasing.  Please, Sir?”

He smiles.  “There.  That’s better.  That’s how you ask.”  

He pauses, just long enough for me to wonder if He will turn me down.    Then ~

“Yes, you may.” He says.

And i do. 

i Needed That…

My Sir has been working every day for three weeks.   Not just a little bit, but long hours every day.  Yesterday was not an exception.

So it was after 7:00 when He got to my house.  i had cooked ~ pasta, which is what He’d asked for, even though it’s not on my diet.  But i made eggplant parmesan, following the recipe that is on my diet, for me.  

i used the same sauce for both, starting with a tomato-basil-garlic jar of sauce, and adding sautéed mushroom, onion, and meatless meat.   The eggplant was done, and i let the sauce for His pasta simmer while i waited for HIm.  Then it took just a few minutes to cook the pasta ~ angel hair.

We had a small side salad.  i had gotten some fancy, organic thousand island dressing, which is what He likes, but forgot to ask Him if it tasted any better than regular.

i made some chocolate covered strawberries, which He likes a lot,  for dessert.

i burnt the first piece of garlic bread i put in the oven ~ just got sidetracked and forgot about it ~ but threw in another piece and managed not to burn it.

When cooking is part of my service to Sir, i’m a little awkward with it.  Christmas dinner for 15 takes about the same amount of fussing, in my mind anyhow.  Fretting about whether or not He’ll mind fake meat, whether or not i should get whole wheat pasta, forgetting to put the wax paper on the plate before i do the  strawberries, and feeling upset because they’re going to stick to the plate….

… most of which are things that He’s not going to notice or care much about.

Sheesh.  

But there is pleasure in it too, even in the fussing over it.  Not as much pleasure as there is in, um, cock worship,  for example, right?  Probably not as much pleasure for either of us.  But still.

He is tired, and is not eating well, and wanted pasta, and it is my pleasure to provide what He wants and needs in a way that pleases.

After dinner. after dessert, we sit in the living room.  i start a fire in the fireplace, and sit at His feet.  

He puts a collar on me, the one with the padlock.  i love the sound of the lock clicking closed.  

He removes my shirt.

He plays with my nipples, teasing and tweaking til they are tender, a little sore.  

He shows me a new knot He’s learned ~  tying my wrists, the rope encircles my wrist, and wraps around my hand.  He ties it so there’s a knot in the palm of my hand so that ~

~ when He has led me to the door, and my arms are pulled high, suspended over my head, there is a knot for me to hold on to.  It is comforting as He exposes my ass,

and begins to spank, quickly turning it pink with His hand.  

Then the flogger…

And then the spoon.  The heavy wooden spoon that lands with a THWACK, leaves a stinging tingle and a red circle…

followed by the rope ~ ah!  O, it stings and burns… and while He’s doing it, He’s pinching a nipple ~ well, and doing that when He was using the spoon too,

so i am turned on and gasping from pleasure and pain.  Whimpering.  When His hand probes between my legs, i am so wet, it makes Him smile.

“Yes,” He says, “Good.  Good girl.”

And when He unties me, leads me to His workbench, bends me over it, fastening my hands so i am draped, head down, almost on my toes…

and His hands probe and rub, caress until i’m cumming, cumming so hard i ~

am embarrassed to tell you about the puddle i leave on the floor under me.  Yikes.

And then He unties me and takes me to bed.

He spends the night, next to me, i can feel Him behind me, and around me.

i sleep with my collar, and when i half-wake in the night, i feel the padlock, resting heavy in the hollow just under my throat.

The Four Agreements – continued

Here’s what Smiling Soul said about the next agreement:

Don’t Take Anything Personally
When a Dom or Master asks you to do something it doesn’t necessarily mean He is unsatisfied with you or your service. It could have nothing to do with you. 

Namaste gave an example in her own experience. Master Obsidian requested a potted plant be moved to the other side of the window after it was placed at the window six months ago. She immediately thought He was unhappy with the plant’s placement for six months. She asked Him if was displeased where she put it. He said, “No. I just wanted it moved to the other side. Nothing more.” She realized she had put too much importance to the request and it had nothing to do with her. 

 

We as subs/slaves do this all the time. We try to second guess our Owner’s purpose or intent. He would communicate if there was a connection to you. My take on this one: How freeing on one’s mental state! You mean it isn’t about me? smiles

 

When i first read this one, it reminded me of my what my mother used to say when i was self-conscious about my appearance.
She’d point out, blunt and succinct, that other people were not paying nearly as much attention to me as i thought they were.  But ~ but ~

~ well, i was pretty sure sometimes they were.  {laughing…}   and i KNEW if i wore THAT they’d all be looking and laughing at me!

Seriously though.  This agreement reminds me that the world doesn’t actually revolve around me.  That i am not the main character ~ not the hero ~in anyone else’s story.  {Or heroine.  But why does hero make me think of a superman cape and heroine of being tied to the train tracks and screaming for rescue?  Ok, that’s another post…}

Anyhow.  Not the center of the universe.

It’s hard sometimes to recognize the reaction for the egotism it is though because it’s often humble, self-blaming.  Like Namaste, we think, “O, did i have the plant in the wrong place before?”

Is it my fault he didn’t call?  What did i do wrong?  She didn’t speak to me, i haven’t heard from her…  Is he mad at me?  Is she?

So, here’s a quick balance ~~ maybe sometimes they are mad at me, maybe sometimes i did do something that wasn’t actually my best choice.  O, gosh, i have to brace myself for this ~ maybe ~ maybe i’m not perfect!

{Much wailing and gnashing of teeth…}

Yeah.  There i am, back to that egotistical self.

Both my parents had a wide perfectionistic streak.  It’s an ongoing battle for me to let go of the need to be good ~ better ~ best ~ all the time.

i work at reminding myself that it’s ok for other people to feel what they feel, perceive their experiences differently from the way i do.  It’s ok for it not to be about me.  For them to not even be considering me.

With my Sir, this is easier because of how He is.  

i have been seduced before by the magic of “you make me happy.”  Even when i’ve known better, i’ve gotten sucked in by new versions of that story.

If they – if “he” believes that, for real, then sooner or later, when he doesn’t “feel happy,” he’s likely to look for what i’ve done that’s reduced his happiness factor.  After all, if i made the “happy” happen, then i must be withholding it now.

My Sir is not like that.  He is way too aware of His own ~ His own self ~ to make me the author of His happiness.

O, i please Him.  Make no mistake about that…  But i’m not responsible for making Him happy.  So whether He’s happy or not ~ i don’t have to take it personally.  i can accept Him the way He is, and love Him without worrying about how it affects Him

i can be me, and let Him be who He is.

Smiling Soul and BOLD 2012

My friend, Smiling Soul, who you may know through comments here and on other blogs, went to BOLD 2012 with her Master this month.  A leather conference “Defining Male Dominant/Female Submissive Het Leather Dynamic,” you can go here for more information about the conference in general.

i had asked Smiling Soul to tell me about the classes and workshops she went to, and she’s started that process.  i want to share part of what she told me about a class by slave namaste, who you can read about right here.

Here’s part of what SS told me:

The Four Agreements for Surrendered Hearts by slave namaste
This class is based on the book The Four Agreements by don Miguel Ruiz. I am guessing you have heard of or even read this book.

slave namaste felt the four agreements are very useful for the sub/slave in their interactions with their Doms/Masters.  Although there was more to this class than what I am going to focus on here, I think the four agreements are the most important. The four agreements are

1. Be Impeccable with your Word
2. Don’t Take Anything Personally
3. Don’t Make Assumptions, and
4. Always Do Your Best.

Here is a link to a website that gives a brief explanation of each agreement. http://www.toltecspirit.com/ I really like this website btw.

I will take each of the four agreements and apply to the D/s or M/s dynamic
1.  Be Impeccable with your Word
Always be honest and say what you mean. The information you give to your Dom or Master is useful to Him to be sure to provide the best guidance or protection. As I say, communication is the key. I would also add to think carefully before you communicate. My added thought: I think it is important to get at what you are really asking. We often think we are saying what we mean, but in reality we mean a different thing.

i read the book The Four Agreements several years ago.  At the time, it had seemed sound but simplistic.  i sort of nodded, “o, yes, of course,” and went on.

Today, as i think about how it applies to my relationship with Sir, i am more interested.  

As a child, a teenager, even a younger adult, i was not always “impeccable with my word.”  Um, actually, i lied to authority on a fairly regular basis.  i lied about all kinds of things.

i lied about where i was going, what i was going to do when i got there, and who i was going to be doing it with.  i lied about why i didn’t have my homework, and occasionally about whether or not i’d cleaned the bathroom.   i lied so i could do what i wanted to do, and i lied to keep people from being mad at me or upset with me.

i was a good liar.  Believable.  i looked innocent and virtuous.  People tended to believe me.  And i didn’t usually get caught.

i suppose i should feel bad about it now, feel guilty and ashamed.  But i don’t.  i read somewhere that people lie when they don’t think they can get their needs met by telling the truth, and i think there’s wisdom there.  

i know that developmentally, there’s a stage at which young children need to lie.  They’re discovering that they’re capable of dissembling -up to that point, they think people {especially mom or dad} actually can read their minds.  It’s part of our psychological growth to discover that it’s possible to deceive.  

Anyhow, this is not really the confessional, and if there are righteously honest subsisters out there, i’m sure they’re appalled by me.  And that’s ok too.  

i lied about facts, mostly.  Particularly as i got older, it became a point of honor not to lie about things that i thought mattered.  i never told anyone i loved them unless i did.   Never promised something i didn’t intend to follow through on.  And it became really important to me that i be honest with myself.  

Nowadays ~ i hardly ever purposely lie.  

My mother was an “I always tell the truth, I NEVER lie” kind of person, and she wasn’t so good with shades of gray.  You know me, i live in the gray.  And ~

There are so many ways of being less than impeccable with one’s word.  Sometimes, we don’t know our own truths ~ does that count as a lie?  What if someone asks me something and it’s none of their business?  Do i have to say “nunya?”  Or can i evade?

What if i let someone believe something that isn’t 100% true?  Am i obligated to delve into their assumptions and correct them?

What if my choice to tell the truth will hurt someone else?  Am i obligated to do it then?

Maybe that’s why i didn’t pursue this agreement back when i first read it.   i’m not saying it’s not true and valuable, it is.  It just didn’t speak to me.  On the other hand ~~

~~ when i think about it in context of my relationship with my Sir ~~

well, yes.  i want to be as honest with Him as humanly possible.  As transparent as it’s possible to be.  Absolutely.  

And the thought of it turns me on a little bit.  Don’t ask me what that’s about.  It just does.

{Thanks, Smiling Soul, for sharing your experience and getting me started on this – hope you don’t mind the strange path this post took…}

Saturday

Saturday, He has a plan.

i don’t know what it is.  Yet.

He says it is more than dinner.

More than touching and stroking and caressing.

More than fucking.

i had a miserable day at work on Tuesday.  

It looked like some good things that we expected to happen, weren’t going to.  i could have been ok with that.  Then it looked like some really bad things were going to happen, and lots of people – clients and staff – were going to suffer because of it.  It looked like the good things were lost through corporate negligence, and the bad things coming through another organization’s bureaucratic rigidity and my organization’s mindless indifference and acceptance.

I was distraught.

This was on top of the usual issues and problems, catastrophes and misery.

i was overwhelmed. 

So on Tuesday, we were supposed to have gone out for dinner, and He thought we needed some down time instead.  So we ate in, and He calmed and soothed me.   He took care of me.

i felt better, and appreciated it. 

Then He warned me.  About Saturday.

He says it will be structured.  

He says, “you can relax and submit and I will do the rest, or rather, you will do the rest, as I dictate. No decisions, no worries, just submit.”

i know ~ He tells me ~ there will be  a red ass involved (mine.)

Then, late yesterday afternoon, the new, overwhelming issues at work got resolved.  Yep.

The good things are happening.  The bad things are not.

That’s partly cause i put a bunch of energy into arguing and persuading and playing with numbers and making phone calls, and so did some other people, and then some people had to listen and act on what we were saying, and now?

It’s all good.

So i was doing happy dances all over the place.  Then ~ i had this horrible thought ~

what if Sir was just doing whatever He was going to do on Saturday because i had been so upset?  What if He changed His plans now that i was ok?

Yes, i know that was goofy, goofy, goofy.  But at the moment, it made perfect sense.

And really ~ my 2nd husband?  That’s how he was.  He was at his best when i was at my worst.  If i could have just stayed messed up, or sick, or pathetic in some way, we might still be married.

Giggling.. really, that’s the truth.  

But i had this scary moment of “what if?”  

So ~ i asked Him.  i was kinda proud of myself for asking.  And at first He didn’t even understand what i was talking about, so i explained my worry, and admitted it was goofy, and He said:

“No my Saturday plans were not just to appease your upset little self,   The Dom in me reminds you that it would not be that way… No it’s much deeper than that.”

And my heart thrilled.  i can’t wait.

Fantasy Goes On…

My memories of the preparation of my body by the three woman  fade quickly ~ the hand between my legs continues probing, penetrating me in both places.  My hips rise off the table, where i’m splayed open~~

“Don’t.  Move.”  He says again.  

Another hand ~ His?  Someone else’s?  presses my knee down, exposing my inner thigh, a slap lands.  Another.  i struggle not to move, freezing, while the hand between my legs continues to probe, and ~

someone pulls at my nipples.  

i whimper.

“She gets wet easily enough,” someone says, and the hand between my legs withdraws.  i struggle not to wiggle towards the hand, i want more, i want Him back ~

~ humiliated to realize what a slut i am.  And yet ~

the hands on my nipples have elongated them, holding the right one firmly, something attaches to it ~ omigod ~

i feel my pussy clench.

Someone laughs.

The other nipple is stretched and something ~ a clamp ~ of course, it’s a clamp, but my words are not coming easily ~

it is all sensation ~

O, it hurts, i bite my lip,

distracted then by hands that push my knees to my chest, raising my ass, exposing me further.

Something hard and cold and slick ~ 

~ so hard and cold ~

pushes against my asshole, and i would have struggled to avoid it  ~

hands on my thighs hold me still, i am pinned, i can’t move ~

as it forces its way into my narrower entrance, a hole that has not been penetrated til tonight.

i whimper.

A finger laid on my clit, and i shiver ~

pleasure or pain, i don’t know, my nipples throb, the thing forcing its way into me slides deeper~~

i moan

and Someone laughs.

“She’s easy,” He says.

Whose voice?

i don’t know.

“Easy, and she’ll be fun to train.  Careful now, don’t let her cum.”

and i realize i am close, on the verge, when the finger on my clit withdraws and my hips thrust into the air again, seeking touch ~~

Birthdays, Wishes, and Fantasies

Today is my birthday and my friend Jade reminded me to make a birthday wish.  i’m glad she did.  

Last year ~ which seems like yesterday, you know how it is as you get older ~ Jade made a big thing of telling me to make a birthday wish, and so i didn’t just do it off the top of my head right  before blowing out the birthday candles.  i put some energy into thinking about it.

And it came true.

Yep.  It really did.  

So i’m gonna do the same thing this year.

Now granted, there are lots of other things that went into last year’s wish coming true, lots of energy i’d already put into the wish, lots of work i did after.  But you never know, maybe the wish tipped the balance of the universe.

i have so much already, i’m so fortunate in so many ways, it almost seems greedy to wish for more, but i’ll do it anyway.  Last year, my wishes were romantic, relationship-centered, this year they’re career, vocation-based.  [Is it cheating to say that much?}

And part of it is being open to the universe, right?  Flowing with what crosses my path…

************************************

“Don’t move,” He says.

Blindfolded, lying  on my back, knees bent, spread open.  My pussy exposed.  My hands are tied together, fastened above my head.    i do not know who’s in the room, or how many.

His hand probes between my legs.  

They have already shaved me, prepared me for this.  Showered, shaved, perfumed.  

The women doing it, the women who wash me, get me ready, do not talk to me, do not allow me to question them.  When i start to, one of them, the oldest of the three, looks at me sternly.

“We can gag you,” she says.  “Or you can be quiet.”

i am quiet, while they strip my clothes from me.  They make me kneel, face to the ground, ass in the air, hold my ass cheeks open ~ something ~ i don’t know what ~ they insert something ~ plastic?  Could it be plastic?  into my asshole.

i feel~ warmth?  Liquid?  O, god, yes, it is, it is ~ i wiggle, and might have broken away, but hands hold me ~ quickly ~ a hand on the back of my neck, pressing my face into the towel on the floor, hands at my legs, hands twisting my arms behind my back, securing them there, holding me helpless, while they fill me with the liquid.  

They hold me til i am whimpering with need, til i think i can hold the liquid no more, and ~

i am filled with shame ~

as they help me to the toilet,

but as i void there, they show me the kindness of stepping outside the room, and i am grateful ~

thinking just for a moment  how odd it is to be grateful for so small a favor, but when you are at the mercy of you-don’t-know-who, and already stripped of any dignity, all favors are appreciated.

When i am finished, they lead me to a shower room.  They scrub me, not allowing me to touch myself.  

It’s a large area ~  a tub, more like a jacuzzi, and the shower next to it.  They shower me first, washing and rinsing thoroughly.  

They make me spread my legs wide, one foot on a stool, while they shave me.  Bend over while they spread my ass cheeks to shave there as well.

Their fingers matter-of-fact, entering me in both places, making me gasp.  

When they are finished, when i am clean enough, bare enough, they let me soak in the tub for a little bit.  The water is quite warm, and slightly scented.  i feel myself relaxing.

Barely listening as they discuss me.  Which lotion?  My hair, how should they do my hair?   One of them asks if i’m to be pierced anywhere, and my heart stops for a moment, before the oldest one answers,

“No, not tonight.  They have not decided how to decorate her, nothing permanent tonight.” 

Living Submission

“Some women wait for themselves around the next corner and call the empty spot peace but the opposite of living is only not living and the stars do not care.”
― Audre Lorde

Isn’t that beautiful?

i can’t analyze and explain what it means, but it speaks to me on some level that’s beyond words.

**********************************

His hand in my hair, pulling firmly, gets my attention.  He turns my face up toward Him, i gasp.

“Kneel,” He says ~

and pulls me down as i bend my knees, no grace here, He just wants me on my knees ~

and His cock is ready, right there, sliding back past lips, pressing deep into my mouth ’til ~

it hits the back of my throat and my eyes close, trying to breathe through my nose, relaxing my throat,

“Take it. Take it.”  He says,

and i do,

i take it with pleasure, gagging a little as He presses harder, tears in my eyse

and then

He pulls away,

i gasp

wanting more,

but He is moving me, up to my feet,

He grasps a nipple between thumb and middle finger, on the way by,

pinches, tugs, twists until i gasp ~

then bends me over the arm of the couch, pressing my face down ~

His hand on my ass, rubbing for a second ~

rubbing ~

then it pulls back ~ i feel the pause, know it’s coming ~~~

and it lands ~

a resounding smack that takes my breath away,

followed by another

and another

until my ass is red and my breathing ragged ~~

then ~~

He pulls me up again, pulls me up,

and pushes me down, on my knees,

that lovely cock in my mouth

pushing Himself deep, balls against my face,

His hands find my nipples, pulling, stretching, pinching ~

i can’t whimper, His cock too far down my throat ~

but my pussy clenches and the juices

run down my thighs.