Office Call

I was at my desk in the early evening, shuffling through some papers. I had the phone propped against my ear. I was trying to look busy but I was distracted.

He was growling into my ear, telling me all of the things he wants to do to me. I was quiet except for occasional murmurs. I couldn't melt into my chair like I wanted to do, nor could I address him as "Sir" like I know he expected.

But he knew that he was getting to me. I was quiet, but he knew. He kept talking until I was lulled into a trance. His words were so cruel and sadistic, but I felt calm, like he had laid a heavy blanket over me.

"You love this, don't you?," he cooed.

"Yes," I whispered, afraid to say any more.

"I can tell. I can hear it in your breathing. I can hear your submission. I can hear the change in your voice."

I sighed and let his words wash over me. Outside my office door, the busy day continued but I remained still at my desk. I breathed in and out, shallow expectant breaths.

"Listen to what I can do to you," he whispered. "I love what I can do to you."


He is not my boyfriend. He is my owner. I must keep telling myself that. I forget that I cannot act the same way with Him as I acted with my other boyfriends. Whatever his failings as an owner and a partner, I cannot respond the same way.

I cannot respond to the disappointments - which, for the record, are the result of my own unrealistic expectations of a person that He cannot be - like I usually would. I cannot stockpile my resentments and take them out on him through other means. I cannot use my hurt feelings as an excuse for my misbehavior. And I have misbehaved. I am paying the price for that and it is not pretty. It should not have happened like this.

He gives me the space to be upset at him. He does not want to brush things under the rug. I must feel out that space, live in it with my anger and grow out of it. I must be honest about my feelings within the framework that He has set up. I cannot go outside the lines with my feelings because I have no power there. That way lies danger and betrayal and more hurt, the kind of hurt that cannot ever be exorcised.

Holiday Illusions

I never used to think that people could get talked into things. I never believed in brainwashing or coercion, not if you were an adult and were of adequate I.Q. How do cult leaders get people to follow them, abandon their whole livelihoods, without threatening, without force? With the power of words and the power of the mind.

I never thought that I was weak or that I could be talked into anything. I was stubborn and knew my own mind. But now, I bend. I am pliant, I twist whichever way the wind is blowing. When I am mad at Him and have had enough, when he has disappointed me so greatly that I do not think that I can go on with him, I lose all of my strength before I can even begin to fight. I try to take a stand, I even try to take a day to think things out, and He will not let me. There are veiled threats, but in the end they are just words. He would not hurt me, right?

He tells me that I cannot be alone. He tells me that I must be under his care, that he cannot abandon his Kitten in the cold. He tells me that he knows what is best for me and that I cannot decide for myself. I protest, I whine that I can do whatever I want, I stomp my foot. I could change my locks and spend Christmas alone, tell everyone that we are through and that I am done with Him. But in the end I fall defeated. I am just a petulant child who cannot take care of herself and cannot be without Him. He is right.

Sometimes giving up is easier than fighting. His words and his tone, the gentle lull of his voice...they deflate me and I cannot stand up for what I thought I wanted. Sometimes it is easier to give in than to be overpowered. Maybe there is strength there too? Maybe if I look hard enough, I can find it. Knowing that this is all I am, that I cannot be alone, is a form of submission. It is a final acceptance. It is the ultimate surrender.

So while last week I thought that I would be a strong woman and walk away from Him for doing something that so upset me, I did not. I admitted that I am just a little girl playing a woman at work and that I cannot be free. I resumed my Christmas shopping for Him, I fell soft into the bliss of making cookies and sending out holiday cards. I pretended like nothing had happened because there was nothing I could do about it. I could not be alone, stand by myself, endure all of those dark nights with all of that pain. He convinced me.


I know that many of you understand what a joyful experience a paddling can be. I'm still trying to wrap my head around it, but I know you understand. I recently heard someone say that any man who gets turned on by making a woman cry is sick and I nodded for a second, but then I changed my mind. He is not sick but I cannot explain why. The fact that sadism is not bad, that love blossoms here when it looks like hate...I know that you understand that.

Anyway: the paddling. It's been a quiet few months with us. We continue to work on our relationship and spend time together. We continue to spend significant time in bed, but the kink has been limited to some light choking during sex and the more psychological aspects of things. Last weekend, we were getting ready for bed when I think our hard physical kink came back full-force.

He picked the paddle up off of the shelf and told me to come over to Him. I quailed. It had been so long. I wasn't confident enough in my ability to take pain, so I crouched on the bed rather than remain on all fours and hold my head up high. I curled around a pillow and tucked my head under.

He started and I didn't cry, not until almost the very end. I was quiet, I was focused on breathing. He went easy on me, to be sure, but I was handling it quite well. I murmured, "Daddy" over and over again when things got intense, but it wasn't out of fear or an immediate need for him to stop. It became more like a mantra, like I was naming him and calling out for his strength. At one point, I reached my hand back so he could hold it as he hit me. He curled his body around me briefly, stroking my hand and running the fuzzy side of the paddle over my pink ass cheeks. Then he stood again, still holding my hand, and resumed the paddling.

Each blow was getting harder. I could tell it was almost the end when he paused. He crouched next to me and looked at my face. There were some tears there, but I hadn't fallen apart. "Maybe just six more," I thought, hoping that he would have mercy on me.

"Kitten, how many more? Pick a number between 1 and 10."

"Six," I said immediately.

He gasped and lifted my face by my chin. "You're amazing. How did you know that I was thinking six?"

I smiled. "The number was in my head before you asked me to pick." I was full of such joy at that moment, I was practically giddy. I wanted those last six paddles so badly that I could hardly wait for them. This was the most perfect moment. We were both smiling, there was so much synchronicity. The whole universe was spinning just for us, around us, at that moment.

I know you understand that moment, that feeling. It is the most wonderful thing in the world, it is the reason that we all got into S&M to begin with. It is the epitome of all the good that submission brings. It is the peak. No orgasm, no amount of pain, no money or love or anything could top that feeling.

And the part of this feeling? It can happen over and over again. The possibilities are limitless.

Voluntary Reality

I have a rich fantasy life.

No, that's not exactly true. It's vivid, but it's not particularly varied. I've relied on the same masturbatory scenarios for years.

They are all similar, even in their difference. They all are semi-public. I am being used, sometimes harshly. I am exposed and humiliated. There is usually more than one person there. He is leading, but the others are faceless. Often there are hands touching and sensations without reason.

But almost always...more than one person there, either participating or watching.

I haven't sought this out. I don't go around trying to recreate these scenarios. They are in my head and they are safe, tucked away where I can control them.

He knows about these fantasies and he thinks that it is his job to fulfill them. Plus they suit his needs. He wants to see me shared and passed around. He needs to see that, for whatever reason. He wants to know that I made someone else moan like I make Him moan, and he gets pleasure out of just that idea. He is making this happen, even though I did not ask for it.

But I cannot now deny that I wanted this. I have thought about it for years. How can I say now that I don't want this? He has been there as I confessed these fantasies, he saw the physical evidence of my arousal. He knows.

Will I be able to perform the way that he wants? Will I be able to hold it together? It will just be sex, it won't be intimacy like with Him. How do I go back to just sex after more than a year of the closest, most intense physical connection I have ever had with one person? I know that I have been trained, I know how to shut off that part of me and focus on being what he wants. But putting theory into practice is something else entirely.


I'm trying to find a model for where we're going, where we've been heading over the past couple of months, but I'm coming up short. That's okay, I don't mind making my own path. It just seems to me that we're venturing away from traditional submission into something else.

When we started, I was focused on finding this path through the quiet, through meekness and through humility. He wore me down a lot, roughly molding me into shape and into submission. His focus was quieting the screaming voices in my head and replacing them with His voice. I hear him now all the time, even when He isn't speaking. We reached this place of solitude together and it is pure and dreamy and quiet.

Once we were there, He told me that he loved how trainable I am. He loved seeing the fire in my eyes and the struggle, and then gradually the acceptance. He loved that I thought that no one could tame me, but he always could. He loved the clearness in my eyes.

So after he could focus me, he started training me for something else. He started making me a whore - that's the only way I can describe it. Remember those moments where I came out strong, eyes flashing for him, when I took a bit of control and let myself run wild? That's often what he wants to see now.

He talks about putting the regular me away and letting that wild girl come out. Sometimes I struggle against it, but he usually manages to make her emerge anyway. The scary part is that I do things in that state and I couldn't even imagine otherwise. He tells me that sometimes my eyes are glazed over like I am somewhere else, like I am someone else. I guess that I am.

I fuck him like he wants to be fucked, performing for him and doing whatever he wants. It is still a form of submission, in a way. But it is much less violent and much more coercive. He talks to me throughout, and I have to act the way that he wants or else.

Recently, He's talked a lot about sharing me. He talks about showing another man what I can do and how good I am. He pretends that he is the other man and makes me show him all of the things that I would do. He wants to watch me with the other man and if I'm good, he'll let me alone with the other man so I can do whatever I want. But I have to be a good girl and please the other man and tell Daddy all about it when I get home. It is so convoluted that sometimes I wonder who we really are, who I really am.

I know that He's getting ready to whore me out to someone else. There are e-mails and conversations that I am not a part of. I know that this is love, but I have a hard time finding it. I don't understand why this is the form that we are taking. I want so much to please Him and I will go wherever he sends me. There is a part of me that would love this, the wrongness of it, but I know that I would never pursue this on my own. This is an instance where, without training, I would keep this in the realm of fantasy. I suppose that is why He is working so hard to mold me into this girl. I just wonder who I'll be when he's done.

Feminist Theory

I struggle with the question of abuse. I wonder too. I no longer think anything is wrong with me - time and a lot of reflection have settled that in my mind - but I do wonder if I've lost sight of the line sometimes. I want terrible things, unbearable amounts of control. I want not to be able to get away, to be held in place, to be told that I'm nothing without this. It is the absolution so many of us seek, not the perfection, but the washing away of ourselves.

I don't make things any easier on myself. I think that I can hold two contradictory ideas in my head at once - I can be a feminist and I can be a submissive. But my feminist sisters don't want me. They would excommunicate me (and pillory Him) if they knew. I am either a bad feminist, or a hypocrite, or a fool, or all three.

I know the theory. I understand it from years of study. I see everything they hate in the structure of BDSM. I know why it is wrong on a macro level and yet...and yet...

If they could just understand how things are between us, all the generalizations would melt away. If they knew how much love and respect live here, they could never condemn our entire belief system. If they understood what this feels like, this submission that makes me stronger, this reliance that makes me calmer, they would stop writing their screeds about my relationship. If only they thought for ONE SECOND about what it feels like to have your whole world examined and judged to be destructive to all women, maybe they would stop what they're doing that's hurting this woman.

I still am who I am. I was born this way. I cannot go back. They claim that they do not want to judge or condemn my choices, but what choice do I have in the face of this? I am who I am. I cannot unmake myself or take this back. I am here and I am not going away. So what am I supposed to do? You tell me! What is it you want? An apology or a renunciation? His capitulation? Because I am not going away. There is no other way for me to be. I will not justify this to you, not anymore. I am not ashamed, no matter how much you try to disavow me. I am here and I am not going away.


On Thanksgiving day, we stood in a gathering of boisterous relatives. We were a quiet island in the bustling kitchen as we leaned our heads together. I told him that I love him, but he ducked his head away.

"No," he whispered, "I'm a bad boyfriend."

"What? No, you're a wonderful boyfriend."

"No," he said with a bashful look on his face. "I abuse you." He was only half-serious, but there was a bit of truthful hurt behind his joking.

"You don't abuse me. You do nothing of the sort," I said as I touched his face. He gave me the most wounded smile.

"I hate your blog sometimes," he sighed.

I know how he feels about this blog. He does not read it, preferring to leave this space for my semi-private thoughts. But I do keep him updated about certain things that concern the blog, including some of the more negative comments and e-mails that I have received. The accusations of abuse weigh heavily upon him since he knows how much I enjoy our dynamic. He sees the fire in my eyes and the desire for the way he touches me and hurts me.

This blog his chronicled my journey, but it has been largely silent about his journey. He never owned anyone before me and this has been an experience of tremendous growth for him. He has taken on so much responsibility for my progress and development as a person, and not just as a submissive, that I think he has matured in a way as well.

He can be an impetuous person, often ruled by emotions. He can live inside his head at times and that can keep him disconnected from himself. But when he is with me, he is grounded. He comes back to earth, all that fire and emotion channeled into me. I see the best of him in me.

I don't idolize him or think of him as a god. He is not perfect and thank God for that. But I do love him more than I've ever loved anyone because of what I have seen in him over the past year. I have seen all of his dedication and determination in this relationship, as well as the soft under belly of his strength. I love him all the more for that.

I hate to see him hurt by this. He doesn't deserve that from me.

Later that Thanksgiving night, I laid next to him and cradled his head to my chest. I ran my fingertips over his face. I wanted to ease his mind about everything. I said the only thing I could: "I love you more than anything."

Writing About Writing

I hate this blog sometimes. It can be a lot of pressure. As I come up on a year of posting in this space, I find myself sick of much of what I've written. Some of it seems naive or too serious or too small for this journey that I've been on. It seems like nothing has been accomplished, nothing accomplished at all. I find new submissive blogs every week - well-written blogs authored by talented women - and I can barely bring myself to read them. It's disheartening for me because I used to think of submissive blogs as my lifeline and now...I can't do it. It all seems so repetitive. Are any of us unique in any way? Or are we all isolated in the same experience?

The one goal I have had over the past year is to present my submission unvarnished. There is an ugly side to submission, one borne out of great ambivalence and grief, that exists alongside all of the joyous self-discovery. I've tried not to shy away from that. Even when things were perfect, I never wanted to paint submission as a completely selfless or blissfully transcendent experience. Indeed, that honesty has probably turned off as many readers as it has attracted. It has garnered me many concerned e-mails and comments. Many of you think that I am being abused.

I am sick of fighting that fight. I am sick of justifying and explaining. Maybe I am being abused. Maybe I am complicit in my own abuse, or brainwashed, or deluded. Maybe I am so fucked up that I endure in this relationship that sends up red flags for many of you. Maybe you disagree, and see yourselves in me.

I don't know where to go from here. I've stopped struggling lately. I've let go of a lot of the hang-ups that kept me hung up in the early months and have let Him take me wherever he wants. I don't know if we're going anywhere in particular. Lately we've been swimming in circles. Things don't seem overwhelming and it feels a bit like a relief. We're enjoying this plateau we've reached and I'm not worried about the future or the past. Sometimes I forget the D/s dynamic entirely - it fades into the background even though it's always there - and sometimes it seems almost vanilla in its lack of edge. I like it that way. Maybe we don't need to go anywhere right now. Maybe we just need to live.

My past writing is an unwelcome reminder of all that needless struggle. At this point, I wonder what it was all about. I read all these submissives who are just starting on their journeys and I can't help but feel sad for all of the tears and pain that they will go through before the normalcy sets in. It may seem new and groundbreaking now, but soon they'll all be here, looking back and feeling like it was all for naught. They're exactly where they started.


He came out of the shower and into the bedroom with a towel around his waist. I was busy getting ready, so I didn't see the dark look in his eyes until it was too late.

It was my fault, really, I thought as he pushed me down onto the bed. I was standing there in only my panties. What did I expect?

There was no foreplay. He was angry and focused on fucking me how he wanted. This wasn't for me. He worked above me, barely looking at me, looking into the distance as I struggled to take him in. I put my hands over my face when it got to be too much. There was no asking him to stop, not without making it worse. If he saw me cry, it would only make him more excited.

In time, it was over. I hadn't come and he didn't ask if I had. My orgasm wasn't the goal. He was exorcising his own demons that day and I was just the receptacle.

He was businesslike as we got dressed after. I tried to clean his come off of me discretely, so he wouldn't notice that I was a mess. He wasn't concerned about it anyway.

The Last Part

"That last part?," I said quietly as we laid staring at the ceiling, sated. I spoke into the darkness with a hesitancy, uncertain how my thoughts would be received.

"That last part felt felt like you should pay me afterward." I let the words hang there. I couldn't hear Him breathing.

After a moment, I heard the sheets rustle as he turned toward me. He put his lips close to my ear. "You liked that, didn't you, you dirty girl," he murmured slowly.

I wonder if He could see me blush in the dark.


He started in on me before I was even fully awake. He was hard and alert, even as I was groggy and cuddly, and he started putting me through my paces. I dragged through the first part of our early-morning activities. Maybe I didn't suck his cock as enthusiastically as he would have liked? Or maybe I was too busy wiping the sleep from my eyes to come on command?

He flung me over the side of the bed and fucked me hard from behind, taunting my reflection in the mirror. I buried my head in the sheets and tried to find my focus. I didn't want him to make me cry, not when I was already feeling so out of sorts. But the tears came quickly when he told me that all of my neighbors would know what a slut I am from the moaning that was coming from the apartment. I was ashamed and I didn't know what to do.

After a time, I slid to the floor to kneel at his feet. I looked up at him, looking for something, looking for a connection. He smoothed back my hair and smiled down at me. "You're such a good girl for me this morning, such a good little girl," he cooed.

I nuzzled his knee and smiled. He was proud of me. I felt instantly joyous and purposeful and centered. I was doing a good job. I was pleasing him.

When I sucked his cock again, I was more than enthusiastic and was rewarded for all of my hard work.


Things escalated quite quickly. We were slightly tipsy, and a routine blow job was rapidly turning into something much more aggressive. He choked me roughly and knocked me off of my knees onto my ass. He came after me, even as I tried to scuttle away. He knelt over my prone body and fucked my face harder. I wondered if He had lost track of how much I could take.

Before I could protest though, He picked me up and deposited me on my hands and knees on the bed. He reached around my waist to unbutton my jeans and pulled them down to mid-thigh. I expected him to take them all the way off of me, but instead he thrust into me from behind in one quick movement. I cried out in surprise, but the sound was muffled by the comforter. He was pressing on my upper back so that my face was smushed into the bed. He fucked me harder and harder, spurred on by my quiet screams into the mattress.

It was amazing, and so sudden. It was unexpected. There was nothing I could do but let myself be taken. As he pushed my head down and thrust into me more furiously, I was calm.


It's strange that so many "shoulds" have crept into my life. I've always tried to be the kind of person who avoids those prescriptions, who doesn't do things just because they should be done. I think that's the lesson of my early 20s, when I was in a relationship that epitomized societal expectations. When that relationship ended, I had the rare opportunity to rethink every decision that I had made. I realized that I was heading down a path toward a conventional life, marriage, children, all because I thought that was what I should do. I chose to take a different path and found a richer life as a result. I found my own way and I found myself.

Now He and I find ourselves back in that place. We became beholden to what we thought we "should" be doing, rather than what was right for us. A recent example:

We both were talking about opposite-sex friends at work and I think we were both a bit jealous of the other. Not that either of us thought the other would be unfaithful, just that we were mildly jealous of office flirtations. Anyway, I asked a few questions about his work friend, but He shut that conversation down very quickly and told me to stop being a brat. But when he asked me about my friendship with my work friend, I had to answer every question. I even had to hand over my PDA so he could read our (innocent) e-mails and I had to do it without complaint.

As we went to bed that night, I told Him that I was unhappy at what I perceived to be a double standard. I told Him that I didn't think it was fair that I had to answer all of his questions and submit to his suspicions, while I was barred from questioning him at all. He told me that no, it wasn't fair but that is the way it is. I am owned and things are different for me. He turned over and went to sleep. I was annoyed and I spent half the night turned away from him in a funk.

We talked about it a couple of weeks later and it turns out that he didn't want things to be so unfair. He didn't like that we are held to a different standard over something that concerns both of us in this relationship. His instinct was to apologize and agree to treat each other equally, but instead he laid down the hard line because he thought it would be more dominant. He thought that it would be what was expected of him as an owner, even though it didn't seem right to him and even though it only caused resentment on my part.

We've said that we're 24/7, but that doesn't mean that we can't have limits for ourselves. There are things that neither of us is comfortable with, so why should we do those things? If certain restrictions or rules work for other couples, that's great, but we're not all the same. We need to figure out what works for us and where the line is.

We've started thinking of our relationship as made up of concentric circles. The innermost circle is what we started with: bedroom kink, pure and simple. That is the essential for me and what drew me into BDSM to begin with. The next circle includes non-bedroom kink that we both enjoy and find beneficial, such as my bedtime and the spontaneous way that he exerts his control on me in public when I least expect it. The outermost circle holds the things that we've been doing but aren't necessarily essential for us or aren't exactly working. The key will be to figure out what is working and what isn't, and to decide for ourselves what we should do.

For a few days, the prospect of such an adjustment had me in a right state. I was nervous that too much would change or that He would want to give up kink altogether. But things seem to have settled down and we're talking about what we should do going forward. A bit of change isn't all bad, right?


This weekend, we celebrated our anniversary. It was the anniversary of our first date, not the start of our exclusive relationship or even when I started thinking of Him as my Owner. But the meaning was the same. We both knew that we were celebrating the year that we spent together and all that we have experienced. I could go back through the archives here and dredge up all of the milestones that I have reached and surpassed over this year, but I don't want to spend time looking backward. I already feel how far we have come together and I don't want to dwell on thinking about a time that I can no longer imagine.

Our weekend was quiet and wonderful. We spent 90% of it alone together, just talking and cuddling and exploring each others' bodies. It's amazing that there are new ways for Him to touch me, even after all of this time. The look in his eyes as he moves toward me still takes my breath away. I laid in his arms and felt the world fall away from me. I slept next to him, curled up against his back. It was all so ordinary and extraordinary at the same time.

The kinky details don't really matter at a time like this. This weekend was notable, not for the lack of kink, but how seamlessly that kink is part of who we are on a day-to-day basis. It wasn't surprising when he folded his hand over my mouth to stifle my screams or scratched his nails down my back. It was normal. After each time we had sex, we still curled up together and touched noses, cooing "I love you" in the dusky darkness of his bedroom.

I'm looking forward to this next year and all that we have to experience together. And I am looking forward to sharing it all with you!


After I collapsed onto the bed, He pulled me tightly against him. My cheek was pressed into his chest and I wrapped myself around the length of him, intertwining my legs with his.

My breath eventually returned to normal and I came back to earth in his arms. He kissed the top of my head and whispered in my ear. I don't remember what he said, except that his words made me feel safe and protected.

We were quiet as we started kissing again, tentatively at first. Our kisses grew more urgent and we were both moaning softly. He pulled my right leg over his hip and slid into my still-wet pussy with a quiet sigh.

We rocked together, not speaking but looking right into each others' eyes. Somehow, he managed to tuck my left leg underneath him while we remained on our sides. He stayed inside me the entire time, moving in and out of me in a dreamy rhythm. He stroked my hair and held me close, kissing me more insistently as my moans grew louder. I could feel myself ready to come, I could feel him deep inside me, I could feel the love in his eyes and his hands. There were just so many emotions. I was overwhelmed with him all around me.

He tucked his head close against my neck and bit into my shoulder gently. I held onto his back and wondered if there was any way that we would fuse together. We were so close. We could just stop being two people. We were so connected.

We came together, like two beings breathing in and out of each others' lungs. We stayed together for a long time after that, not wanting to separate. Not wanting the break the circuit of electricity. Never wanting to be apart.


It's amazing what getting back to basics can do for my submission. Simply asking for a spanking (quietly whispering, "Daddy, would you spank me, please?") and being put over His knee were enough to bring me right back into line. As I lay sprawled naked over his lap and braced myself for my spanking, I took a deep breath and felt a wave of confidence. I could feel my breath deep down in my body and I felt so calm. There are enormous reserves of strength there, I realized, and I could take anything He had for me.

He spanked me very hard. There wasn't much mercy there and I was thankful for that. At one point, after I started to cry from the pain of his stinging backhanded slaps, I was quietly begging him. Not to stop exactly, but maybe for a moment to gather myself together. Instead he told me to shut the fuck up and punctuated each spank with a command to "take it, take it."

When he was finished, he picked my head up off of the mattress by my hair and looked into my eyes. "There's that fire," he sighed happily. "It's been flickering lately, but now it's back. My Kitten is back."

I clung to him, tears of joy welling in my eyes, as he held me gently for a few moments. His cock was hard against my leg and I could feel the wetness in my pussy from the spanking. He looked deep into my eyes again.

"More," I said breathlessly, overtaken by my desire to have him inside me, all around me. He moaned and leaned my head back to kiss me deeply. As he put my legs on his shoulders and entered me slowly, I closed my eyes and let the sensations wash over me. I was back.


He talked to me slowly, quietly at first. His voice was low, but I could hear the edge in his voice, the desire. He talked about what I need and what he'll give me, even if that isn't always the same thing. He talked about beating me and I murmured that I need that so badly.

His words became harsh and degrading, pulling me deeper into that submissive headspace. He told me that I am his cunt and a little whore. He made me repeat it so the words would sink in.

He told me about the training - or, actually, the retraining - that he was planning for me. He told me about the belt, and the palm of his hand, and the candle wax. He drew elaborate pictures of me hogtied on the bed and about fucking me until I scream. He told me about the torture of not being able to come and how I would soon face that. He told me how much he would enjoy that and he laughed.

I could feel the heavy calm descending as he spoke and I wecomed it. I wrapped myself in it and felt it all around me. I was reminded. I needed to be reminded.


You know, it is simply a matter of turning the corner. Willfully, making myself turn in a new direction. All depression is like this. There is a certain element of matter over mind here. If I can force myself to get up, to put on nice clothes and to head purposefully out into the day, I will feel as I once did. I will feel whole again.

It's not about indulgence. Depression is something I've lived with for a long time; it is something that has slowly tried to kill me without dulling my ability to function. So it's not about having the luxury of staying in bed. There is plenty of time for sadness even if you manage to hold down a full-time job. No, it is about standing up and being strong when you'd rather hide away. Maybe even faking it for a while until being normal feels normal again. Looking at the bright side helps, even when letting go of the negativity feels like a great injustice.

In any case, I am having a good day, a hopeful day. I want to take this day, average as it is, and make copies of it and save those copies for when I need them. I want so desperately to be happy and to make Him happy. I know that it upsets Him when I am sad. I don't want to be a dead weight in our relationship. This is about more than D/s; this is about any relationship. I want to try to be better for us, so we can be stronger together.

He is planning some challenges for me in the weeks ahead. He is going to be gentle if it is needed, but he is also going to test me. I welcome these challenges. I welcome the chance to show Him that I am strong in my submission. I welcome the chance to prove that to myself. I hope that I can rise to the occasion and lose myself in the moment, feel that amazing crackle of electricity between us and do those amazing things that are possible only when we are truly connected. I have faith that that can happen again. What we doesn't go away, ever. It is always there, even if it has been buried under layers of other emotions lately. I am reaching down into myself to find it, to bring it back.


I have to think about why I started this to begin with. I know that it doesn't matter much at this point. It is like skydiving and wondering why you jumped out the open door of the plane, when you really should be concerned with pulling the cord and landing safely on the ground. But I wonder anyway. If I can trace how I got here, maybe I can figure out how to move forward.

I am trying to remember what it was that drew me into exploring my submission and what led Him to find me. It's so funny to think back over a year ago because so much has changed. I don't even recognize the life that I used to live. But I remember that I spent a lot of time then reading blogs of other submissive women. I felt a pull. I felt more than mere curiosity. I felt compelled. Everything that I had wondered about myself - why did I have those violent fantasies? why did I hurt myself and like it? - was leading me to this point. Maybe it was my destiny to find submission. And when something is your destiny, you are hard-pressed to figure out the decisions that lead you to where you end up.

All along this path, I have sought something that I wanted, either consciously or subconsciously, and I have pursued it with the faith that the payoff would be more rewarding than the cost. A lot of what I write about here is about the cost of submission - what it takes from me physically and emotionally. The emotional costs are higher than the physical. My body rebounds but my mind is changed forever. It is a subtle form of brainwashing, the making of a woman into a girl into an animal into an object.

Maybe I'm too inscrutable and people think that I don't willingly want to make these sacrifices because of what I write here. Maybe it seems like I don't want to be controlled? For me, control is a double-edged sword: I need it and I crave it and I love it, but it fills me with a sense of existential dread. I can see what control he exerts over me today and I can draw a line to where we're going in the future. I see what's coming next and it makes me afraid. But I've accepted every measure of control, even if it came after a bit of a struggle on my part, and I'd gladly do it again and again.

I've hit a wall and I need to figure out how to get over it. I need to make my peace with my choices and choose to go forward. It is difficult because my emotions are in a tumult. I'm too quickly angered and my tears come too easily lately. I'm not as grounded and rational as I used to be. I've been in this place before and I've made it out. I know depression very well. I've wrapped myself up with it like a warm blanket, only to have it suffocate me. I know there are two paths, one directly out and the other through a breakdown, but either way I've come out of it before. I can do it again.

He knows what is happening with me. That doesn't mean that he's not pushing me, because he is, but he understands. He is helping me reconnect. He had me carry my paddle around with me everywhere for the past few days so that I would be reminded that he loves me and that he owns me, no matter what. I touched it, tucked discreetly inside my bag, whenever I was feeling shaky.

I'm going to end this entry on an open note, because there is no conclusion to this yet. Things are in motion. I am trying. He is working on getting me back to good. I'll be strong again soon, or I won't, but neither of us is going to give up.

Back Slide

I remember spending some time in August reflecting on my submission. I thought about how far I'd come and how strong I was after the trials of the spring. I couldn't believe what He had led me to accomplish in those months. I wasn't afraid of anything that I had done in the past and was feeling like I could handle anything we approached next.

But now, at the start of October, I've had a major back slide. I can't point to any one thing, really. He has changed jobs recently and I have seen him a lot less. I've been taking care of myself a bit more because I've spend the time between weekends by myself. And for other reasons, those weekends we have spent together haven't included any overnights. If I was really under his control before, I have been relatively free for the last month.

It's strange how I can feel this submissive energy ebbing away. I had started to feel like a supersub, so confident that I had done something great, but all of that confidence has deserted me. I don't know if I could take some of the punishments that I took this summer now. I don't know if I could reach that blissful perfect state of submission to Him that I have often felt over the past few months.

The little things are so obviously wrong with me. I was completely unable to follow a simple order the other night, one that didn't mean a lot to me but really meant a lot to him. I got a "bad Kitten" for that, which made me feel even worse about myself. Last weekend I was mouthy with him in a way that was just completely unnecessary and didn't accomplish anything. I saw myself as a pretty terrible person after that, not to mention a bad submissive (and I think we can agree that the bar for good behavior is much higher for us than it is for non-submissive women).

At the same time, we've been talking about moving in together in a couple of months. I'm very excited about that prospect because I hate spending time away from him, but it means real 24/7 D/s not the improvised, sort of 24/7 thing that we've been doing for a year. It means ten times more control and no independent life for me to escape to. I've been living pretty heavily in that independent life lately and the thought of losing it altogether is extremely frightening right now. If I can't manage the small things, what will I do when I return home to him and be tested every night?

I know that I've been hiding. As my failures mount so do my doubts, and so does the draw of everything that is mine and mine only. I didn't need this three months ago as badly as I do now because now I have that much more to lose. The other night, he moved a plant in my bedroom (MY bedroom) and I lost it. He didn't want the plant next to the bed while he slept, so told me that it would be moved anytime that he stayed over and, when he moved in, it would have to be relocated permanently. Somehow, moving that plant on his orders became the biggest thing in the world. It symbolized everything that would change and my complete loss of control over all levels of my life. It showed me just how little say I would have over anything once he moved permanently into my life. It told me, unequivocally, that my home, my body, my possessions are no longer my own.

That stupid plant was evidence of everything that I had lost. I could let it go, accept that his needs trump my favored place for the plant, and move on with my life. Or I could dwell on it, worrying about everything else that will change and everything else that he will control. In my fragile state, I chose the route of anxiety. I could not find my way to acceptance.

That's where I still am as of this post. He knows how I am feeling and he recognized that the issue with the plant was not about home decor. He knows that I have lost my way and I think that he will be bearing down on me in order to bring me back into line. Because unless I find my way back? We'll never move forward.


It's about being owned. It's about today and being owned today, but it's also about tomorrow. It's about being owned tomorrow and every day after that. It's about what happens next month and in the spring when He moves in. It's about when we're married and all of the years after that.

It's about what it means to be owned every day, every minute of every day for the rest of my life. It's about not knowing what that means. It's about control and not knowing where this is going. It's about the suggestion of more, the threat of more.

It's about not knowing if I can breathe, and not knowing why I wanted to get into this in the first place. It's about wondering what was so bad about being unowned, unaware of this life that I'm now living. It's about thinking that I could go back to vanilla life and unsatisfactory sex and closed-off emotions if I wanted to. It's about the possibility of escape and the impossibility of return.  

It's not about love or about safety or about security.  It's not about what I've grown accustomed to.  It's about making the choice to give up all choices.  It's about being completely owned.


A curious commenter asked recently about His efforts to arrange an...arrangement with another submissive woman.  You may recall that at first he assigned me with the task of finding her, which led me to several interesting places on the web but not to success.  I managed to encounter more dominants (who already had partners) who wanted to meet up with me (even though I already have a partner).  I was very frustrated with the effort and it was weighing pretty heavily on me.  So he decided to take over.  

It was difficult for me to admit defeat, but I really was at a loss as to what to do.  I don't know how to approach women and I really wasn't having any success.  By giving the task up to Him, he asked that I trust him and place the responsibility totally in his hands.

I had a bit of difficulty with that, though, as it turned out.  I wanted to be involved and he promised that I would be, but I just couldn't catch my balance.  I didn't want to control the situation and exercise this massive supervisory veto power over every step he took, but I was also fearful of what could happen without my knowledge.  Additionally, I didn't want him to communicate a different goal to whoever he talked to.  I have a very specific feeling about what I want us to get out of this experience and what I am looking to avoid, but I couldn't let go and trust him to find the right person.

He talked to several people online, including one very lovely girl who we both liked but the situation just didn't come to fruition.  I involved myself in the communications with her and I hope that I didn't scare her away, but I just don't know how to be in this circumstance.  

Obviously, this has been anxiety-producing for me.  Just the other night, I had a nightmare that I found pictures of Him with another submissive on her MySpace page.  Of course it was just a dream and that dream girl (with the huge boobs!) is not real, but it has been on my mind.  So I'm not hesitant to tell you that I'm a bit relieved that the effort has stalled as of late.  He and I are still on the look-out for the right person, but I think it's going to result from meeting people in our community and getting to know them rather than a forced search for someone.  

I'm hopeful to find the right person who will share not only one passionate night with us, but who can also share a part of our lives for a time.  I'm not discouraged because I know that my patience will be rewarded.  In the meantime, I am working on trusting him and building our relationship.  The stronger and more grounded we are, the better an experience this will be in the long run.

Anon, thanks for your questions.  Anyone else have anything that they need answered?  ;-)


I am very private about my relationship (except, oddly, in keeping this blog). I have told one of my real life friends a tiny bit about my relationship, but I don't think he really got it. I think things are better that way because I don't know how I'd even start to explain things the way they actually are.

I have wonderful commenters and fellow-bloggers who really get where I am coming from. There are several of you in particular who really understand and who are going through the same experiences - the exact same ones, imagine - but I won't embarass you by mentioning you by name. Just know that I love reading your blogs and feel better because you understand the beautiful and the ugly parts of my life.

That said, I don't have any real friends in "the lifestyle." Those aren't sarcastic quotes, but more illustrative of what my view on community and BDSM has been since I started with Him, which is to say that I have no view of community and BDSM. I've been with Him for a year and never once have I thought that anyone else besides the two of us is part of what we do and there has been no stopping this once we began. It's funny, because I see new submissives commonly asking others online for tips on how to start this, and I'm never able to give advice. I don't know how to start. I didn't plan this. It just happened. Submission just happens.

I'm owned and what we do may look like M/s or D/s or whatever, but we don't put labels on it. I've never waded into all of those internet arguments about whose relationship is more real than anyone else's, or whether my lack of a safeword is abuse, or whether we've negotiated and contracted every last detail of this crazy journey that we've been on. (Answers: (1) my relationship is real and the rest of you can figure out your own relationships, (2) I don't have a safeword and I'm not abused and I like it that way, and (3) no negotiations and no acronyms and it's scary/wonderful that way.)

Anyway, my therapist thinks that I need to have friends in "the lifestyle," not because I need to go to a workshop to learn how to be spanked (which I don't and I'm strenuously against more classes, as if I didn't spend the first 25 years of my life locked in a classroom), but because I need people in my life who accept my relationship and don't need it explained to them. People who just get it.

So! He and I will be going to our first party this weekend at the invitation of the owners of a local dungeon. I'm intimidated as hell by the people because I'm sure I'll come off as young and naive and won't have an answer to the questions about how long I've been part of "the scene." (Answer: For about 10 minutes.) And more importantly, I have sexy lingerie but no actual fetish wear. What am I supposed to wear?!?


I was kneeling before Him in the living room, working his cock slowly in my mouth. I was focusing very intently on him and only him, his pleasure, his little moans. As I serviced him, he started pulling on my hair and pushing my face down onto his cock more roughly. He was getting more excited and his mean streak was coming out. I could see it behind his eyes.

"You had better keep that up because you're going to work on my cock all night."

I looked up at him through my hair with a surprised look in my eyes.

"Oh, don't worry. I'll feed you dinner. But after that, you're going to be right back on your knees. You think you eat for free around here? You have to find a way to earn your keep, you know."

I looked down, ashamed. His words echoed in my ears: "earn your keep." I tried to push the thoughts out of my mind and focus on the task at hand, but he was not done.

"You are such a little whore. Look how much you love doing that." I continued, sure that if I showed how his words affected me, he would only taunt me further. He pulled me up on his lap and had me fuck him. He didn't seem to care if I came. He was using my body for his pleasure only.

He pulled me close and tugged on the hair at the nape of my neck. He growled in my ear: "I knew what a kind of girl you were from the moment I saw you."

Foolishly, I asked, "What kind of girl am I?" I don't know why I asked this. I knew what kind of mood he was in. I knew what he would say. But there was a part of me that wondered what kind of girl I was then and what kind of girl I have become, and whether I could bear to see how he saw me. Whether I could bear the changes.

"A dirty girl. I knew you were a dirty little girl from the moment I met you." I shook my head, tried to deny it. "I knew you would let me fuck you as soon as I wanted. I knew you would let me do all of these things to you."

"No...," I protested weakly. He just held me tight to him as he bounced me up and down on his cock, faster and faster. He was hurting my neck with the force he was using to pull my hair.

Right before he came, he hissed in my ear: "I know I would own you and that I'd make you my whore. I always knew."


I got into my pajamas and brushed my teeth. The lights were already dimmed in my apartment and I was getting ready for bed. I brushed my hair and put moisturizer on my face. I settled under the covers with the air conditioner blowing toward the bed so I could fall asleep in cool comfort. I waited for Him to call to put me to bed.

And I waited.

And I waited.

Over the next two hours, I tossed and turned in bed. I got up and opened the windows, got back into bed, got up to close the windows, got back into bed. I went out to the couch to see if I could sleep there before slinking back into the bedroom. I checked my phone obsessively.

I started thinking about those people who have blood clots lurking in their bodies and how those blood clots move to their brains and they drop dead without warning. I started worrying about blood clots lurking in my body. I was fretting over all of the things that could kill me suddenly, immediately as I lay in bed. I was spinning out of control and why, oh why wouldn't He call?

Finally, at 1:30, He called. He had fallen asleep early and had accidentally missed my bedtime.

I was so upset by the time he called that I had a panic attack. That hasn't happened in a very long time and it was a frightening development. There was a time, more than seven years ago, when I had panic attacks every day. I was completely crippled by them. My life narrowed to the time between these attacks, minus the time anticipating an attack, minus the time to recover from an attack. I remember that year as one of constant, crushing anxiety. Almost all of my recollections from that year involve the bedroom in my campus apartment: me pacing the small space between the computer desk and the bed and the door, phone clasped to my ear, desperately pleading for someone to help me deal with the unbelievable pain.

In any case, this was just one panic attack. One. It did not recur in the following days and I feel just as strong as ever. The amazing thing about the experience was the way that He helped me through it. In the old days, I was so frustrated by my panic attacks because no one seemed to know how to help, especially not my boyfriend at the time. I was desperate for someone to just comfort me, or reassure me or something I couldn't then describe.

Who knew that being owned would give me the perfect tools to battle the devastation of a panic attack? My owner reassured me on every front - that I am owned, that I am loved, that he is taking care of me, that everything will be okay - and I believed him with all of my heart. After the panic subsided and I was left feeling depleted and tired, he had me continue to breathe deep and cuddle with my favorite stuffed animal so that I could relax. He stayed on the phone with me until I was nearly asleep and then quietly told me that he loved me.

I mumbled groggily, "I love my owner," before I put the phone down and finally drifted off to sleep.


After the ups and downs of August, September has settled into a predictable rhythm. Not that predictability is bad. If anything, I'm a creature of habit and ritual. I am happy to be back at balance with Him.

What does balance look like for us? Sometimes it can look awfully vanilla, like a Saturday afternoon at Target buying new hand towels for my apartment or a quiet dinner at our favorite local Chinese place. Later, behind closed doors, there will be pulled hair and tears and commands. But for a time, we look like any other couple you'd see. That ordinariness is soothing after some of the tumultuous times that we have had lately.

I like to hide in our vanilla facade sometimes. I like to think that there is nothing deviant or unusual about us. I don't know why, but I like spending my weekend doing things that I can actually tell my coworkers about on Monday.

I am looking forward to fall and our anniversary. I am looking forward to the cool, crisp evenings like the evening of our first encounter. It turned cool as we touched for the first time, and the breeze blew in the open windows. There was rain and beautiful lightning. It was the last gasp before the cold.

We fell in love in the cold and I cannot wait to be back there again. I cannot wait for the long, dark nights huddled in my bed with Him. I am desperate for the silence of winter, the weekends snowed inside, completely buffeted from the outside world. That is what I wish for from Him more than anything - solace, complete isolation, being wrapped warm in his control. As the months tick by, I imagine myself completely encased in cotton, as if I am packed away. I cannot hear or move. I can see the bright white all around me. Everything is quiet.

I am not done with this space, not even close. I know that I have updated less frequently and I will get back on track soon. For now, know that I am well and that I am happy. Trust that we are still on our path and we are in lockstep, going wherever we are headed.


I think that He knows me better than anyone else in the world. And I like to think that I know more about him than anyone else, but there is still a part of him that is hidden from me. It is the deepest, most darkly sadistic version of himself, the part that he is hesitant to show me for fear that I will be too afraid of what I see.

Often when we are in the heat of the moment, he is coolly dispassionate. He steps back and surveys my naked body, he applies the belt strategically, he pauses. He is calm and professorial is his demeanor. He is having fun and, most importantly, he is completely collected.

In contrast, the other version of him is absolutely wild. It is unhinged, manic, rabid. I can tell when the other him has come out when I see his eyes. They are full of rage and hunger. They make me instantly afraid - of where the man I know has gone, of whether this other version of him will know where to stop, of my own capacity to take what he has to give. Sometimes I think that I can coax the reasonable, rational version of him out from behind the monster, but often that only makes him more excited. When he sees that his prey is scared and flailing, begging for mercy, he only sinks his teeth in more deeply and holds on more tightly.

Last Friday, I encountered this version of him unexpectedly. I was sucking his cock in the living room when he pulled me up roughly by my hair. I saw that evil glint in his eyes and I knew. I knew as he pushed me over the couch and fucked me hard, clawing at my back. I knew as he forced his cock into my mouth and choked me without mercy. I knew as he knocked me to the ground and hit me that he was out. There would be no caging him until he had his release.

Only after bending my legs back and fucking me until I cried and we both came did he relent. Then he went back into hiding, behind the calm facade of my owner. He lays there quietly, waiting for his chance to come out again.

Locked From the Inside

You know you can leave if you want, even though I don't think you want to leave.  There's still a door but it's locked from the inside.

You're like a puppy who sees an open front door.  You get excited and you think you'll be free and you run out of the door.  But you come running back after five steps outside.  You want to be home and safe and you can't handle being free.    

You wouldn't make it one day on the outside.  You'd come running right back inside like that puppy.  

I know you like to think that you can leave if you want.  I'm not going to physically hold you or stop you.  But it's not me that's keeping you by my side.  

The old you is dead and you can't get her back.  Even if you left, even if you thought you were free, you'd never be able to be the old you ever again.  I'll own you forever.  You'll never be free.     

Coming Out of the Silence

For a day or so after our intense argument early in the week, I was mostly quiet.  I agreed with Him and generally went along with everything without complaint.  I was still a bit scared of the man that I saw that night.  I wasn't sure how to mesh that person with the sweet man who chauffeured me to a doctor's appointment, who made me coffee each morning, and who held my hand as we watched a scary movie.  If anything, I thought maybe I had made part of that experience up, or that I had read the situation incorrectly?  Because people certainly don't go from pinning down their girlfriends and telling them that they cannot ever leave to being sweet overnight, right?

I found myself thinking about what I should do at the end of the week.  I could keep my intentions to myself and just head home, I could change my locks and drop off of the face of the earth.  I love Him, but I thought thought I was supposed to be able to leave if I wanted.  I thought that was the only rule.  In our 24/7 dynamic, I thought that the choice to leave, to say "I withdraw my consent," was the only rule that we still had.  I thought it was my last line of defense.  But he wouldn't let me exercise it, so I didn't know where I stood.  

We talked about it eventually.  I told him how scared I was, how I didn't understand why what he did was okay.  He recognized that it was an intense experience, but he didn't think anything was ever going to be normal with us.  We could never just walk away from each other.  We could never just put one another down and pretend like it didn't affect us to the very core level.  He is right about that.  

I told him that I didn't know how to process what had happened, only that I knew what he had done would have been unacceptable for anyone else's boyfriend.  If one of my girlfriends came to me with this story (...all of it...), I'd probably tell her to run away.  I kept feeling like that for days, focusing on the paradigm of the controlling boyfriend, until he stopped me short.  

"I'm not your boyfriend.  I OWN you.  I know what is best for you and I will do whatever I want with you.  Do you understand that now?"

I need to stop thinking of him as my boyfriend.  That's what he is to the outside world, to the people at work and my family.  But he's not my boyfriend, not really.  I've been thinking a lot about the public/private aspects of our relationship and the cognitive dissonance that that divide causes for me.  I remember all of the times when friends who know me as a Type A in-charge woman joked about how I probably wear the pants in the relationship while I looked down and he gripped the back of my neck tighter and tighter.  We always laugh that off, but I'm a little bit sick of behaving one way in public and another way in private.  

I used to think that part of the allure of my submission and all that comes with it is that it is taboo and wrong.  I thought that I was thrilled by my little secret and even worried a bit about the lustre wearing off as the taboos became an acceptable part of my life.  But that's not the case at all.  The ruse of the "secret life" is exhausting and I hate it.  I want to be who I am with him all of the time.  I want to stop worrying about playing to my audience.  I want for him to really be my owner 24/7 and I want people to know.  

I've ventured off topic, but I feel like this is an important point.  I got past the drama of that evening and we are back to normal.  I did not leave and he will be letting himself into my apartment tonight as usual.  But we are also back to keeping our relationship silent out of fear of whatever is out there.  Out of our own desire for privacy, sure, but also out of a desire not to face the judgment of the world that tells us that what we are doing is wrong.       


I haven't written during the past week. I spent the whole week at home with Him. I've thought about sharing this experience all week, but I hesitated because of how complicated it was for me. It was intense, and my account doesn't really do justice to what happened. This is only part of the story:

Early in the week, I got upset about something. I listened to his apology, but I couldn't get past it. I sat on the bed next to him with my knees pulled up to my chest. He tried to touch me but I brushed him off. He wanted me to lay down next to him, but I didn't want to be held or to look at him.

I wanted to leave. I mean, I thought I did. I wanted to be in my car, driving away. I wanted to sit alone and think. I wanted to be inside myself for a while so I could figure out how to come back to him.

I told him that I wanted to go and I moved to the edge of the bed. He put his hand on the back of my neck and squeezed. "You don't want to go. You want to stay here with me," he said quietly under his breath.

"No, I want to go. I want to be by myself," I mumbled. I could hear the waver in my own voice.

He shook his head. He tightened his grip on my neck and tilted my face so that he could look me in the eye. I looked away, anywhere so he couldn't see into me. I could feel his eyes on me anyway.

"Stop that," I said, covering my eyes with my hands.

"Stop what?," he asked as he continued to burn his way inside of me.

"Your eyes...stop that!," I cried. I tried to twist away from him. He just pressed down on the back of my neck until my forehead pressed against the mattress.

His breath was hot against my ear. "You want to go home and be by yourself?" I nodded. I was too scared to speak. "You want to be free?" I didn't move. I was too confused. "Or do you want to be owned by someone else?," he hissed as he gripped the back of my neck so hard that I cried out. "You're not going anywhere tonight. You're going to brush you teeth and then I'm going to put you to bed."

I sobbed with my face pressed into the mattress. He stroked the back of my head as I cried and murmured in my ear. He told me all the things we would do that week. He was suddenly being so sweet, I almost forgot that he was holding me down by my neck.

After he let me sit up, I moved to the edge of the bed again. I wasn't sure what I wanted anymore, but the fact that he wouldn't let me go made me want to leave all the more. I stood up and he grabbed my wrist to pull me back down onto the bed. He sat on top of me and held my wrists down.

"I told you, you're not leaving. You need to be here with me," he said, his eyes dark with anger. My wrists hurt and I struggled against him. "It will stop hurting if you stop struggling," he warned.

He slid down to lay next to me, resting his hand on the front of my neck. Tears were running down the sides of my face. I stared straight up at the ceiling and tried not to look at him. "I think I want to go," I whined.

"You think you want to?," he asked.

"I don't know...I think so...," I trailed off.

He slapped my face hard three times. "NO, you don't," he said with a great deal of force. "I can't be without you tonight."

I sat quietly for a long time and let him hold me. I wanted to be upset, but I could feel my resolve slipping away. He was right - I shouldn't be alone and it was too late for me to drive. Maybe I could just stay that one night...

He pulled me closer and I melted into him a bit. "That's a good kitten." I closed my eyes and felt the great draw of inertia. I could just lay there. It would be so easy.

"I want to make love to you," he whispered. He pulled up my nightgown. I squeezed my eyes shut as he felt between my legs. I was completely soaked, against all reason. He wrapped my legs around his waist and started fucking me gently.

I sobbed as he started thrusting into me with more force. I clung to him and he let me blubber against his shoulder. We came together in great shuddering gasps and fell back onto the pillows together.

I felt so wrung out. I let him lead me into the bathroom, where he watched me brush my teeth. Then he led me back into the bedroom and tucked me into bed. He turned off the light and shut the door behind him. I closed my eyes and fell asleep.


I approach Him from behind. He sits at the table facing away from me. He is preoccupied by what he is reading. He is not paying attention to me right now.

I creep up behind him, slowly. I pause for a moment to stare at the back of his neck above his collar. I am drawn to this exposed piece of skin.

I lean down and gently brush my lips against the back of his neck. He shudders, raising his shoulders slightly before sighing and leaning back against me. I snake my arms around his shoulders and bury my face in the back of his neck.

As I nuzzle his neck, I breathe him in. I take deep breaths and hold his scent in my nose for as long as I can. I want to remember his scent, I want to carry it with me when I have to go out into the world without him.

He touches my arms lightly and brings me around to sit on his lap. I sink against him as he sighs, "My little Kitten." I rest my head against his shoulder and close my eyes as he cradles me in his arms.

I am not sleepy, but I find myself drifting away as he rocks me back and forth in his arms. We are quiet, for the moment.


I knelt before Him. He pushed me down onto all fours and held out his cock. "Here, come and get it." I opened my mouth to take him and he stepped backward. I crawled forward and opened my mouth again, only to have him step backward again. I crawled halfway across the room after him before he let me take him in my mouth. "I love to see you crawling like that, all hungry for my cock," he smiled.

He rocked his hips as I sucked on him, thrusting gently into my mouth and guiding my head. He was letting me control the speed and the tempo for the time being, and I was able to look up at him as I worked. But after a few minutes, he gripped my hair more firmly and started fucking my face more quickly.

I started to gag and pull back, but he wasn't letting me go anywhere. I scrambled from my kneeling position and back onto my ass, but he just held my head back and leaned forward until his cock was deep in my throat. I couldn't control anything at that point. My mouth was held open and he kept plunging his cock as deep as he could. I was gagging, but he wasn't letting up.

As I choked and sputtered, I tried to lean back to get away from him. He wasn't stopping, so he kept thrusting forward as I leaned back and back and back. At one point, I was lying flat on my back and he was crouched on top of me, still fucking my mouth. My arms were pinned under his legs and I could do nothing but flail my legs.

He seemed to relish my position because, between gagging and choking, I noticed that he was still smiling. My eyes were wide and I was trying to breathe, but he enjoyed every moment more than the one before. When he saw the surprised look on my face, he said slyly, "I feel like I just captured my prey and now you can't get away." I whimpered and he kept fucking my face. I could not resist. I could not do anything.

Trouble, Part III

He put me up against the wall as soon as we were alone together. He groped me roughly and taunted me - did my guests know what He was doing to me as soon as they left? What would they think of me if they knew?

He forced me down to my knees and fucked my face roughly, bruising my upper lip with the force of his thrusts. I tried to pull away, but he just pulled my hair harder and kept me on his cock.

"Up," he said as he used my hair to pull me to a standing position. He led me into the bedroom, detouring through the dining room to pick up the paddle from where I had placed it on the table. As we entered the bedroom, he shoved me hard and I went flying forward onto the bed. I was surprised, and as I hesitated with fear he pulled my dress up over my head and my panties down to my ankles.

"Do you want your punishment now, or later at my house?," he asked diplomatically.

"Now, please," I said immediately. I had been waiting all week. I had to get this over with.

"All of it now?"

"Yes, sir."

He stood back and I braced myself. I gripped the sheets on the bed and squeezed my eyes shut. He started paddling me, slowly building up the force he was using, until I was crying and writhing on the bed. He came over and laid next to me, petting my already-sore ass with the furry side of the paddle. I was taking large, gulping breaths and trying not to sob too loudly. I wanted to take my punishment like a good girl.

"What did you learn this week, Kitten?," he asked. I looked up at him through my hair.

"To tell you everything. To trust you. To think of you first always."

"That's right, what else?"

"That you control everything and that I'm not free."

"Yes," he sighed and he got up to start paddling me again. He hit me in time with his words. ""

"Yes sir, yes," I cried. He pulled me up off of the bed by my hair and deposited me in a pile at his feet. I was woozy from the paddling. I clung to his legs, unable to kneel on my own.

He picked up something off of my dresser and held his hands behind my back. He told me to pick a hand - one would mean 10 more hits and the other would mean 20 more. I reached out my hand and lightly tapped his right hand before sinking to the ground.

"Ten more, Kitten, then you're done." He helped me back onto the bed and I laid there like a rag doll. I just needed to breathe to be able to get through this. If I could just keep breathing...

He gave me ten more hits with the paddle. Then he curled up next to me, lightly tracing his fingers over the bruises blooming on my ass. I felt safe and comforted by him, and any doubts that I had about my transgressions and my rules were gone. My mind was clear and we were starting a new day.

An hour later, in the car to his house, I dozed lightly in the front seat of the car. He kept his hand on my leg and, when we got to the house, he picked me up and carried me inside.


We kissed as we sat on my couch, those slow, lingering kisses, the ones without any urgency. He slid his fingers into my panties. I was already soaked for him.

I pulled him into the bedroom. It was dark except for the streetlight poring in the open window. I slipped my dress over my head and laid my body on top of his, feeling him underneath my skin.

As we kissed and touched, as he fingered me and made me come, as I took his cock in my mouth...all of these feelings came flooding back. The dark room, the open window with the cool breeze blowing in, the unhurried exploration of each others bodies. It felt like the first time.

"I knew I was going to own you the first time I touched you," He whispered to me in the dark. "I knew you would be mine."

I whispered back to him, because to speak aloud would break the spell: "How did you know?"

He laughed quietly and slid his fingers into me again. I arched my back and opened my legs even more for him. "I was always meant to own you. And I always will."


I sit in my office and try to work, but I am distracted. I am thinking about the paddle that I bought this morning. It is my bag, nestled there where no one can see it. I am thinking about my new rules and how I will handle them in the future.

My cheeks are already burning in anticipation of the punishment that I will face tomorrow night. The anticipation is the worst. He has grown calm and determined about my punishment in the last few days. He is not angry, but he is serious about what happened and ensuring that it never happens again. He is serious that I learn my lesson and that I take on the new burdens that he has set out for me.

I wonder how many hits with the paddle I will receive, then I quickly put this thought out of my mind. I must remember to breathe, I must repeat my rules to myself to keep calm, but I cannot panic. I cannot worry about how much more of the pain I will have to bear.

I receive an e-mail from my friend Anne, who wants to meet me for drinks after work next week. I am ready for this. I do not respond right away. Instead, I forward her e-mail to Him and ask if it is okay for me to meet with her. I wait impatiently, drumming my fingers on my desk as I will him to respond that I may.

I sit there, waiting, wondering, worrying, anticipating, fretting, dreaming.

My assistant comes into my office from the outer office area with a file for my meeting and I put all of these thoughts away. I close my e-mail and hope that there will be a response from him when I return. I stand up behind my desk and straighten my hair in an attempt to look pulled together, like the serious businesswoman that I am supposed to be. I take the file and, stepping over my bag with the paddle in it, I head toward my meeting.

Trouble, Part II

I don't know what I was thinking when I accepted a last-minute lunch invitation from my friend Paul. I wasn't thinking, actually. While I consider Paul to be a platonic friend because we have known each other for 8 years, that has not always been the case. We were lovers, briefly, five or six years ago. When our affair fizzled out, we reverted to being just friends again.

But He is wary of Paul and does not like that we remain in contact. So later that afternoon when I told him over the phone about my lunch, he got very quiet. He ended the call quickly, but I thought I was in the clear.

Until the e-mails started coming through. "You really enjoy your freedom, don't you? You may have less of it very soon."

And: "You'll be dealt with accordingly."

And: "I am not pleased at all."

He commanded me to get a paddle before he saw me over the weekend. More shockingly, he canceled our meeting that night. I would be forced to stay home and think about what I had done and contemplate how I had forced him to implement new stricter rules.

When I arrived home that night, He was waiting in his car outside my building. It was a wonderful surprise after a harrowing day. "I knew that you shouldn't be alone tonight," he whispered into my hair as I hugged him. "I knew my kitten needed me with her tonight."

As we talked inside, he laid out my new rules and restrictions. He will monitor my phone use when in his presence and review all texts and e-mails that I receive or send during that time. He set out specific instructions for my conduct with my friends, including remaining by his side or at his feet and deferring to him before I speak. He required me to come to him for approval for all social engagements, no matter how innocent. And I was not to see Paul again.

"That's not fair," I said quietly, twisting my hands in my lap and staring at the floor as I knelt at his feet. "He's my friend. Nothing happened. It's not fair."

He sat there passively with a benevolent look on his face. "I know," he said with a hint of false sympathy. "It isn't fair. But that is the way that it is going to be."

I cried and protested for a while longer. I could see how things would go in the worst scenario: I would alienate Paul completely, I'd lose my other friends under the weight of his restrictions. I would cease to be a grown woman who decides what she can do and when. I would be turned into a child who must ask permission to go outside to play with her friends and He would become the parent who would have the power to say no and keep me inside.

"Kitten, do you accept your new rules?," he asked. I continued to look at the ground and mumbled a reluctant yes. "No, you have to really accept them. I'm not convinced that you understand why you need this."

"I don't need this!," I exclaimed. "I'm a good girl! I didn't do anything with Paul!"

"It's not about that. It is about you needing more discipline in your life." He paused. "You feel pretty free most of the time, don't you?"

"Yes," I said flatly. (Had he been reading my blog?)

"You're freer than a lot of other girls out there. It's getting in the way of your training. I need to hold you on a tighter leash and I need you to feel me there with you always. I need you not to forget that you're owned...ever."

"Well, what about my friend Ted? I kissed him during freshman year of college! I think it was with tongue!," I roared incredulously. "That was ten years ago, but are you going to forbid me from seeing him too?"

"No, Kitten, you know that I'm fair with you. As long as you don't give me a reason to doubt you," he smiled. "I need you to look me in the eye and accept your rules."

"Or what? What's the other option?"

"There is no other option," he said.

I started crying, feeling truly trapped for the first time. I thought that I could work my way out of this situation, or play to his forgiving nature. But he wasn't budging. It wasn't even the punishment that I had coming. I would worry about that later. It was the prospect of spending the rest of my life like this, being shut in a series of progressively smaller cages.

He cupped my chin in his hand and forced me to look up at him. "You want submission when it's easy. When it's convenient for you?" I opened my mouth to protest then quickly closed it. He was right. "Now do you see that accepting this will be good for you? You need to learn this lesson."

I took a deep breath and nodded. I looked right at him and said, "I accept."

There was a heaviness in my heart as he held me and told me that I was a good girl for accepting the new rules. I pouted for the rest of the night and cried again before bed that night. I slept fitfully. But I woke cradled in his arms, and everything felt safe and right again.


Are there scarier words in a submissive's world than "you will be dealt with accordingly?"

Maybe these words. An e-mail from earlier today, when I messed up big time:

You have an assignment. There is no choice but to follow these orders.

You have today after work and tomorrow to get it done. Find that sex shop near your job. Get a paddle. Any paddle.......and have it ready.

Also an enema.....

Have both of those things ready for me to use this weekend. I know it's not much time, but that's the way it's going to be.

Got it?

Yes, Sir.


I was kneeling between his legs. He was stretched out on the bed, waiting for me to take his cock in my mouth. "Down," he coaxed, pushing on the back of my head, "down."

I lowered my head under pressure from his hand. "Good," he patted my head, "that's a good dog."

I froze, mid-suck. Did he just call me a dog? No, couldn't be. I chose to ignore it and kept sucking.

"Now, sit up," he cooed. I looked up at him with questioning eyes. "Sit up like a good dog."

I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment. I had to obey but I didn't understand what he was doing. I sat up anyway and squeezed my hands together to manage the tension.

"See? You are a good dog!," he exclaimed with mock enthusiasm. I shook my head, still not sure what he was doing, aside from humiliating me. "Back down," he said and I lowered my head.

As I continued to suck him, he rubbed the back of my head and cooed some more about what a good dog I was for him. I sat up abruptly.

"I'm not a dog," I said with some hesitation. It seemed silly to have to assert such a thing about myself.

"Of course you are," he said with a frustrating lilt to his voice. "You sit up, you beg, you roll over-"

My hands flew up to my ears. "I'm not a dog!," I said louder, cutting him off from his list of my canine attributes. I couldn't listen to him recount all of the things that I do that, now that I thought about it, sounded awfully a lot like the things dogs do.

"Down," he said quickly, and I ducked my head down to his cock. He chuckled to himself and patted me on the head again. Dammit, I thought. I obeyed his command just like a dog. Oh god.

I started sniffling as I sucked his cock, not wanting to believe that he thought I was an animal. Not willing to admit that I act just like one. Tears dripped down my face as I started quietly crying.

"What's wrong?," he asked.

I looked up and mumbled, "I'm not a dog," through my sobs.

"Oh, yes you are," he said quietly.

"No, I'm a girl," I said, quietly at first. I kept repeating it to myself. "I'm a girl, I'm a girl, I'm a girl..." I kept up this mantra as I tried to block out all of the thoughts about the commands that I follow like a dog, the crawling on the floor, the begging. Was I trying to convince him that I was a girl or convince myself?

He pushed my head back down onto his cock and I managed to suck his cock. I stopped sniffling and was finally able to make him come in my mouth. It seemed like a hollow victory, since I had been so humiliated in the process.

He pulled me up next to him when I was finished. He nuzzled my neck and held me close, but I felt detached. I didn't know what to think of what just happened. He whispered in my ear: "Kitten, you're whatever I want you to be."


Any situation in which some individuals prevent others from engaging in the process of inquiry is one of violence. The means used are not important; to alienate human beings from their own decision making is to change them into objects. - Paulo Friere

We were discussing the status of my training and my occasional habit of treating my submission, as He says, "like something that can be put down when it is inconvenient." I know that he was only being constructive in his criticism, but that evaluation really hurt. I take my submission very seriously and have never thought that I could just put it down and pick it back up at will. But He sees more than I do, and if he is dissatisfied by my behavior from time to time, then that is what matters. I am sure that his perception on this issue is affected by my recent behavior with my friends, but I don't want this to turn into a regular habit for me. I have to fix this before it becomes a more serious issue.

I have been thinking about why I would treat my submission as something more casual than it is, even unconsciously. I have thought about my restrictions and compared them to the restrictions of many of the subs that I know - in comparison, I have it very easy. I get up every day whenever I want, choose my own clothes for the day, make my way to work and continue to make thousands of little decisions for myself throughout the day. If I am not set to see him that day, I make my way home, eat a dinner of my own choosing, and just make sure that I am in bed by my bedtime. If I do see him, I am subject to his commands and demands, but that is the case only two or three times a week. I am always subject to my general rules, but the proscriptions on my daily activities are minimal.

I told him that this may be why I am too casual about my submission sometimes. I feel free most of the time. I do not identify as a slave and there are times when I feel like I can do whatever I want. Most of the time, I can do whatever I want.

But when I told him this, he laughed quietly. "What?," I asked, wondering what was so funny.

"That you think you get to do whatever you want, Kitten," he said.

"But I do! I can wear whatever I want and go see my friends whenever I want and...," I trailed off as he shot me a look.

"You go to work and do your job. That's the only thing you're free to do. Everything else you do because I let you." I stared at him with my mouth slightly open, trying to understand what he was saying. He grabbed the back of my neck and brought my face close to his for emphasis. "You go see your little friends," he sneered, "and you think you have control but you don't. I let you go see them, but don't forget that that can stop at any time. I can stop any of this at any time. What you wear, what you eat, who you see, who you e-mail...I control all of it."

"But...," I stammered, "you wouldn't stop me from seeing my friends, would you?"

"Just try me. Then you'll know exactly how not free you are."

I think I have freedom but I don't really. This feeling that I carry with me throughout the day as I make all of my little decisions is just an illusion. All of those little things are inconsequential, anyway. I may feel important that I can choose between wearing a skirt and pants to work in the morning, but when it comes down to it, I have no control where it really matters. I am owned and I cannot lose sight of that. I cannot forget that, even though he is not there holding the back of my neck at all times, that I am completely under his control.


About a year ago, I spent a long weekend with my two best friends. I have known these friends for over ten years and count them among the closest people in my life. That weekend we spent together marked the endpoint of a long summer spent together, traveling together, taking trips to the beach, going to parties and concerts, and generally enjoying each others company. The final weekend of that summer, we planned to attend an outdoor music festival. We were going to see my all-time favorite band, one that I had not been able to see perform live because of their overwhelming popularity and the scarcity of (affordable) tickets to their shows.

So, that beautiful Saturday afternoon, we set out for the show. We were in high spirits. I was relaxed and tanned from long days at the Cape. I was still entangled in a relationship of sorts with D., but at that moment I had resolved to draw things to a close. I had enjoyed our time together, but I was starting to feel like I either wanted to be in a real relationship or be by myself. I was ready to be by myself for a change.

I was at the height of my confidence on that day. I had everything that I wanted. I mingled among my friends and the crowd at the festival, sure of my every movement. For once, I didn't care who was looking at me or what other people thought. For once, I was without anxiety about my appearance or my mannerisms. For once, I laughed with the kind of abandon that I had admired in those pretty girls in my high school class, the ones who were effortlessly unselfconscious.

I was finally self-sufficient. After years of bad relationships and bad roommates, I was living on my own and taking care of myself. I didn't need anyone. I had my friends and I had this moment and that was all I needed. I was never more independent in my life.

I met Him the next day.

When I think about my best friends, I remember that moment, that singularity. I remember the feeling of control and independence and I connect that feeling to my time with them. They know me as that independent girl, they always have. They couldn't possibly know that, even though I felt wonderful that day, there was always something missing in my life. They couldn't know that behind the bravado was a girl who was faltering under the weight of her independence. They have never seen the vulnerable girl that I am with Him, the little girl that he takes care of.

So when I spend time with Him and with my friends, there are always problems. I forget my place and my submission starts to fade into the background. The cognitive dissonance between the independent girl that I portray to the outside world and the vulnerable girl I truly am becomes too loud for me to bear. He reminds me of his ownership, often cruelly, during these times but that only makes me more confused. I don't know who to be. I don't know who I am.

I don't want to stop seeing my friends because I fuck up every time I am around them. I am not willing to sacrifice what I think will be lifelong friendships because I am worried that I cannot submit and be the person that they have known. I have to find a solution to this problem, but that solution must put Him first and firmly establish that I am owned above all else. He expects that and I cannot disappoint him any more. My time with my friends is the last place where I have held onto my view of my independent self. It is the place that I hold onto it the strongest because that independence forms so much of the girl they know. If I can't let go of this, I will not have truly submitted to him. It is what is keeping me from moving forward. He is going to think up some strategies for dealing with this situation in the future because, as things stand, my balance between my friends and my submission is very badly off.