Hair Cut

I was going to get my hair cut to my shoulders. My hair is...was...a few inches below my shoulders and I wanted a change. When he heard of my plans, he imposed his own requirements. He wanted me to get it cut shorter, a few inches above my shoulders. So I made the appointment even though I was nervous about what he wanted me to do.

In the days leading up to the appointment, I had a hard time explaining to my friends why I was making such a drastic change against my will. I couldn't tell anyone why I was hesitant, conflicted even. This was a big step, a significant requirement from an Owner that doesn't usually micromanage me. But there was no one with whom I could share my concerns. I didn't want to tell Him what a hard time I was having, lest he think I wasn't up to being his submissive. I never want to disappoint him.

As I sat in the salon chair, I pondered this step I was about to take. I shook my head rapidly to dispel any fear and to ward off the tears that I felt pricking at my eyes. I was doing this for him. I am owned and I must be willing to alter my appearance to suit his desires. I am willing to do whatever he wants.

So I did it. I cut my hair shorter than I would have and I did it for him. As I walked away from the salon, I felt a lightness in my step. I had cleared the hurdle.


"Meet me inside the house in 5 minutes," He whispered in my ear as I stood by the picnic table, setting out plastic utensils for dinner. I looked at him sharply. He wasn't kidding.

"What about L.?," I whispered back. "If she finds us in her house, she'll kill me!"

"Just do it, Kitten," he said softly and smiled sweetly.

I found him sitting on the couch inside. The house was quiet except for the sound of voices out the window from the backyard. I heard my friends laughing as I went over to him.

He reached up under my dress and pulled my panties down. I looked toward the doorway quickly, sure that we would be discovered. He took my panties and tucked them into his pocket.

"Sit, Kitten," he ordered. I sat next to him and he spread my legs open with his hand. "Can you come for me?," he whispered.

I nodded slowly. I could already feel the wetness building. My clit was throbbing before he even slid his hand up my thigh to touch my pussy. When he made contact, I felt an electric jolt throughout my body. He only had to finger me for a few seconds before I was coming, gripping his fingers with my cunt.

"Please, can I come?," I gasped, almost too late. He said yes and I could finally let go. I bit back my moans. He eased his fingers out of me and slid my dress back down.

"Can I have my panties back now?," I asked quietly as I hear footfalls on the steps to the back door of the house. Someone was coming inside.

"No," he smirked. "If you're a good girl, you can have them back at the end of the day." L. came into the room and found us sitting together on the couch, the perfect picture of a happy, innocent couple ;-)


He is my center, my life. I am owned by him, wholly and completely. I thought that I would always feel owned even when I'm wasn't with him. I thought I would feel him strong with me at all times.

So last weekend when I had friends in town to visit, I had to learn a lesson about ownership and my priorities. We had two bad incidents in as many days that made me feel uncentered and in need of a renewed connection to him.

First, on Saturday night, I had to manage the the competing needs of five people who all wanted to go out different places and do different things, Him included. Since I was the hostess, everyone was looking to me to make a decision and plan our evening. But I was unable to deal with meeting everyone's needs while trying to remain appropriately submissive to him. How could I make a decision that would make everyone happy while taking his needs into consideration first? I ended up basically melting down and He took charge of the situation, which I knew he was hesitant to do because they are my friends and he was trying to be laid back.

That incident really took its toll on me. At home later, I knelt on the floor with my head in his lap. I didn't care that my friend R. was there. I had explained a little bit of our dynamic to R. and he seemed unfazed by it, to a point. I think he was surprised that I was expressing such raw vulnerability in front of others because he knows me as a very independent girl. In any case, I was happy to be able to talk to him a bit about my submission and show this part of me to him since I felt like I had been hiding it for so long.

Then on Sunday, I was with my friends while He was at home attending to some personal matters. He was having a bad day and was in a bad mood. I didn't hear from him so I just went about my business with my friends. I admit that I didn't really make an effort to include him. When I finally heard from him late in the day, I was very short with him on the phone. I was already very involved in what I was doing with my friends and sort of resented the intrusion. Worse yet, he was feeling sad and just wanted me to attend to his needs, but I brushed him off.

He eventually joined us on Sunday night, but I had already made a mess of things between us by that point. I was bustling around my apartment, playing independent hostess and neglecting him completely. I was on my own. He was there, but I was out from underneath him for the time being. I thought I was being strong, but I was really hurting the both of us.

After my friends left, he took me to the bedroom. He knew that things were bad between us, but he was going to let me hang myself first. I did, with aplomb.

I told him that I forgot that I was owned.

It was true. I completely forgot my place and his ownership of me was entirely absent. I was so distracted by my friends and my own needs that I totally undid months of my training. He said a few choice words to re-focus me, nothing more important than when he asked me repeatedly, "What are you without me?" I responded eagerly, desperate to prove to him that I wouldn't forget again.

"I own you, Kitten. What are you without me?"

"Nothing, Sir."

"What are you without me owning you?"


"Good little Kitten. Don't you ever forget that again." He held me tight to him before pulling down my pants and making me masturbate for him. He kept me from coming while he lectured me and told me over and over again that I am owned, body, mind and soul. When he finally allowed me to come, I was sobbing and telling him that I was sorry. I will never forget that he owns me. I can never forget.

Masochism, Part III

I cannot explain how or why this itch creeps up inside me, but it starts slowly and builds throughout the day. I start to feel jittery and anxious, like I'm crawling out of my own skin. I start unconsciously pulling at my hair and fidgeting, drumming my fingers restlessly and pacing in my office. I have an itch that I just can't scratch.

To call it a yearning makes it sound too peaceful, almost bucolic. Instead, it is a rattling vibration. It is relentless and high-pitched and nervous. It will not stop. I cannot make it stop.

Only He can fix this. Only he can hurt me so thoroughly that my mind can fall quiet again. Only he knows how to take me outside of myself so completely that this energy burns itself out.

But until he can take care of me, I am inconsolable. I am desperate, clawing, relentless. All I want is to feel him over me, all around me, hurting me. I hate him for making me wait, for having priorities that aren't satisfying this need. I resent anything that comes in between us, no matter how irrational. I am violent, raging and I just want to rest my head in his lap when it is all over.

I want to hurt him. I want to incite that darkness in his eyes. I want to be bad so he will punish me, please, please, just spank me, please. I want release and control and submission and all of that is absent in my office on a Monday afternoon. All of that is so far away and I cannot do anything to draw it closer. I cannot survive this one more minute. I cannot be absent from him for a one more second without exploding into a fury of white hot oblivion.


I was on my hands and knees in the living room. He was behind me, thrusting into me roughly. I moaned loudly.

"Stop it, Kitten." I whimpered in protest, but he was having none of it. "Your job is to stay still and shut the fuck up." He pulled roughly back on my hair. "You're not that independent girl when you're here with me. Right now your job is what?"

"To keep still," I muttered.

"And?," he prompted.

"To shut the fuck up," I said reluctantly. He kept fucking me, harder and harder. I kept quiet and bit back my moans.

"Do you want to come, little Kitten?"

I was afraid to say anything so I just nodded feverishly. I was so close to exploding.

"You can come. Come for me, little girl, come for me." That was all it took. I came long and hard and with great intensity.

He picked me up off of the floor and marched me into the bedroom. I stayed quiet while he took me again and again. I know my place.


There is this feeling when He is fucking me hard and overwhelming me with sensation. It starts as a quiet hum in my head as he throws me around and starts to slap my face. It increases to a roar as the belt comes down and I dissolve into tears. I am incapable of rational thought at that point, my mind is a mess of chaos. All I can do is act on pure instinct - to scramble away, turn my face, flinch at the sight of his palm.

That instinct, however, is muddled by my love for him and the protector role that he fulfills in my life. He hits me and I am immediately pulled in two directions at once - run or turn to Him for comfort. I don't know which to do, or even whether he will offer me his shoulder to curl upon on from one moment to the next. But when I reach the overload point, the point where I am afraid that I will shatter, the little girl inside of me just wants him to save me, save me from the mean man, save me from Him.

Recently, He pinned me underneath him and hoisted my legs up on his shoulders. My head was hanging off the edge of the bed. The blood was rushing to my head, the white noise in my mind was almost deafening. He noticed that I was holding onto the sheets underneath him to keep my position and he demanded that I let go.

My arms flailed in space. He gripped me by the neck, simultaneously hold me in place and choking me. My body was numb from the sensation of him fucking me furiously. It didn't hurt anymore. Everything was white. If I cried out at that moment, the sound came from my most primal, unconscious place.

I reached back and felt the floor with my fingertips. I don't know what I was trying to do, but my fingers fell on the leg of my favorite stuffed animal - a pink stuffed pig that I sleep with every night when he is not with me. I gripped the animal tightly in my hand as assaulted my body, eventually dragging the animal closer so that I could touch it with both hands. My eyes were closed. I was whispering to myself, repeating the word "Daddy" over and over again in some sort of bizarre mantra or request for reprieve.

When he saw that I was clutching the stuffed animal, he relented. He lifted me back up onto the bed and held me. "That's enough for now, " he whispered, "Good girl." He was once again my protector. I held onto him for comfort and he brought me back down to earth.


Things have been particularly intense around here lately. I know that he is making a concerted attack on my submission at this time. We are both incredibly nervous about my upcoming absence, and that anxiety is taking the form of increased control and more rough treatment from Him.

I accept these tests of my submission, even as I worry about my ability to bear up under the pressure. I am very stressed at work, there are difficulties with the health of a family member and I have much to do to get ready for my trip. All of that is bearing down on me while he is doing the same.

But with all of this pressure, some of the happier, easier moments have been lost in the shuffle. I have overlooked the late night we spent at the diner, giggling over our grilled cheese sandwiches. Or the nights that he has tucked me into bed with a sweet kiss and my favorite stuffed animal. Or the lazy Sunday morning that we spent in bed talking about the first time we met and the first time we made love.

With all of his cruelty have come sweet moments of reflection and repose. For every blow there is a soft kiss on my cheek. And for every moment of fear, my love for him grows and grows.

We will come back to balance soon and these trying times will end, I am sure of it. I trust him to lead us there out of the darkness.


He is breaking me, taking little pieces of myself away. I feel lighter every day.

He was handling me roughly, throwing me down on the bed, pinning my head back to ram his cock down my throat, choking me until I felt light-headed. And he was taunting me the whole time, calling me a slut, get on your knees, you little bitch, you dirty whore. He kept at it, getting under my skin, scaring me with the evil look in his eyes.

He wanted me to tell him that I was a slut, repeat those hateful words back to him. I hesitated beneath him. I cried with my head against the floor as he pounded into me from behind.

"Why are you crying, slut?," he demanded between thrusts.

I just shook my head and whimpered.

"Stop whimpering like a little bitch. I don't need to hear anything out of you." I buried my head in my hands and then covered my mouth.

He suddenly pulled out and picked my head up by my hair. "You are a slut, you know that?"

"No, I'm not," I mumbled.

"Oh really? You're not?" He held me by the neck, tight. I didn't dare move. "You're not the girl who fucked strangers? Who sucked off boys while you were on vacation with your ex-boyfriend?"

I lowered my eyes in shame. "Look at me," he demanded. I looked back up at him as tears fell from my eyes.

"You're not the girl who wants two cocks at the same time?" I couldn't deny that. I had asked for that.

"I thought so. You're a slut, you're my little slut. You're my whore, just three wholes for me to fuck. You're nothing but a whore for me to fuck. You're nothing."

I felt the rage well up inside me. I heard my voice scream inside my head: I'M NOT NOTHING! I have a name and a family and friends who love me and a great career. I am so many things. I AM NOT NOTHING.

But I didn't say that, not out loud. I looked into his eyes and felt the will drain out of me. His hand closed over my mouth and he pushed me down onto the floor. I laid there quietly, overcome. When he finally came all over my naked body, I was able to close my eyes. I let the darkness take me away.


S&M has been hard on my belongings, y'all. During a particularly brutal beating recently, He broke the medium belt across my back. It was an expensive or well-made belt, to be certain - more of a fun novelty belt that I would wear out to the club with my cute jeans - but he broke it in two nonetheless. Now he is intent on breaking the heavy leather belt across my back, which I'm not sure is possible. I tried to punch an extra hole in that belt once to make it fit tighter around my hips and I had trouble getting the sharp tool through the thick leather. I don't think he can break the large belt; he may just break me first.

He also destroyed a pair of panties last weekend. He was undressing me in a hurry and started to pull them from my hips when he suddenly looked up and asked, "Were these expensive?" I said that I didn't know because I didn't want him to know how much I had spent on the beautiful deep purple lace panties and matching bra. In the end, he didn't care. He tore them from my body anyway. Only when I heard the lace tearing did I believe that he was destroying them, shredding the delicate fabric of one of my favorite pairs of underwear. I was already sniffling from the way he had been smacking my face, bu that made me cry even harder. The indignity of it - he ruined them out of cruelty and all I could do was cry as the pieces fell to the floor.

At the same time he has been ruining my possessions with abandon, he has been treating me as more of a possession every day. He dictated what I should wear to a family event and instructed me to cut my hair the way he wants. He gave me vitamins to take every day because he said, "I want my Kitten to be healthy."

He has taken more control, exerted more ownership, even if it is only a slight increase. But I can feel the ground shifting beneath my feet as he takes more control over my life and my body for his ownership and complete dominion.


My bedroom was dark and completely quiet. The streetlight filtered in through the gauzy curtains and fell across the bed. We lay still, limbs intertwined, sighing in our sleep.

I turned away from Him and he laid his arm over my hip. He nuzzled my neck with his face and took a deep breath.

"I think it's time," he whispered.

"Hmm?," I murmured sleepily. "Time for what?"

"For the next step, little Kitten." I was completely awake now. I tensed against him.

"What's the next step?," I whispered quickly, almost afraid to know.

"Kitten, you know that I usually hold back when I'm with you. You can feel it when I'm beating you, can't you?"

I thought for a moment. Yes, I must have known somewhere inside me that he could beat me harder if he chose to. He's a powerful man, one I wouldn't want to tangle with in a bar fight. Of course, he could kill me if he let go and gave me everything he has. I nodded.

"I've held back because I didn't think you were ready yet. I was afraid that I would hurt you more than you could handle. I've been gentle with you. But now I think it's time to cross that line." I held my breath and tried to calm the tremble in my hands that had crept up unexpectedly. "I haven't broken you, really broken your body or your spirit yet, even though I could, because you weren't ready. But now...," he trailed off.

"Now what?," I asked, my eyes wide in the dark.

"'re going away soon and things have been so intense lately. I think you're ready to be broken. I think that you need it now."

I didn't know what to say, so I stayed silent. My mind was a blur of thoughts - what would this entail? Just more physical punishment? Or more of that mental power that he holds over me? - and I didn't respond. He pulled on the back of my hair and brought me sharply back to the conversation.

"Is that something you want, Kitten?"

"Yes," I said quickly. My answer surprised even me. But there's no going backward with Him. We always move forward at his pace, we always move move move.

"Are you sure? You're going to be a shattered little girl, on the floor, bleeding and crying before I'm done with you."

I shuddered. I could see myself on the floor with him standing over me. I could feel the emotion of being broken inside by his dominance. I knew that it was my future.

"You're going to have to ask me for it. I need to know that you're completely ready. You'll have to beg me." I nodded, lulled into a trance by his beautiful deep voice. "When it's time, I'll ask you if you want to be broken and you'll have to beg me. I need to know that you're sure."

"Yes, I will," I whispered. What had I gotten myself into, I wondered? At the same, I was so happy that he was planning this for me, that he had a plan for my training and my development. He was thinking of me, plotting, creating.

He fell asleep shortly after that. I got up and sat by the window in the dining room, the one with the large windowsill and the beautiful view of the moonlit park. I wrapped myself in my blanket and hugged knees to my chest. I shook with the cold and the anticipation. The whole world was silent. I listened to him breathing steadily in the other room and I waited.

In My Head

"Kitten, I am just going to put the head in. Are you ready?," He murmured from above me as I laid on the bed on my stomach. I nodded, knowing that he would not stop with just the head. He would put more in, make me take more. But I was ready.

I thought of that quiet place inside me. I held onto it as he lubed up his cock and pushed slowly inside of me. I tried not to focus on the intensity of the sensation but on the feeling of great calm inside my heart. He had asked for his, then demanded it. I owed him this and it was time for him to get his due.

As he continued thrusting deeper inside of me, I started to feel the panic rise in my chest. I began my quiet protest for him to stop, please. "Stay with me, Kitten, stay with me," he soothed quietly from behind me. "You're such a good girl, stay with me."

I relaxed almost immediately, dropping deep into a submissive place for him. I could hear his voice inside my head. You're part of me, Kitten. We're one person, you and me. You're a part of me. He was thinking for me, right inside my brain. He was talking directly to my soul.

When he was finished, we talked quietly as he held me. I was shaking slightly but I was powerfully peaceful at my core. That's when I learned that he had been speaking out loud from his place behind me the entire time. Those words that I had heard inside my head were coming out of his mouth.

It was the oddest feeling, almost paranormal. I could have sworn that he had invaded my mind. I would have bet money that we shared our thoughts at that moment. But maybe instead we were so close, so much a part of each other that it felt like the barriers between ourselves had been obliterated.


He bound my wrists with the restraints and laid me across the bed with my hands hanging off the side. He readied the belt, turning it in his hands. Before he began, I called him over to me with my quiet plea: "Daddy?" He crouched on the bed next to me and brushed my hair out of my eyes.

"Yes Kitten?"

"Are you mad at me?," I cried, embarassed by the tears that feel from my eyes. We had had a minor disagreement hours earlier, but I was worried that he was still upset with me.

"Of course not," he murmured. "I'm not mad at you. It's just time for your spanking. You're overdue."

I nodded. I had been desperate for him to hurt me lately.

"Do you trust me?" His eyes were calm, steady.

"Yes," I said immediately and he gently pushed my forehead down toward the mattress. He stood behind me and paused.

Suddenly, he brought the belt down, harder than I had thought possible. He struck the bed inches from my body. I jumped and squealed in fear as he slammed the belt down onto the bed on my other side. I shook with the shock of it.

"Are you ready to count to ten for me Kitten?" I nodded reluctantly and gathered my courage. "Ten across your ass to start."

He began beating me hard, not as hard as he had hit the bed but the threat of the increased impact hung over me. He worked my ass and my back and the backs of my legs. He took a moment to marvel over how red he had made my ass and at the welts on my back, then he turned me over onto my back.

He bound my ankles together with the belt and got out the vibrator and the anal plug. He lifted my ankles and inserted the plug into me, deep into my ass in one quick movement. "Keep your legs up," he ordered as he propped the vibrator against my slit. "Don't move a muscle," he said and off he went in search of something.

I stayed very still, trying not to squirm from the sensations in my pussy and my ass. He returned a few minutes later with a scarf. As he moved toward my head, he picked up the panties he had discarded on the floor hours before. He stuffed the panties in my mouth before tying the scarf around my eyes and practically wrapping my entire head in fabric in the process.

The rest is a blur. Bound and ordered not to move, rendered mute from the panties in my mouth and with my head swaddled, my senses were a blur. I recall the feeling of the plug being slowly pulled out and reinserted, the feeling of the vibrator being pushed into my pussy, filling me up, his fingers twisting my nipples, moaning through the fabric, screaming.

And the release, oh god the release. What I had been craving for days, dreaming about, scheming about. He drew my orgasm out of me until every last ounce of agitation had drained from my body. Every part of me that cried out for pain was now silent, tamed for the moment.


In the middle of May, I will be going away for two weeks. I will be going out of th country with my family. I will have limited contact with anyone in the U.S. He will not be going with me. This trip has been in the works for almost a year and it is one of the highlights of my hear, possibly my life. I started planning this trip before I met Him, before I knew that I would have to spend two weeks away from the most amazing person that I have ever met.

As the day looms ever closer, I get more and more anxious. I am nervous about seeing Him; I want to see him all the time. I want more intensity, more pain, more ownership. I need something to carry with me while we are apart so that I don't forget, to make me believe that he won't forget. I need some reassurance while I am away that this is real, that this is lasting and forever. I want his mark to take with me so I can see the tangible proof of his power while I am free.

I have been increasingly insecure and needy for his attention during this time. These feelings have made me wish that I could stay home with Him, they have made me wonder if I am completely unable to be without him. Does that make me weak? I have been having problems sleeping lately, but when I do sleep I am troubled by terrible dreams. He is there but just out of my reach, his attention is on someone else, I shout but he cannot hear me. He drifts away into the darkness and I am left alone.

Daddy, Part II

He took me to the bathroom so that I could pee for him. He knows how very vulnerable, how small, that makes me feel. He loves that feeling of benign power and trust and honesty between us when I'm feeling small and calling him Daddy.

Our Daddy/little girl dynamic is so interesting to me. It was a longtime fantasy of mine, one that I was hesitant to share with him. But once I did, it fit perfectly into what we already were doing. He always made me feel like he was taking care of me, whether he was pampering me or cruelly hurting me. Now I find myself crying out for Daddy when he spanks me or when he beats me. Of course, there is the grownup, wanton lust part of our dynamic. But the surrender of power that leaves me little and shaking is wonderful too.

So anyway, he brought me out of the bathroom and laid me down on the bed next to him. He started touching me, touching himself. He was talking quietly to me, telling me that I was his good little girl for peeing for him while he stroked my hair. I rolled my hips slowly as he gently massaged my clit and dipped a finger into my pussy. I was biting the nail on the thumb of my right hand to keep from crying out. When he saw that, he moaned with longing. I knew what he was thinking before he even said it and I blushed with shame.

"My little girl," he cooed, "are you going to suck on that thumb?" I looked down. I wanted to, but it seemed too far over the line. We don't do true age-play - not the bath times or the coloring - and this was unexpected. But I did it anyway because, beyond all rational thought, it felt right.

He pulled me closer and looked down at me as I slowly started sucking the tip of my thumb. I turned over onto my stomach and bent my legs up at the knees as I sucked, feeling so little and very ashamed. His eyes raked over me and he stroked himself faster. He groaned and came all over my ass as I arched my back up to meet his come.

I laid my head on his shoulder and sighed. I was worried that he would judge me for doing that, but he just held me and kept me safe.

Ownership, Part III

He's told me that he owns me for a while now. He's said it a lot more lately and I've been struggling to understand what it means, really means. My problem is that I still feel like such my own person, even though I know that I am under his control. I still get up every day, decide what to wear, and spend my whole day at work being this independent career woman. I support myself, make my own meals, pay my bills and arrange my finances, and maintain my own social life.

I guess I don't feel like I am tightly controlled all of the time though because I have so much freedom. He does not proscribe how I must dress, nor does he micromanage my time. I know that is not his style, that he would find that effort to be pointless and more work than is worth his effort. He has not laid down a litany of rules for me. I am only required to be a good girl for him and to obey. I must always obey and show him the proper respect. When I am not with him and am not under his direct control, it is up to me to think of him and have faith in his ownership of me.

There are times when I am happy for my freedom, when I am glad that he does not require that I interrupt my day or my routine with small reminders of him. But there are other times when I crave more rules - rules for their own sake - to make me feel more owned. I don't know - is it basic insecurity that makes me want him to watch over me at all times? If he is always paying attention to the minutiae of my life, he can never forget about me. He can never leave me behind if he is constantly tending to me.

Maybe I am expecting too much from him by seeking his attention all the time. Maybe I am expecting his ownership of me to obliterate my ego, to disintegrate it completely until all I feel are his desires. There are times when I truly feel like nothing, and I always know that I would cease to exist completely without him, but I can never forget who I am. I can never not be inside this body, can never leave my identity behind, no matter how many rules he lays down or how strictly he controls me.

But that might be what he wants from me in the end. Could it be that he wants me to be myself to make my submission that much more valuable to him? I may never lose myself in his ownership of me and that may be the way it is supposed to be. I may always be my own feisty self, my self, even though I know that he owns me completely. That is the true essence of his ownership of me, and it is just as he intended.

Consent/Non-Consent, Part II

I've been dancing around this on this blog, but astute readers might gather that I have a rape fantasy. I've thought about being overpowered, being taken by force, for years. I've though of it over and over again and from every angle. I'm past the point where I wonder whether this particular fantasy is part of a forgotten memory from my past. I'm done with worrying that I am sick or flawed or somehow a traitor to women everywhere because of this fantasy. It is a part of me, it is a part of my submission - it just is.

He knows about this fantasy. Of course he does - he guess that I had it even before I told him the details. And he has been into it the whole way.

I don't think my desire to explore this fantasy makes me a bad person, but I can't help but wonder about him, about his motivations. Why exactly would he want to participate in this act, this forcing of my body, this bending of my will? There are a lot of submissives who have pondered this topic, but not that many dominants have weighed in (although part of the paucity of consideration may be attributed to the few male dominant bloggers out there).

He is a gentle and considerate man, all sadistic dominance put aside. He is respectful of women and not the type who would engage in an actual forced sexual encounter. I know this about him and his character is without question.

But there is a darker part of him, a secret evil side that enjoys my humiliation and my shame. That dark side of him enjoys when I cry, when he can make me do something that I don't want to do. That same dark part of him feeds the rape fantasy, doesn't it? There is a fine line between fucking me while I beg him to stop and taking me by force against my will, isn't there?

There are no answers here, no judgments. This dark part of him that wants to rape may be no sicker than the dark part of my own psyche that wants to be raped. This may be just another example of how complementary and healthy our dynamic is, nothing more, nothing less.

Masochism, Part II

I am empty, starving. I eat but the hunger inside me is not satisfied. My limbs shake with anxiety, but no amount of activity or meditation will relieve the tension. I am not sexually frustrated, just craving something that has been missing for the past few weeks.

I need to be hurt by Him so badly. My back aches for his belt and my cheeks burn in anticipation of his slap. Everything inside me is taut, coiled tight, ready to be snapped by his force. I need him to beat me until skin is raw and my will is obliterated.

I am waiting, impatient and waiting. I know that I cannot control what he has planned for me or the course of my training. I cannot choose his methods or decide whether this will be the week when he marks me with the knife and I bleed for him. So I wait, vibrating with an anxious hum. I do not cut myself. I am a good girl. I will wait.

No, Part II

Words cannot describe how I feel as you held me, as I clawed at you to get away, as I cried please no, I can't, no. There isn't an emotion to describe this, this miscalculation, this mistake. I have no one to go to for relief from what I asked for, what I gave you permission to do to me. When even no means yes, more, more, how can I expect you to read my broken mind, to see how fragile and ready to crack I am under your touch?

You wanted me to submit, to forget the world outside the door, but I couldn't. Not that night, not at that moment. You wanted to teach me about trust when I could not bear another lesson. All I needed was your care and understanding but you were offering something else.

I learned a lesson anyway, if you care to know. I learned that I am nothing but what you have created me to be. I am nothing but your need.

I forgive because I must. I am nothing without you. And with you I cannot say no.