Tuesday, August 26, 2014

Sadist

He's a sadist. That's something I really like actually. I don't know why. Maybe because ... it means he's a total bad-ass.

Or something.

His sadism used to scare me, when I first met him. I think it seemed like something weird and scary. Maybe uncontrolled. Maybe he was going to go on a rampage and tie me up and chainsaw me or worse.

Now I think I see it almost entirely as an extension of his dominance. Which is to say that he likes hurting me, because in our relationship he can do it and I have to let him.

I think he loves hurting me, just because he gets to. It's power, the power of knowing that I submit to the pain because it's a way of submitting to his dominance.

Maybe I'm wrong. This isn't something that he's actually said to me, but I'm always trying to see inside his head. Especially when he's hurting me.

Especially when I'm trying to distract myself from the pain.

Friday, August 22, 2014

Breakfast Rules

We had a another fight this week. Yeah I know, fight after fight after fight.

This one started off stupidly.

He likes eggs for breakfast. Eggs, bacon, toast. Jam. Has to be the right jam, strawberry or maybe raspberry. Not orange. Not peanut butter. Coffee with cream and sugar.

I know he likes what he likes. Cooked properly. By me. No substitutes.

Occasionally he changes what he wants. Cereal. Pancakes. And we still better have what he wants.

Monday we ran out of eggs. And jam. I knew we were out of eggs. I didn't realize about the jam.

I knew but I had forgotten and then I was tired and I didn't go shopping. Not a big deal right?

But it was. Is. He wakes up cranky and he wants what he wants. His perfect breakfast. If I could have persuaded him to have pancakes that would have been awesome. But it wasn't what he wanted. And when he realized, he was really a jerk about it.

Yes, he'd have pancakes, but omg he was being such a jerk. And I could tell he was going to be mad at me about it. And I want him pleased, not mad at me. 

So I got in my car and drove to the convenience store and bought eggs while he showered. Brought them home and was there even before he came downstairs.

And then he was fine. He came downstairs, I was frying the eggs, the bacon already done, making the toast, the coffee,I had cream.

He was pleased with me. He was a bit of a jerk about the fact that I had forgotten and had had to go out and get them, but he was pleased with me and just kind of ribbing me.

Can you hear the scary music?

I didn't have jam.

I hadn't realized.

So there was a big fight.

Not hitting. Nothing like that. But cold angry silence.

When he came home it was still cold.

After dinner he called me into the family room. Sat me down and gave me some new rules. About breakfast of all things.  Every morning there is to be bacon, eggs, brown toast, strawberry jam, coffee with cream and sugar.

Everything else is optional. These elements are not. If they aren't available I will be beaten. In a D/s way. Not because he got mad but because I disobeyed a rule.

Keep your fingers crossed for me. For me to remember, because now there's a new rule.

Rules are good, right? They help right?

Friday, August 15, 2014

Update

How is it now?

A bit better.

It's better when we have a little time together.

But really, he has lots of other priorities, and I have trouble with that.

I'm supposed to be sweet and submissive and accepting and I struggle with it.

I want to be his priority.

This will shock him when he reads it. He'll think, "but I thought we were great. Wtf does she want? She's so demanding."

And you know, I am. I expect great things.

I want to be the priority, not the last thing on the list.

I want to be the most important thing in his life.

And I'm not sure I can live with being the 22nd best.

So that's how we are. A bit better. Not openly fighting.

Sunday, August 10, 2014

Badness

And now we're bad. Messed up.

Makes me sad. I've been crying all night.

Why?

Because reasons.

Is he sad? I don't know. Probably relieved that he could walk away and I'm not harping at him at the moment.

We've been so good.

And now we aren't.

Thursday, August 7, 2014

All Over Again

You know how sometimes you go through periods where you are madly in love with your lover all over again?


Where the doubts and the bad stuff seem to just disappear and you realize why you adored them because you adore them all over again?


I'm there. So there.

He's amazing and wonderful and I can't get enough of him. 

He's there too. I know it.

Why?

It was time?

I don't really know. Relationships take work. You sometimes you work and work and work, and they don't seem to be going well. And then finally, it clicks and ... it works.

And then it's so effortless. As long as you keep working at it.

Monday, August 4, 2014

Rationing

We've been playing this game lately.

Me asking for pain.

I know, doesn't make sense.

And it's dangerous, or it can be, asking The Sadist for sex. That's the way I think of him sometimes: "The Sadist". In capital letters.

It's scary to wake The Sadist and invite him out to play.

Because pain, no matter how exciting and sexual and submissive and glorifying it is sometimes, is also pain. And it fucking hurts.

So, when it goes past the wonderful part, where I'm thrilled to be giving it to him, sometimes it's scary and awful and makes me cry and wish that he didn't do it, and makes me wish especially that I'd never been fool enough to ask for it.

It started over the weekend. We were playing and I knew he couldn't hurt me, not really, because there were limits on him that day, and I just knew I was safe. Weirdly, it made me think of pain, of him hurting me, of offering it, of wanting it, and I started to talk about it. I kept bringing it up, kept bringing the conversation back there, over and over again. How I wanted to offer it, wanted it, wanted it, wanted it.

Pain and sex and humiliation and submission and obedience and did I mention pain. It was about channeling submission into pain and offering it that way. Or something. It was wanting him to hurt me, suggesting ways in which he could, offering it over and over again, acknowledging how hard it would be for me to take it if he started, really started, but how much I wanted him to start, to give it to me, to hurt me. Begging for it.

If I'm honest, I was crazy for it Saturday night, in a frenzy of not getting it, jonesing for it. 

Sunday morning I wanted it again. Pain. I could feel in my body where I wanted it, tits, ass, pussy. Pain. Delicious pain.

It's been a long time since I was so desirous of it. Usually I don't mind a little. Sometimes it's a trigger for sex for me. Often he blasts past the point where it's good for me and I just endure it because he wants it. But very very seldom it's something I crave. I was there.

So I asked him for it. Again. Sunday he gave me a little taste of it. I gobbled it down. Asked for more. He gave me another (smaller) taste. I ate that too.

Today, even smaller tastes. He's rationing pain. Doling it out like I'm in a pain diet. Stingy Sadist.

And he's giving me just enough to make sure I keep following him, begging for more.

I don't think it occurs to him that I will lose interest and wander off. And so far I haven't.

I still want more.

Pain whore he calls me. Yes Sir. Please.

Saturday, August 2, 2014

Saturday Mornings

I masturbated and came this morning while he was out doing good deeds.

I'm not usually forbidden from masturbating but I do have to tell each time.

Which... I don't really like doing. I never have. Which he knows. Which is part of the reason why he makes me do it. Power, right? Information as well. And information is power too. Which makes it great. Right?

He often stops to examine the confession.

With commentary.

"Well that was slutty."

or "Aren't you a needy little fuck?"

Which can be humiliating. Sometimes in a good humiliating way. Sometimes just in an embarrassing humiliating way.

Or he'll ask if I really needed it or if it was just "crime of opportunity".

In this case, a little of both Sir.

Friday, August 1, 2014

Everything Coming Up Daisies

Did you know, that "sadist" autocorrects to "daisy"? At least on my phone.

I know you're going to try it.

If not now, then later.

That's fine, you don't have to believe me.

Go ahead and try and let me know.

How do I know? A friend and I were discussing a Dom, and she asked me if he was and I guess she was paying attention because her message got through, mine got sanitized and I didn't even notice. "I don't know if he's a daisy."

And no, he isn't.