Oops

Yesterday, I said "fuck" in front of the baby.

This was made more serious by the fact that she isn't really a baby any more - I'm just lucky that she didn't immediately pick up on it and repeat it back to us.

I was driving and another car nearly drove into us in its attempt to cut us up. But even so. I said "fuck" in front of the baby.

Guess what's happening to me tonight?

Fantasy, reality

I wrote this well over a year ago. It was not posted at the time because it wasn't finished, but it seems I then completely forgot about it.

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I wrote something for M.

He set up the cage before we went to sleep, and in the morning I found out why.

As he got up in the morning he stripped the blankets off the bed and ordered me into the cage. Fortunately he was generous to give me a pillow and blankets in there.

I dozed off while waiting.

More than an hour later he returned, rummaged around in the cupboard and brought out the cane. Carefully and deliberately placed it on the 'roof' of the cage, picked up a few things and left for the school run.

I lay there, staring up at the cane and feeling the suspense mount.

An eternity later he returned, picked up the cane, opened the cage door and ordered me back to the bed. On my front, wrists and ankles to the corners. Told me to keep them there, and stay in position.

Then I got caned. Brutally hard right from the first stroke, making me strangle a whimper in my throat and clutch at the sheets for long, long seconds as the pain flared. He was watching the clock so I knew I had half a minute to come to terms with the pain before the next stroke fell. Just as vicious and feeling like it was practically on top. Hips writhing, my hands moved an inch and the cane tapped warningly on the stripes. His warning not to break position was nearly drowned by my yelp.

In all I got six with long, long thirty second stretches in between. Simultaneously far too long and nowhere near long enough. By the end I was dry sobbing.

I heard the cane being put back down in top of the cage and then was ordered to kneel up. I didn't move fast enough, his fist in my hair hurried me along until my nose was buried in his pubic hair and my mouth was full of his cock. He started thrusting, the handful of hair still holding me steady, harder and faster until he was satisfied. Then I was pulled off and ordered back into the cage.

Nursing my smarting bum, unable to ignore my throbbing cunt, I closed my eyes and awaited his next pleasure.

I didn't tell M I was writing it - he was in the living room and asked me to join him. All he knew was that I had this drive to write so I was sitting at the computer, but he didn't know what or why. But he read it the next morning while I was still in bed, and then went out to run some errands. When he came back I was downstairs having breakfast, but was guided back upstairs again for our usual morning cuddle. We cuddled for a while, and then he got up and started setting up the cage.

I have this funny contradiction. I write things and post them to a different blog, just to share them with M, so that he can read them. Sometimes they're things that I wish we'd do together, sometimes they're impossible fantasies, sometimes they're just thoughts similar to what I might write here. But I always get ridiculously self-conscious and embarassed if he actually shows any hint of having actually read these posts. Yes, the posts that I put up just for him. So when he started setting the cage up, I burrowed deeper under the duvet and hid.

I'd tried tucking all the edges of the duvet under my body to make it harder to excavate me, but in the end he didn't have too much trouble. M grasped my ear and 'guided' me upright (ow!), then snapped his fingers and pointed at the cage. I whimpered, eyeing the cold metal floor, and reluctantly crawled in. Fortunately he threw a blanket and pillow after me, which I was very grateful for. I'm pretty sure he got a kick out of looking down at me through the bars of the top of the cage, while I gazed back at him with sad puppy eyes. My gaze got even more mournful when he gently placed the metal ruler on top of the cage.

He snapped the padlock on the latch and left the room.

After a while I realised that I really liked being in the cage. It emphasised my feelings of being owned, of being a pet. All I could do was lie there (or sit there) and wait. That was pretty much the only decision I could make, whether to sit or lie down, and how to arrange my blanket. I could feel myself getting wet as I thought about it, and curled up feeling very subby indeed.

I heard the bath running and after a while M came back in and unlocked the cage. I didn't get to come out, though - instead he came in, pretty much lying on top of me, pressing me into the floor, taking some of the weight on his arms. It's a small cage and I'd been lying curled up on my side. In order to accomodate him on top of me I had to spread my knees to the side so that he was pressed up against my crotch. My head was pushed towards the back of the cage but there wasn't really enough room so as his mouth came down on mine and claimed me, my head was jammed into the corner of the cage sides, with my neck crooked at a funny angle. His kisses were hard and demanding, not really kisses at all, more like he was just covering my mouth with his as another way of claiming me. His tongue pressed in deeply and it felt like he was taking charge even of the space inside my mouth. It was only for a few moments but I was breathless when he let me up again.

Another snap of the fingers had me obediently crawling back out of the cage and kneeling at his feet. Then I was marched into the bathroom and there was no moment to pause before being ordered "into the bath, on your hands and knees."

He washed me like that, soaping the flannel and rubbing it firmly across my shoulders and shoulderblades, down the small of my back and over my hips. A soaped finger slid between my buttocks and then pressed deep inside my anus while the left hand kept scrubbing me with the flannel and my mortified whimpers were calmly ignored. Of course they were - you don't let your pet dictate what gets washed and what doesn't.

After he decided my back and backside were good and clean, I was ordered to sit back and he started working on the rest of me. My arms were carefully raised and washed, one at a time, my armpits given a good scrub. He washed under my breasts where the sweat gathers and used firm sweeps of the cloth over my belly so that I didn't get ticklish.

Being a pet, and knowing that he wanted to reinforce this to me, I wasn't really surprised when he wrapped the flannel around one finger and used it to clean my belly button. I absolutely hate this - it's just horrible in a way that I can't describe, worse than getting soap in my ears. I think I generally just don't like things probing my orifices (hah!). But even though I knew he was going to do it and that I'd hate it, I still couldn't stop him - something in me wouldn't let me, because I was his pet, and these kinds of decisions weren't mine to make.

It was still horrible though, and I couldn't stop myself from bringing my legs up and my arms down to try and protect myself.

M told me to sit forward and, knowing what he wanted, I dropped my head forward as well. He shaved a small patch of hair at the nape of my neck. He's been doing this for quite a while, but not recently - for some reason we just haven't had baths together for the last few weesks, which is quite unusual for us. It meant that the hair was pretty long - now it's three days since I was shaved and that little patch is at the velvety stage that I love. After, he washed my hair.

M had filled the basin with water for the shaving and then for rinsing my hair, but unfortunately this wasn't as warm as the bath water (which, truth to tell, wasn't really as warm as I would've liked it, either) and then one jug full was cold.

I don't do well with cold. In fact, I burst into tears.

On one level, I knew that what I should do was tell M that the water was too cold. I should have mentioned it when I first got into the bath (when it wasn't really cold, just a bit cooler than I liked), but I couldn't. The words just couldn't come out of my mouth. I was his pet and for some reason this meant that I should be dumb like other kinds of pets are. I couldn't actually say anything, and in fact it wasn't until I was thinking about it later in the day that it occurred to me that I could actually have mentioned it to him.

3 months

When I'm stressed out and feeling like I can't cope, one of the first things to go is my libido and any interest in kink. The last three months have been quite difficult.

Term's been really stressful and there have been a few other things as well that I've had a hard time coping with, so much so that I went to the doctor and got some anti-depressants. That screwed my libido up even more and led to some really scary realisations. Such as, my whole d/s minset is apparently built upon my libido. My libido went and with it went my sense of my place in life, my place in my relationship with M. All of a sudden I didn't understand why I had rules or why I had agreed to follow them. I even found myself wondering who the hell M was, to have the free access to my body that we'd both agreed that he did. It was my body.

That brought me up short. I've spent the last several years spontaneously, naturally (as in, without too much conscious effort or intention) growing closer and closer towards the place where all of me, everything that I am, is M's. Owned by him, taken care of by him, under his stewardship if you will. I'm not his slave because we both feel that the term 'pet' is more accurate. A pet is a responsibility that you take on because you want to and you enjoy looking after them. You own them, you make decisions for them, you train them, play with them, and so on. I like being M's pet and some of the moments of the most profound peace and contentment in my life have been found in his arms or at his feet, knowing, deeply and truly, that I'm his. How could I suddenly be so very, very removed from that? How could I be wishing that our touches remained sexually neutral, and not intimate? How could I resent his rules and feel that there was something wrong with having them?

Just to be very clear, this was not the same as that general sort of grumbling where you think the rule's a pain but you know it's good for you so you suck it up and follow it. I've done that occasionally and in fact there have been (rare) instances where M's received texts or emails from me saying that I was too grumpy to follow such-and-such a rule (usually my junk food limits or my sensible bedtime) and that I was just going to go ahead and break it. Unsurprisingly I get into trouble for this, although not necessarily for breaking the rule itself. More because these times are when I'm very unhappy and needing extra TLC and if I'd instead contacted M to say that this rule wasn't working for me at the moment, or that I needed a break, he'd usually be willing to bend them a bit, and often also tell me to do something else as well which would help me feel better. So I'd be more in trouble for shutting him out and compounding my problems, rather than just for breaking my rules.

But what I felt for several weeks in February and March was a lot more fundamental than that. I knew that I was M's pet, I knew that I'd asked for it, that I regularly asked for affirmation of my status, and that I loved my status. Except all of a sudden, practically overnight, I didn't love it any more. It felt uncomfortable and... wrong. And then of course I was engulfed in guilt and confusion. I felt like I'd betrayed M, betrayed our relationship. Was the whole thing a lie? Was I just feeling this rejection (on my part) now because things were tough and I was chafing against my rules? How on earth could I explain any of this to him if I didn't understand it myself?

We spent a couple of months with me guiltily hoping that he wouldn't want to have sex, or really be interested in anything more than cuddling in bed. Resenting him punishing me even when I knew I fully deserved it, and even though he was actually pretty lenient, and feeling guilty about that too. And just generally feeling pretty confused, upset, scared and like one of my foundations had suddenly turned to sand and been washed away by the tide. It affected other areas too - I haven't read any of the blogs on my links list for weeks, read/watched any porn, nor masturbated. I even had instructions to masturbate, towards the beginning of this period, and I just couldn't. Which was also pretty upsetting.

To cut a long story short, we worked through it. Mostly it involved M being incredibly patient while I over-reacted. Interestingly, even in the worst moments when I felt that what we'd had was gone forever and I could never get it back, I still did not touch my cunt with my bare fingers. This is my most fundamental and important rule, in fact it's been nearly a year now since I had free access to myself. Interesting. Although the English language means the term 'myself' is appropriate, it really belongs to M.

In just the same way that the sense of belonging, of being owned, disappeared practically overnight, so it re-appeared again practically overnight. I don't even really understand what happened - all I know is that one evening M decided to play with me and all of a sudden I found it exciting again. Desirable and desirous. My libido had apparently returned with a vengence, and the next day suddenly there were a lot of words in my head that I needed to write down for him. But that's another entry.