Neglected Master

I was speaking with my friend and protege, and I lamented that I just didn’t have any material to blog about.  And then as we talked on a number of subjects, a few presented themselves.  Not the least of which was how much we look forward to when our slaves will get home.

With that realization comes once again the appreciation of just how happy our BDSM lives are in stark contrast to so many unhappy nilla relations.  My protege for example, not so long ago tried to live the politically correct nilla lifestyle and was miserable.  Now he AND his wife are much happier.  I really do think we have something to share with the world.. something that others might benefit from.  What we DO might not be for everyone, but what we know is.

While some might find our Master and slave obsessions to be destructive to their ideals of equality and rights, that is a misnomer.  To practice consensual slavery is to start from a place in which equality is a given, so apparent as to not to even be questioned.

True, some less enlightened souls, new to BDSM, think every white woman wants to be a submissive.  Every black woman is a natural dominant.  That men don’t desire to be a slave.  These neophytes quickly learn or are soon shunned.  It it only takes a little time mingling in the community to quickly be put straight.  People are individuals and only when we walk into a room as equals, can we begin the serious and important work of finding out who we are, and what we need, no matter our race or gender identification.

But from that place of equality, equity of happiness is sought as the higher goal.  We start from equality, and negotiate those things that will bring us happiness, in exchange for that which brings others happiness, and we do not let social standards influence that negotiation.  Logic dictates that if we can be mutually happy with another person, what we do together to achieve that mutual happiness should not be determined by society at large.

But I digress… It was a long day.  I started early to get a jump on the backlog at work.  I like to make myself available, to the degree that I can, for employees who need me.  It often leads to skipping lunch and on this day I missed my chance to speak with Izrina during her lunch break.  She would be working a long day herself since she had agreed to take a coworker’s evening shift as well, so it was important for me to catch her at her supper break.. which again I could not do thanks to pressing matters at work.  Such is the nature of my business.  Sometimes it takes precedence.  My slave is required to understand this.

So by the time I wrapped up and got home, I was very anxious to get a little Master/slave time.  I have probably mentioned this many times, but when Izrina gets in, she smells of horse shit.  She is required to put her clothes in a plastic bag right away, but the smell is still there. It may be perfume for horse lovers, but not for me.

If there was time, I usually have a bath drawn for her to unwind in.  She always has a suduko book by the tub and she will puzzle away for 60 minutes or so before she gets to a shower, and then comes out of the bathroom.  So I am usually waiting 60 to 90 minutes.

Well I was impatient, since it had already been a long day, and I was really looking forward to my Master-slave time.  I had already made myself something to eat.  The clock just seemed to drag on as she puttered away.  So when she finally came out all pink, clean, and smelling fresh in something silky, I was feeling neglected.

Neglected and just a bit grumpy.  So as I sat there, hoping she would turn to me like a good slave and ask if I needed anything, instead she heated up some pizza, and picked out a book to read with her late supper.  Now I was a slow caldron brewing.  Finally I said it.

I feel neglected..  I said.  She turned with big doe eyes, blinked.  I think we may need more protocols, I said..  And she replied,  We already have enough protocols. 

GAME ON!  Yeah, my first instinct was to think.. I am the Master.. I’ll make those decisions, thank you very much.

But then I thought about it.   You know, when you as a Master are unhappy, its probably because you haven’t acted like a Master.  Some time later, with a sly grin, I told Izrina, you are absolutely right.  Next time you are in the shower, and that drink that you are to  keep cold and filled runs out, I am going to drag you out of the shower to refill the damn thing.

As I related all this story to my protege, he chuckled.  I am pretty sure some other devilish Ds ideas will come of this.  It really comes down this.. if you are going to be Master, act like a Master.

And how you may ask, will this fit into that better way of having a relationship?  What exactly is so pleasant about the thought of dragging someone out of their warm and relaxing shower, all wet and naked to the kitchen, only to have them make you a drink you could have gotten yourself.. and then serve it to you kneeling with their head bowed?  If you have to ask then no explanation is probably possible and if you don’t, none is needed.  Just know this.. for we who would do this, it would be a pretty hot and exciting moment, that just might lead to more fun that evening.

Carpe Diem my friends..  go seek your happiness.  You will most likely find it by being someone’s great day.

 

 

 

 

The house and the rose

High on a hill among the brambles, weathered boards looked down on a town that somewhat feared the old house.  Occasional y a song bird would land on the roof as inside, dust fell.   It was said that on certain nights a light could be seen coming from the upper floor.  Even teenagers full of wild ways dared not take more than a few steps inside.

So when a young couple moved into town they had none of this knowledge.  The young man was lean, with blond hair and a wild look in his eyes.  His bride was a beauty, and the two of them took an apartment in town and counted their pennies.  They were friendly with neighbors and gained a reputation for being polite and sensible.

So when the old place went up for auction and the young man expressed an interest in buying the old house on the hill, people though he had lost his mind.  Better some unsuspecting investor from another town should squander their money on the old place than this lovely couple.

The day of the auction came and as expected, speculators hoping to pick up a bargain drove the price up and up.  The couple followed as best they could with what little they had saved in their few years as adults.  When the gavel sounded and the place was sold, it was a moment they could scarcely believe.  The house on the hill would be their new home.

They attacked the dust as only eager youth can, and underneath they found fine wood banisters and floor planks laid with with care…. each one carefully counter drilled, fastened, plugged with a thousand wooden dowels and then sanded to perfection.  In short order with some cleaning, mending, and some paint, the old house was beautiful. The people in the town came by finally with house warming gifts that were brought inside hesitatingly, for fear some ghost might still be lurking.

Indeed, on an occasional morning as the sun filtered through the shades of the dining room, the young man could swear he saw two lovers seated at the table.  Perhaps it was a trick of the sunlight filtering through the dust that they always seemed to clean, or maybe he was just sleeping still and needed coffee.  What ever it was, it was a benign thing, loving and harmless.  It seemed to the couple that someone long ago had loved deeply and passionately in this place and then left it just for them.

In the bedroom was an old full length mirror and it changed the life of the man forever.  On the day that he and his bride has set out to clean the old house, he had come forewarned of the mysterious light that was reported to have brightened the second floor.  And as he approached the mirror on that first day he approached it with some fear.  And as he got closer, he felt his fear multiply and the more he feared the worse it got, so much so that he felt he must smash the mirror but something stopped him.  It was his wife who approached the mirror and instantly loved it.

And as his wife approached the mirror she fell ever more in love with it and when she came up behind him, his heart nearly stopped from the fear.  and he described what he had felt, and then she described her feeling and they puzzled this… over and over.. until they realized the mirror reflected more than images… it also reflected feelings.

And as with any couple they had their good days and bad days, but when ever they had a bad day, the mirror would reveal to them exactly what they were doing to the other.. and so they learned over time to only love each other better.  In time, never a cross word came across their lips until on one night as they entered the bedroom, full of love for each other the mirror burst forth with a bright light.. the light of their love.

Now the couple understood the source of the light that had scared the town folk and why no one dared enter very far into the house… and you would think that is the end of the story and that they would live happily ever after.. but it is NOT the end.

Because on the day the mirror shown so brightly, a hidden compartment in it’s base opened and in that compartment was a bible.  All of this was really quite too much, but the couple was beyond fear and they gingerly took the book from its hiding place and inside was a rose and some papers.  The papers spoke of the couple who had built the place and of their love for each other, and of the love that had seeped into every corner of the house… but no more than the mirror where they often sat and looked lovingly at each other.

The young couple puzzled over what to do, it was agreed to add more pages to those already there.. the story of their own love and how it had grown in this marvelous house.  Then they returned the Bible to its hiding place and closed the compartment which sealed without a trace.  They never figured out again how to open it.  The rose, all pressed and preserved, was trapped outside, so  they took and buried out in the back yard..  and again you would think that the end of the story, but it is not.

It was spring and the ground was still covered with melting snow when she first spotted it from the kitchen window.  There where they buried the rose, a bush was growing up through the snow.  And by the time the flowers of spring were blooming a full size rose bush had grown where they buried the long dead rose.  So the husband built an arbor and that summer they had the most beautiful roses anyone in town had ever seen.  And more amazing, song birds seemed drawn to the arbor and filled the mornings and evenings with sweet music.  Now, surely you must think that is the end of the tale.. but you know better than that.. love is eternal and the stories we make with the ones we love, really have no end.

 

Carpe Diem my friends..  Love someone well…

Insanity, plus slaves in skirts

If you read Trouble in “X town” ~ with hair! then you know my concern with my slave and skirts.  Basically, I’m weird.  I like Izrina to keep soft, unshaven hair on her legs but then she needs to shave if she is going to wear a skirt.

And if you read MINE! …. (mine) and were paying attention, you noticed that Izrina got a new car and to pick it up, she wore a skirt so we could go to a celebration dinner after we picked up the car.

Now, no one pointed out the obvious problem in these two things, which sort of surprised me.  I thought that at least one comment would have a question mark in it.


 

She’s had the car a few days now, and as life does, the new and exciting blends into everyday boredom.  Its a trap that we all fall into.   We build and then hope that which we build will stand forever but it never does.  We clean and we hope that which is neat, tidy, and organized will stay that way but it never does.  We paint, mend, and repair but there is always more to do.  We diet and exercise, but it always requires more work to maintain.

And then we complain.  Hmmmm  well others complain.  Not me.  I’m weird after all.  I’m the pink monkey in the cage.  I stand out and its the tallest nail that gets hammered first, its the tallest blade of grass that gets cut first, its the fastest growing hedge that gets trimmed to look like all the others…. first.  All good reasons to not stand out.

But then I think.. its the second mouse that gets the cheese.  You just have to be smart about these things.  I went to work on my day off yesterday and it was fine.  No complaints here.  Going to work on my day off was better than OK, it was good.  Some might think that’s a little insane.  I would argue, that if you won’t do the work to find your happy place, the perspective that lets you love life no matter what it brings, then you are the insane one.

Izrina had to work anyway, and there was a mountain of work that needed doing that I didn’t have time for on Friday, and I was still home in time to draw a bath for my weary slave to unwind in.  We had a nice evening after she prepared supper, and though she had to be up at 4:30, and our evening of dinner and a movie ran a little late no dishes were left in the sink.

Now I could complain about how busy our lives are but I did not.  I didn’t even need to correct my thinking a little.  I was happy.   Happy and pleased.  There is nothing like the sense of accomplishment to turn work into pleasure.  It is like exercise.  You know its going to suck and you know you are too tired to start but when you are done you suddenly have more energy than when you set out to tire yourself.  Work with a great attitude is like that.  I have trouble sometimes getting started on a thing.. but here is what helps with that..

To help you get started on a thing, think ahead to the satisfaction you will feel when its done. You won’t always beat back the power of procrastination, but this trick has often come to my rescue. ~ Xtac quote

So the day ended well, but there was one thing I needed to do still.  Izrina was on the couch and I pulled up our little foot rest and stared her down.  She gave that little nervous look she does, when she is not sure if I am going to be speaking “with her”, or “to her”.  The difference is important, since our protocols call for her to look down when I speak “to her”.   I told her to stand and remove her jeans.  She looked puzzled, but she is a slave after all and rose to comply.   And as she stood there, jeans around her ankles, wondering what evil I was up to, I ran my hand up from her ankles and commented.. “hmmm nice soft hair.”

Now when she came out in a skirt a few days before, she had a smile on her face.  And of course I had said there were only two choices.. keep the hair and wear jeans, or shave for a dress.  But this minx decided to prove me wrong.  I did not however give her the satisfaction of observing that at the time.

It has been said that revenge is a dish best served cold.  Well, I am hear to tell you that many of life’s lessons and pleasure share this observation.  Just when she had forgotten her cleverness, just when she had decided to believe that I had not noticed her solution, THEN was the time to compliment her.

So as I ran my hand across her soft hair, I commented.  “You wore a dress the other day.”  Now it dawned on her where I was headed with this and a broad smile crossed her face.  Master HAD noticed.. She said simply, “yes.. tall leather boots with a longer skirt.”

“Clever girl”, I said and rose to hug her.  And there it was.  Another mini Ds moment with all the trimmings – The orders, the sudden fear, the submission, the sudden surprise, the pleasure.  Its the little things that can make your day.

If you hate what you do.. be it your job or the constant maintenance, I would say you need to rethink that.  It is all part of life and life is too short to spend it hating any part of life.  There is always something to take pleasure from.. if you put your mind in the right frame, if you choose a perspective that allows you to draw pleasure from pain.  If anyone can do that, its the BDSM community, so my friends.. go forth.. seize this day.. make it yours… and draw pleasure from your accomplishments, and let at least one of those accomplishments be, that your were someone great day!

 

 

MINE! …. (mine)

The word escapes my lips before I even realize I was thinking it..  Like teenagers with puppy dog eyes that can’t help but say “I love you”, over and over until you want to throw up… because you have begun to wonder if the words have any meaning any more, the words just burst forth in this gushing emotional sap.

She lies beside me, recumbent in her delicious submission, my hands explore, traveling up her calve, her thigh, until my hand cups that delicious crease where generous buttocks meets leg and then the word escapes my lips…. mine!

Like those insipid teenagers I find myself all too often speaking this word that expresses my feeling before I have even thought out what it is I want to say.  Mine!  I have been thinking about this word, and what it means to me and why it fits so perfectly.

We are after all Master and slave.  Izrina is first and foremost my property.  The word “mine” fits into the context like a surgeons glove.  The word “mine” is so Ds it hardly needs explanation.

In a nilla relation, I might be called “possessive”.  That’s a description with a negative connotation.  And yet when I say it in this relation it warms us both.. She is mine and she loves this, that I value her above all else I own.  She is my treasure, my prize, my greatest desire.  All of these feelings that well up inside.. to have, to own, and to be owned.. it wraps up into a ball of greedy desires for more… its the passion of teenagers.. its the lust of wanton lovers.. its all that and more.  I don’t know how to say it any more plainly…. but the word “mine” says it all for me.  It says what “I love you” only begins to touch upon.

And as I think about these things, and the negative side that some might see in being “possessive”, I wonder which of us is more correct?  Certainly there are aspect of the way I am, the way that we are, that worry people.

I felt Izrina wasn’t being respected and treated fairly by an auto dealer, so I got on the phone with him.  Now in some circles, people would think I am “that” kind of guy.. the violent one who gets in everyone’s face and thinks he can bully people that do not treat his girl well.  Izrina was worried that I would be rude to him.  I was not.

Well, in my way of thinking, I was not.  I simply wanted him to make her a priority, and make sure he was working with her, on her schedule.   She can’t just have her phone startling her horse while she is out on the trails.  Plus she has very long days that start early and end late.  Plus, he definitely didn’t want her in his showroom smelling of horse shit, so…. It was in everyone’s interest to make sure he didn’t miss her next window of opportunity.  All of which I pointed out in my best behavior, salesman to salesman manner.  It was in everyone’s interest for him to find a way to fit her schedule, into his.

Speaking of which, she has a new car.  She had time to get a shower and put on a dress, and still pick it up after work.  Afterward we had dinner out..  a little min-celebration.  She looked stunning of course.. mine!

Carpe Diem my friends..  Go be someone’s great day!

Trouble in “X town” ~ with hair!

Ok.. not big trouble, but its something to work on.  Izrina has what she insists is a hard limit.. no humiliation.  Simple enough.  I won’t dress her in diapers or pee on her, as fun as that might be.. but its not that simple.

I am a wild extrovert.  I strike up conversations all the time, and I dress in a flamboyant way that evokes conversation.  I rarely go a day without striking up a conversation with someone completely strange.  Strange to me when we started, but I rarely walk away without leaving a smile.. or at least them shaking their heads.  The conversations vary wildly..


 

It was a sunny day in NYC and Izrina and I were strolling with friends a few stories above street level on the winding park that is the NYC highline. <check the link!  A small cloud cover had cooled the setting sun and we found a comfortable corner bench near a water cooler under some trees.  Sitting next to us were three mature women and they commented on my boots and the conversation was started.  At one point I opened the conversation to BDSM and two showed interest but one stood up… body language that signaled to me that she was uncomfortable.. but one was very interested.

It turned out that these ladies were from the middle east, and one woman point out that she wore a ring with a ring on it.. which of course heralds back to “The story of O”.    I admitted that I was a Dominant and that Izrina was my slave, and perhaps I crossed a line but I added that my two friends were also starting a life of BDSM.  Well.. having come this far the questions and discussion quickly become what you can well imagine were something that others might not want their children to hear, so we spoke in vague words and hushed voices.

I mentioned visiting paddles, a BDSM club up on 26th Street,  but they were leaving tomorrow.. a shame.  Now all of this seems innocent enough, but it is the very kind of thing that can trigger Izrina’s childhood fear of being humiliated.  As her owner, I feel it is my right to disclose whatever I please in these spontaneous conversations that pop up all the time… and in that I will never change.  Being outgoing is at the heart of who I am.  I can not imagine myself not engaging with any person at any time I choose.  To put a leash on that part of me would be self destructive on a level I am not will to even contemplate.

But I can and do judge my audiences, and temper my conversations to match their interest and such.. and I can and do make judgements about what it appropriate to share, including judgments about what might cause Izrina’s humiliation trigger to flare.  Understand that she is very, very private.  She never talks about herself, even in sub support groups. It is one of my great Master challenges to improve on her ability to speak about herself with others.  So I choose what I will reveal, and she needs to learn to suck it up.. to deal with the fact that as Master I will choose what I wish to reveal about our life together.

The way she deals with “sucking it up” is often poor.  She becomes more quiet and sulks and glares and tends to bang things.  She is not verbally defying, but her non-verbal communication makes it clear she is unhappy.

Normally I am OK with this behavior but since it came out recently when she was supposed to be on her best behavior, I am really going to have to reel that in.

When she is doing her non-verbal, “I am unhappy thing”, She is still obedient, and quick to comply, but when she starts these non-verbal objections it is then time to talk.  I can’t remember a time that I apologize or reversed a decision.  If I thought I was going to trigger one of these, I would have done it consciously.  I can’t remember ever doing it on purpose, and there lies the heart of the problem.  What she thinks I should see as a trigger, I do not.  Nor am I going to change.  She will have to.  Now THAT is a thing.

Now that I think about it, there have been a time or two when I have hinted at something she would prefer I not blog about.  Today I am going to blog on something that I know she has clearly stated she would prefer I not talk about.  We will deal with it.  I want to talk about it, so I am going to.  Chalk it up to me working on this.

This has to do with hair.  I love hair.  I love the feel of it, the smell of it.  I insist on long hair, that I can grab, hold, bury my face into, and enjoy.  Now hair around her pussy I like shaved, except for a small tuft above.. a landing strip.. something neat and trimmed like a small wedged arrow pointing to the “insert pleasure here” spot.

But when it comes to leg hair, I am weird.  I like long, soft leg hair.  I know this is wildly un-American.  I believe this is more of a European thing, but having never crossed the Atlantic, I can’t say I have personal experience.

I see the value in shaving the legs though.. it reveals the curves and muscles and allows you to admire a shapely well formed and exercised leg.   Ah, but at night in bed as you run your fingers over a beloved body, enjoying the sense of touch and the feeling of warmth in connecting and being connected to, hair plays a different role.  I like the feel of soft silky hair on legs.

As a cowgirl in jeans, my command to not shave her legs works quite well.  She can feel sexy even when she know that others might not agree, but there comes a time when I want her in a dress..

Now a dress is meant to show of legs and then we have a problem.  To put on a dress means that she has to shave off all that lovely hair and then there is the period of rough stubble and such a long time before the softness returns.

This is all something you can see and amazingly, as interesting as this conversation may seem, Izrina would have preferred I not go there.  I find it fascinating fodder for conversation..  what do other think of this?  Does anyone else have this issue and how do you deal with it, and what do you think?

Opening the door to discussion is to me logical.. and important..  I suppose on this one area, we started out being both compatible, and incompatible.   My need to talk about anything and everything makes us a perfect fit.  She can sit quietly and listen, and later when we are alone I will hear her thoughts.. yes.. they come quite easily later when we are alone.  We are perfectly compatible until I hit a trigger.. then we are not compatible.

I seem to stumble upon a trigger at least once a month.  Ha!  and not just at that time of the month.. so that’s not it.  It is an area I need to change in her.  I am working on it.  And I am going to work on the nonverbal communication too.

Anyway, if you have some thoughts on leg hair, let it fly.. I am curious if I am really, really weird, or just a little.

Carpe Diem my friends..

 

 

Love and BDSM

You don’t need Love for BDSM.  In fact, for some people they explicitly don’t want a Master or slave relation tainted by love.   For some, love is a detractor to the relation.  They want the unfettered cold hand of control with a sense that the person wielding the power is not troubled in the least by any inconvenience their command may create.

That is not entirely me.  I mix spirituality with my BDSM.  For me, the control is about creating a loving relationship in which we both blossom, nurtured by optimum conditions.  I am that hopeless romantic, ever believing that it is possible to find a soul mate, that ideal relationship in which two people thrive off ever increasing contact.

I have had my phoenix moments.  A time when a BDSM relationship ended and I fell into a burning downward spiral of self destruction.  We speak of aftercare in our all glorious search to treat those in our care righteously, but we don’t speak enough of relationship aftercare.. the caring of those who are caught in that vicious treadmill of questioning where the relationship went wrong.. what they could have done to change it.  It can be a destructive path.  It was for me.  But like the phoenix, I was also reborn.  I’d like to do a workshop on it.

After that experience, at first I nurtured a cold heart.  One that was simply about the control, about what I could get.   But Izrina and I have had a lot of time to build this relation and I find old and dangerous roots thriving.. the NEED to feel that love returned.  Does that make one weak?

It does.  I learned a long time ago, that to love well, I must be a mirror.  That which I give, I can not cling to.  I must be the moment reflected, not looking forward or back with desire.. just there sharing what joy is brought before me.

When I feel old ways creeping back in, when I feel that need, that clinging, returning, I can turn one of two ways.  I can become sulking, sad, and upset.  Or I can laugh.  Odd choices, I know, but bear with me.

When a loved one is displeased with you, and instead of that loving vibe emanating from them, where you feel their love and desire to be with you.. when instead of that, you get that cold shoulder and the sulking stare, the angry vibe.. and you can realize how addicted you have become to the first.  Love can be a very addicting drug. As a Master you can go one of two ways.

You can go down a path destructive to yourself and your slave, you can become a slave to your desire to be loved, begging them to love you in return, pleading with them to drop the hate…You can see the destruction that would cause.  Or you can laugh.  You can laugh because you know you are in charge, and any silly tantrums are going to end badly and not for you.. you can realize that people are people, including your slave and you can’t expect them to never be cross with you.  But as long as consent exists and as long as the gift of your domination is desired, you hold the cards, so ultimately it is all rather amusing.

It’s somewhat further amusing when you see this clearly, and you can see the emotions in the room, and you can see your choices, and rather than your emotions defining your decisions, your decisions define the outcome.. predictably.   None of which is really destructive to the objective of mixing love with BDSM.  You just have to be on a higher level, looking further ahead to the outcome of your choices that are made here in the moment.  Its not so much an absence of emotion from your decision making, than the predictability of our responses when we stay in our sacred roles.  Anger melts, and love returns, when you stay strong.

Carpe Diem my friends.. love someone well today.